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diff --git a/30672.txt b/30672.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..5bceb2c --- /dev/null +++ b/30672.txt @@ -0,0 +1,5933 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Eidolon, by Walter R. Cassels + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Eidolon + The Course of a Soul and Other Poems + +Author: Walter R. Cassels + +Release Date: December 13, 2009 [EBook #30672] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK EIDOLON *** + + + + +Produced by Ritu Aggarwal, Thanks to the National Library +of Australia and the Thomas Cooper Library (University of +South Carolina) for supplying pages for this work, and the +Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + + + + + EIDOLON, + OR THE COURSE OF A SOUL; + AND OTHER POEMS, + + BY WALTER R. CASSELS + + + LONDON + WILLIAM PICKERING + 1850 + + + TO + CHARLES PEEL, + + THIS VOLUME IS INSCRIBED BY + HIS FRIEND, + + W. R. CASSELS. + + + + + CONTENTS. + + + Page + Eidolon 1 + Alceste 93 + Pygmalion 136 + + MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. + Ode to Fancy 159 + What is a sigh? 165 + Ione 167 + Reality 169 + Retrospection 172 + The Stormy Petrel 181 + To ---- 183 + The Mermaid 185 + The Spirit of the Air 190 + Why do I love thee? 195 + Lady Annabel 196 + To Jenny Lind 201 + The Gold Seekers 204 + To Woman 209 + The Poet 212 + Evening 224 + Life 226 + Sorrow 229 + + SONNETS. + I. Written at Ulleswater 233 + II. "There is a spell by which the panting soul" 234 + III. "We wander on through life as pilgrims do" 235 + IV. "Sweet spirits of the Beautiful! where'er ye dwell," 236 + V. "We are ambitious overmuch in life," 237 + VI. "Mountains! and huge hills! wrap your mighty forms" 238 + VII. To Ella 239 + VIII. "I traverse oft in thought the battle-plain" 240 + + + + +INTRODUCTION TO EIDOLON. + + +Hazlitt says, one cannot "make an allegory go on all fours," it must +to a certain degree be obscure and shadowy, like the images which the +traveller in the desert sees mirrored on the heavens, wherein he can +trace but a dreamy resemblance to the reality beneath. It therefore +seems to me advisable to give a solution of the "Eidolon," the symbol, +which follows, that the purpose of the poem may at once be evident. + +In "Eidolon" I have attempted to symbol the course of a Poet's mind +from a state wherein thought is disordered, barren and uncultivated, +to that which is ordered and swayed by the true Spirit of Poetry, and +holds its perfect creed. + +I have therefore laid the scene on a desert island, whence, as from +the isolation of his own mind, he reflects upon the concerns of life. +At first he is a poet only by birthright '_Poeta nascitur_.' He has +the poet's inherent love for the Beautiful, his keen susceptibility of +all that is lovely in outward nature, but these are only the blossoms +which have fallen upon him from the Tree of Life, the fruit is yet +untasted. He has looked at the evil of the world alone, and seeing how +much "the time is out of joint" has become misanthropic, and turns his +back alike on the evil and the good. + +Then comes Night, the stillness of the soul, with starlight breaking +through the gloom. He gazes on other worlds, and pictures there the +perfection he sighs for, but cannot find in this. Thus by the +conception of a higher and nobler existence acquiring some impetus +towards its realization. + +We then find him lying in the sunshine with the beauties of Nature +around him, whose silent teaching works upon him till the true SPIRIT +OF POETRY speaks _within his soul_, and combats the misanthropy and +weakness of the sensuous MAN, showing him that Action is the end of +Life, not mere indulgence in abstract and visionary rhapsodies. + +In the next scene he makes further advances, for the spirit of Poetry +shows him that the beauty for which he has sought amongst the stars of +heaven lies really at his feet; that Earth, too, is a star capable of +equal brightness with those on which he gazes. He is thus brought from +the Ideal to the Real. + +The fifth scene emblems the influence of Love on the soul. It is the +nurse of Poetry, and Sorrow is the pang which stimulates the divine +germ into active vitality. Had he been entirely happy, and the course +of his love run smooth, he would have been content to enjoy life in +ease and idleness. + +Next we find him looking broadly on life, on its utmost ills as well +as its beauties, but not with the eye of the misanthrope, but of the +Physician who searches out disease that he may find the remedy, and +though the soul still sighs for the serenity and placid delight of +the ideal life, the world of Thought, the glorious principle of Poetry +prevails, and he sacrifices self-ease, feeling that he has a nobler +mission than to dream through life, and that here he must labour ere +he can earn the right to rest. + +Thus in the last scene the SPIRIT and the MAN have become one--he is +_truly_ a Poet. His prayer maintains the direct and divine inspiration +of the Poet-Priest. + +The action in short is the conflict of two principles within the +breast, the False and the True, ending in the extinction of error +and the triumph of truth. + + + + + EIDOLON, + OR + THE COURSE OF A SOUL. + + + SCENE. _A desert Island. The sea-shore._ + + MAN. + + How lonely were I in this solitude, + This atom of creation which yon wave, + White with the fury of a thousand years, + Might gulf into oblivion, if the soul + Knew circumscription. Far as eye can reach + Around me lies a wild and watery waste, + With every billow sentinel to keep + Its prisoner fetter'd to his ocean cell-- + What were it but a plunge--an instant strife-- + Then liberty snatch'd from the clutch of Death + The Tyrant, who with mystic terror grinds + Men into slaves--But he who thinks _is_ free, + And fineless as the unresting winds of heaven, + Now rushing with wild joy around the belt + Of whirling Saturn, then away through space + Till he and all his radiant brotherhood + Dwindle to fire-flies round the brow of Night. + Thought is the great creator under God, + Begotten of his breathing, that can raise + Shapes from the dust and give them Beauty's soul; + And though my empire be a continent, + Squared down from leagues to inches, what of that? + The mind contains a world within its frame + Which Fancy peoples o'er with radiant forms, + Replete with life and spirit excellence. + O! there is glory in the thought that now + I stand absolved from all the chilling forms + And falsities of life, that like frail reeds + Pierce the blind palms of those that lean on them, + And from the springs of my own being draw + All strength, and hope, and joyance, all that makes + Lone meditations sweet, and schools the heart + For prophecy. In the o'erpeopled world + We seem like babes that cannot walk alone, + But fasten on the skirts of other men, + Their creeds, conclusions, and vain phantasies, + Too languid, or too weak to poize ourselves; + But here the crutch is shattered at a blow, + Dependence made a thing for winds to blast, + And paraphrase in bitter mockery. + + From this retreat, as from a cloister calm, + I dream upon the busy haunts of men + As things that touch me not. An empire riven, + A monarchy o'erthrown, here seem to me + Importless as a foam-bell's death. The world + And all its revolutions are now less + Within my chronicles, than is the ken + Of a star's orbit on the fines of space; + But like a mariner saved from the wreck + On this calm spot I stand, unscathed, secure + From the rough throbbings of the sea of strife, + And woe, and clamour, wherewith this world's life + Ebbs and declines unto the printless shore + Of death. O! blessed change, if there were one + To love me in this solitude, and make + Life beautiful. My soul is wearied out + With earth's fierce warfare, and its selfish ease; + The slights and coldness of the hollow crowds + That are its arbiters; the changeful face, + The upstart arrogance of base-born fools, + Who crown them with their golden dross, and deem + _That_ the all-potent badge of sovereignty. + + O thou, my heart! hast thou not framed for life + A golden palace in all solitude, + Whither the strains of quiet melodies + Float on the breath of memory, like songs + From the dim bosom of the evening woods, + Peopling its chambers with sweet poesy? + Hast thou not called the sunshine from the morn + To circle thee with a pure spirit life, + And with the softness of its tender arms + Clasp thee in the embrace of heav'nly love? + Hast thou not heard the music of the stars, + In the calm stillness of the summer night, + And read their jewell'd pages o'er and o'er, + Like the bright inspirations of a bard, + Till glowing strophes rung within thy soul + Of glad Orion and clear Pleiades? + Hast thou not seen the silv'ry moonshine thrill + Upon the dusky mantle of the night, + Like radiant glances through a maiden's veil, + Till shaken thence they fell in a pure shower + O'er flood and field and bosky wilderness, + Wreathing earth with the glory of a saint? + + O! thus to dwell far from the stir of life, + Far from its pleasures and its miseries, + Far from the panting cry of man's desire, + That waileth upward in hoarse discontent, + And here to list but to that liquid voice + That riseth in the spirit, and whose flow + Is like a rivulet from Paradise-- + To hear the wanderings of divine thought + Within the soul, like the low ebb and flow + Of waters in the blue-deep ocean caves, + Forming itself a speech and melody + Sweeter than words unto the aching sense-- + To stand alone with Nature where man's step + Hath never bowed a grass-blade 'neath its weight, + Nor hath the sound of his rude utterance + Broken the pauses of the wild-bird's song; + And thus in its unpeopled solitude + To be the spirit of this universe, + Centering thought and reason in one frame, + And in the majesty of quenchless soul, + Rising unto the stature of a man, + _That_ is to make life glorious and great, + Dissolving matter in the spiritual, + As the green pine dissolveth into flame; + Not on the breath of popular applause + That is the spectre of all nothingness; + Not on the fawning of a servile crew, + Who kiss the hem of fortune's purple robe, + And lick the dust before prosperity, + Waiting the cogging of the downward scale, + To turn from slaves to bravos in the dark; + Not on the favours of the politic, + Who in the smile of honour, Persian-like, + Pamper the pampered from their banquet halls, + But to his starving cry, when fortune frowns, + Mutter their falsehoods through the bolted gate; + But in the brightness of the inner soul, + The placitude of peace and holy thought, + The joyous lightness of the spirit's wings, + Sweeping with equal strokes the azure sky + Of Present, Past, and wide Futurity; + In the high tidemarks on the sands of life, + Where thought hath swept her purifying wave, + Bearing the treasures of the unsearched deep + To swell the riches of humanity. + _That_ is a happiness apart from man + To aid, to sympathise with, or destroy; + In its calm solitude alike secure + From the broad adulation of the weak, + And the strained condescension of the great, + Both insults to the mighty soul within, + That is not prized but for its golden shrine. + Here there is that which makes the spirit free + And noble in the measure of its strength, + Untrammelled by conventionalities + That make the very light of heaven take worth + According to the casement it shines through. + + O solitude! thy blessed power hath swept + All earthly passions from my soul like weeds + That choke the issues of eternal love. + What now to me are hatred and revenge? + Thoughts that if fleeting through the mind would fall + Like unknown birds upon a foreign shore, + Strange, wonderful; where no false hearts are nigh + To poison life with variance and strife. + O holy Nature! thou art only love + And peace and universal unity, + From thy sweet bosom springeth up no seed + Of bitterness and sorrow, that like thorns + Cling to the vesture of mortality, + Piercing the spirit through with cruel woe. + With thee my soul could dwell for evermore, + Expanding all good feelings day by day, + Till, at the last, like roses in full bloom + The blossoms fall from pure maturity. + Pride! Here no scale of inches is set up + For man to strain his littleness against, + But o'er me hangs the majesty of heaven, + Bright with the glory of the noontide sun; + Beneath, the Earth, that whispers "Thou art dust, + "Gat like a child forth from my fertile womb, + "And bone of my bone, thus, flesh of my flesh!" + Thou glorious firmament that like God's love + Enfoldest all creation utterly, + Making the pathway of the wheeling spheres + A splendour, and a triumph, and a joy, + That on the brightness of thine azure breast + Settest the constellated stars like gems, + To flash the glory of thy loveliness + Through all the fulness of unmeasured space. + Can madness in its raving cast a thought + To soar unto thy blessed perfectness, + Nor stand subdued with reverence and awe + In contemplation of the Infinite? + O Earth! thou Mother and true Monitress! + Can thy frail children close their ears for aye + 'Gainst the deep-hearted warnings of thy voice? + In the wild whirl of life the tones may die + Amid the clangour of contending foes, + But here, as in the stillness of the night, + Thy solemn teaching falleth on the soul + To the vibration of the low heart-beat. + Then what is there to charm me back to life? + To wrestle with the guilty and the vain, + And lose identity amid the crowd + Who struggle onward after base desire. + This quiet scene doth teach me how to weigh + Your pleasures and your vanities aright; + To hold as dross the honour that is flung + Around man like a winter covering, + Which the same hand can pluck away again, + And leave the outcast shivering in the blast. + There is no honour saving that within, + Which none, nor man, nor Death itself can snatch, + But which falls from the spirit in its flight + Like a prophetic mantle upon Time. + + Pleasure! O World! in thine insanity + Thou sinkest Soul into a poor buffoon, + Garbed in tinsel and false ornament + To play its antics on the stage of life, + A thing for fools to laugh at in their mirth. + Thou sat'st thy lust upon the sapless husks + That strew the highways of this pilgrimage, + Closing thine eyes unto their emptiness, + And out of folly turning sour to sweet. + Hast thou the joy that nature's converse sheds + Thro' all the pulses of the quiet soul? + The gentle calm that like a whispered song + Steals o'er the sense with sweetest languishment? + Hast thou the magic of the Beautiful, + Wreathing about thy spirit evermore, + In sunshine and in shadow; when the stars + Gather around the azure dome of heaven, + And the pale moon glides like a virgin bride + Humbly behind the footsteps of her love: + When the sweet morn dawns on the sleeping world + To bring reality to visions bright; + And on the curtain of dissolving mist + Arches the many-tinted sign of heaven? + Hast thou the minstrelsie of the wild woods, + Clear-tided strains floating along the sky, + Swelling, subsiding, like a silvery sea + Beneath the dulcet breathing of the south? + Hast thou that essence of all joyousness-- + The glorious independence of the soul-- + That spurneth man's usurped tyranny, + The power of wealth, and hapless circumstance, + And, sweeping on its own unaided wings, + Measures the circuit of the boundless sky? + What is thy wealth, that fadeth in the use, + And all the pomp and vanity it buys, + To the rich treasure of undying thought, + Encreasing evermore, till like a dower + It benizon humanity for aye? + All thy poor gold resolveth into dust + Before the test of such a scene as this: + Can it charm forth the blossom of a flower + Ere summer bids it with her gentle smile? + Can it restore the verdure to the leaf + When yellow Autumn marks it for her own? + Or, in the noontide bid the dew-shower rise + To fill one rosy chalice to the brim? + Go! gild thee with it, worldling, as thou wilt, + Yet all thy pains will leave thee but a fool! + + Ay! there is love to beckon me away + And lead me to a fountain of delight, + Gliding before me in its purity, + Like some bright angel guiding souls to heaven. + O Love! have I not drained thee to the dregs, + Thy pleasures and thy sorrows equally; + Clinging unto thee as the Arab doth + To his low fountain in the wilderness? + Have I not gazed into thy tender eyes + And read the secret of thy holiness, + Cleansing my soul in humbleness and faith, + To shrine thee in thy fulness evermore? + Have I not clasped thee in my frenzied arms + And heard thy heart-beats answer back to mine, + Fainter and fainter till the deep voice stilled + In the eternal silence of the grave? + O be to me henceforth but some sweet dream + Illumining the sky of Memory: + A fixed star of everlasting light + To pilot me along the sea of life, + And keep the bearings of the spirit true. + Visit me in imagination's train, + The sweetest and the fairest child of Thought, + Till thro' my being, as thro' columned aisles + When incense from the altar upward wreaths, + There float the fragrance of thy breath divine. + Circle my soul in its far wanderings + Thro' spirit lands and empyrean heights, + Where though it sink in wide bewilderment, + Thou wilt enfold it in thy dewy arms, + And pillow it to strength and fearlessness! + Be to me like a heaven beyond all Time, + Dreamt of, and worshipped in this pilgrimage-- + The habitation of all pure desire, + Solace of sorrow, and the home of rest, + Where I may lay me from life's troublous way, + And feel Eternity rise in my soul! + No, World! the cords that bound me unto thee + Are snapt in sunder ne'er to join again, + Thy voice is waning fainter on mine ear, + And thine allurements powerless and vain. + There springeth up within me a new want, + A perfect yearning for the spiritual, + That shaketh from its pinions all the cares + And interests of earth, like cleaving dust + That clogs its upward winging to the skies. + Wend onward, as thou wilt in weal or woe, + Swell the rude triumph of thy battle march, + Spread thy gay banners broadly to the wind, + And let thy clarions ring among the spheres; + Laurel thy heroes and thy favourites, + And pluck the crowns again from off their brows; + Worship thy follies, and thine empty gains, + And barter life for mammon--gold for dross. + Here let me lie upon the rear of Time, + Unheeded, unremembered, and alone, + Like a quick seed dropt by a flying dove, + That groweth unto blossom and to fruit! + + + SCENE. _Night._ + + MAN. + + How still are all things now in earth and heaven! + From the green-tided woods no rippling stir + Breaks on the shore of silence; the sweet birds + That sing, like naiads from the crystal deeps, + Amid the murmurous coverts, now are mute + As dreams of faded happiness, and life + Seems calmly slumb'ring in the arms of death. + The far waves alone are rocking in unrest, + With moonlight flashing o'er them, but their sound + Dies in their own wild bosom, like a song + Murmuring in the spirit of a man. + Thus is a poet's soul!--around it hangs + The darkness of this world's reality, + Its cares and struggles and necessities; + But in its firmament for ever shines + The starlight of divine imaginings, + Shedding upon the waves of restless feeling, + And aspirations for the undefined, + The glory of a cloudless hemisphere. + + O Stars! that gaze upon me from on high, + Like angels from the gates of Paradise, + That weave your myriads in a golden chain + To bind creation with the Beautiful, + As locks are interrun with precious gems + To deck a queen out for her royalty: + Hear me, ye bright ones, for a poet's love, + And let light fall upon my swelling soul, + To crest each rising thought with purity! + There was a time--in youth, ere yet the sands + Of life clogged 'neath satiety, but ran + Lighter than blithe rills down a mountain's side; + There was a time, when in my soul a voice + Rang faintly like a huntsman's horn afar, + Sounding along a forest; and I arose, + And listed, as the bounding Antelope + Starts at the echo of a falling bough. + Louder it grew, and clearer--"Search for it!" + What?--It melted from me, but the voice still came. + Then up I gat, and to the pressing world + Sped on the wings of passion, striving on + Thro' pleasure and thro' pain, alike unchecked. + Then, what were lets to me? Amongst the strong + I wrestled for ambition's upper seats-- + Clung to the slippery shrouds of policy-- + And in my fury prayed for eagle's wings + To poize me in the shadow of the sun. + At wealth I grasped as a poor crippled wretch + Grasps at the crutch that steadies him along; + Yet not for it but for the power it brought, + For, Timon-like, within my heart of hearts + I cursed the yellow dust I trampled on. + But by the wayside I sat down and wept + As a child weeps above some shattered toy. + Oh Misery! to climb the steep of life + Led by a phantom without form or truth-- + To find reality still rising up + To crush hope's fabrics with relentless force. + All was a fiction, but the voice said "Search!" + And glory flashed before me like a wisp, + Dazzling me on to bloodshed, and to strife. + + Upon the field I stood with Victory, + And Death in all its ghastliness--Around + The dim watchfires stood like a burning wall + Betwixt the dead and living. On that night + Ye saw me, ye pure ministers of heaven,-- + Shone on my anguish and my bitter tears. + Then, when the mangled forms of fellow-men, + With hideous passion stiff upon their lips, + Blanch'd 'neath the twilight of your glimmering! + Oh! there lay one beside me--a mere youth-- + Whose dying hands had pressed unto his lips + A long fair tress, through which his dying sigh + Crept, as in happier days perchance did love's. + Witness, ye stars, of my abasement then, + Judged and condemned by that poor lover's pledge, + Lying there like a messenger of heaven, + Breathing of peace and love, mid deadly hate. + Glory! thou mirage on this desert life, + Charming the weary on to water springs + That shrivel up to barrenness ere reach'd! + Thou shadow of a shadow that departs + As the eye scans its bodiless outlines! + Thou golden-imaged Ruin and Despair! + When this earth cracks, like a poor blasted rock, + Before the burning of Almighty wrath, + Thy pallid spectre shall rise up to judge + The wretched victims that did trust in thee! + + "O Heaven!" I said, "lead me to love and peace; + Love, that makes all things calm and beautiful, + And like the sun, e'en in its setting, flings + A glory o'er the cloudy peaks of Time. + Peace--that doth hush the throbbing voice of life, + Till through the stillness of the Poet's soul, + The echoes of Seraphic harmonies + Float like a spirit through the blue eterne." + I said--"I will sit neath the ancient woods, + And list unto the voices of the winds + Coming from far o'er spirit lands, and full + With stolen snatches of their utterance." + I said--"I will lay bare my soul unto the sun, + And let its glory rest there till it charm + Forth from its womb, as flowers from the cold ground, + All lovely thoughts and high imaginings + That shed sweet perfume o'er the waste of life. + And when the sickle of autumnal time + Gathereth in the harvest of ripe thought, + Nourish and strengthen long futurity." + + Then as an eagle fleeth to his crag + High in the stillness of the dim cloudland, + Fled I from man into the trackless woods, + To sate my soul with quietude and song. + Then, too, ye saw me, ye pure orbs of heaven, + And sent your blessed radiance to my heart + In the still twilight of my calm content! + Then came an answer to the unseen voice-- + "O holy calmness of the inner soul! + Treasure of treasures! sweetness of all sense! + Athwart the smoothness of whose liquid tide + Floateth the spirit of eternal love, + Tracing a pathway to the All-Divine! + Thine is the perfectness of earthly bliss, + The brimming of life's chalice o'er with peace, + Till thro' all thought and feeling, the pure draught + Sheddeth its gladness and serenity. + Thine is a joyance passing utterance, + A deep delight, that like the songs of heaven, + Swell through its fulness, but are mute without. + Thou art the goal of most sublime desire, + The haven that all longing seeketh for, + Where, shaded from the storms and blasts of life, + The bark glides gently down the stream of Time." + + How cloudless is this azure firmament! + Brighter than all the dreams of sinless youth! + Deeper than the deep heart of woman's love! + Now as I gaze upon each shining star, + What visions steal upon me with its rays, + Of that which makes its glorious excellence! + Can there be revelation of high truths + But through the channels of weak sense alone, + Thus like a fountain filt'ring thro' the clay. + Or doth the soul hold converse spiritual + With powers unseen that fill the universe, + Receiving, as by intuition, things + That man attains not by intelligence? + Is not the spirit perfect in itself, + Unmingled with the base alloy of earth + That prisons it within this narrow sphere? + Hath it not apprehension natural, + Attributive as immortality, + Unshackled by an organ that will die + Beneath the friction of a few short years? + O there is blindness on us in this life, + That seeth not the things which lie around, + E'en in the circuit of our littleness! + But death will loose the scales from off our eyes, + And smite our fleshly dwelling place in twain; + Freeing the spirit, till with joyous wings + It cleave the limits of immensity. + Yet _now_ the soul will shake its fetters off, + And yearn unto the freedom of the skies, + Like a poor bird whose life is liberty. + + Yon star, methinks, must be a glorious world, + Where Nature hath a spiritual life + And bloometh on in Spring perpetual, + Unsatiating in its loveliness. + Verdure of herb and leafy plenitude + Spread o'er it like a vesture, and the glow + Of sunlit waters smiling from afar, + Half as in fancy, half reality. + The skies above it glassy and serene + As the reflection of its own repose, + And every new alternation of the light + Shedding new beauties on the scene below. + Thus far in fashion, kin to Earth as Time + Beareth the impress of Eternity, + But differing henceforth as the gentle dove + Doth from the vulture on its carrion: + The dwellers on this paradisal sphere + Methinks, must be of glorious lineament, + Clad with the brightness of eternal youth, + And buoyant with internal blessedness. + Spirits that shining with untarnished light, + Radiate, and make matter luminous, + Filling the eyes with sweet felicity, + And love, and peace, and all emotions pure. + No sorrow there to make the vision dim, + And wash the mellow ripeness from the cheek; + No guilty deed to brand the heart with shame, + And write its direful sentence on the brow; + No rankling venom struggling through the veins, + And blasting all the kindliness within, + Till like a torrent bursting o'er restraint, + It spread its desolation on mankind; + But a pure regnant holiness and love, + Directing impulse with most queenly sway + To ends of tenderness and charity; + A nature purified by fellowship + With angels and bright ministers of Heaven, + That wander thither from their homes above + On missions of benignity and grace. + And in this pleasaunce, as by holy need, + There reigneth deep communion of soul, + That frameth as it were one atmosphere + Of joy, and hope, and blessedness for all; + No selfish pleasures fluttering before + To woo satanic emulation forth, + But all combining for one common weal, + Moved still by sympathetic influence. + + How passing beautiful must they not be, + Thus dower'd with Virtue's highest attributes, + That from the spiritual springeth up + A living fount of light and loveliness. + Soul is the life of Beauty, as the sun + Is of the universe it luminates. + O what were matter, fashioned ne'er so fair, + But for the beaming of that quenchless light + That plays around it, like the radiance + Of heaven's own glory stamped upon its work? + What were the charm of the soft arching brow + White as the snow-flake 'neath its golden braid? + What were the dimpled cheek with roseate shades + Spread o'er it like the budding of a flower, + The lips' ripe crimson, and the melting eye, + Unbrightened by the sunshine from within, + The emanations of seraphic thought, + And full emotion, kindling into life + Light, grace, the temple that they glorify? + Oh Death! when thou dost bear the soul away + The charm is shattered--the illusion gone! + Ay, they are beautiful, and as bright forms + Make fair the mirrors that they image in, + So are their courses glorious and glad. + Still doth their swelling harmony ascend + In thrilling cadence to the gates of heaven, + Making the air about them sweet with joy, + As summer's breath with floral incense fumes; + And every echo learns the words of love, + And wonders at its sweet deliciousness, + Repeating o'er and o'er the honied tones + Till they infuse into their secret souls. + + O ye bright orbs! your shining would be dimmed + By sin and all its pallid consequence, + Till scarce a glimmer fluttered on the sky + To 'lume the dreamer to your sadden'd sphere. + But ye have held your priceless birthright sure, + And walk among the panoply of heaven, + Clear and true-hearted as the sons of God. + Yet may we gaze upon you from afar + As the unstained gaze on the innocent, + Lovely and peerless in their purity, + Smitten and wondering with humbleness + Of that which is your everlasting dower; + Quenching within us pride and earthliness + Before the glance of your serenity; + Aspiring ever for the spirit life, + That casting off this fleshly tenement, + With all its weakness and infirmities, + Entereth on the cycle of the just, + Unstained, immortal, glorious and strong! + + + SCENE. _A Grove--Noontide._ + + MAN. + + There is no place so sweet as the greenwoods + In summer, heaven and earth awake with sounds + Melodial; the ripple of the breeze + Amongst the sun-green leaves, and pliant boughs, + Just like the rustle of young summer's dress; + The songs of birds, and the low mystic hum + Of bees amongst their floral treasuries; + Sweetest of all, the cool and liquid tones + Of brooks--nature's true-hearted bards, who draw + Bright inspirations from a pebbled ridge, + And frame them into sweetest melody. + There's poetry in every pendent leaf + If we could read them truly; but our hearts + Grow strange to nature's language in the world, + Nor can translate their heaven lore. Ev'ry change + From bud to full-blown ripeness, thence again + To sereness and decay, is as the flow + Of a short tale, whose moral is life's history. + The woods were made for poets and all dreamers, + Men who philosophize Time's hour-glass down, + And younger grow, till with the last shot sand-- + They die. The very leaves are fanciful, + And write their maxims on the sward in sun + And shadow. Here I'll lay me down and dream + An hour away amongst these violets! + O my heart joys to gaze upon the sky + Gleaming athwart green leaves, like happiness + Above the gloom and shadow of the world! + Then, thought first feels its attribute divine, + And like a callow eagle spreads its wings, + And makes its rest amid the lumin'd heavens. + The lark sings poized above me in the sun, + Like Moslem in his gilded minaret + Calling the faithful unto matin prayer. + There would my spirit follow thee, sweet bird, + Ling'ring for ever in the midway air, + Earth shrouded 'neath me by ascending mists, + And sunny-crested cloudlets, like the base + Of bright Imagination's airy halls, + Whose roof is the star-fretted empyrean: + Thence let the world hear my full gushing joy, + And thrill at pleasures they can never know, + Hear the sweet tumult of my throbbing breast, + Like a clear spring of joyance bubbling up + And overflowing time and space with streams; + Whilst I, wrapt in my own high blessedness, + Drain the sweet nectar shareless and alone. + + SPIRIT. + + The lark is beauteous in its skiey home, + Amid the confluence of heaven's brightest rays + Singing for heaven and earth undying hymns + Of beauty, and deep-hearted tenderness; + But more, when sinking on its own sweet song, + It flutter, jubilant, to its soft nest + Couched in the lowly bosom of the earth. + And so it is with life. Man may build up + A pillar of misanthropy and self, + Raising him, statue-like, above his kind, + And emulate the monumental stone + In coldness and stern-browed indifference, + But in the paths of love, and sympathy, + And lowly charity, true glory lies, + The substance of all joy and happiness. + Let not thy spirit spurn man's fellowship, + And force the stream of kindness up life's steep, + Till, 'mid the rocky peaks of Thought it flow + Unmargined by the verdant bloom of Act. + Shun Self! 'tis like the worm a rosy bud + Folds in its young embraces till it gnaw + The heart out. Nature's is no volume writ + For his interpreting who measures still + Her wisdom by the inverted standard rule + Of his own barrenness and blind conceit. + There's not a flower but with its own sweet breath + Cries out on selfishness, the while it gives + Its fragrant treasures to the summer air; + And not a bird within the greenwood shade, + The burden of whose gentle minstrelsie + Is not of love and open-hearted joy. + The blest of earth are they whose sympathies + Are free to all as streams by the wayside, + Cheering, sustaining by their limpid tide, + The weary and the footsore of the earth. + + O summer sunshine! floating round all things, + Meadow and hill and leafy coverture, + Steeping all Nature in most sweet delight, + Till upward from the bosom of the earth, + Before so cold and blank and unadorned, + Spring fairest flowers to gladden and adore-- + That fillest the blue vault of heaven with smiles + As of a mother smiling on her child, + Pure, holy, without guile or artifice, + Melting the spirit of each fleeting cloud + From darkness unto beauty and soft grace-- + Thou art the emblem of that perfect love + That sheddeth joy around it evermore, + And from whose sweetness rise all gentle thoughts + As scent from vernal flowers; that in the heart + Waketh all goodness by a magic spell, + As the fine touch of blindness makes a page + Start into instant light and eloquence. + Cherish thou kindness ever, for this life + Would be most blissful if its sunshine came + To strengthen on Endeavour to its aim. + + MAN. + + Methinks there is no blessedness in life + More full than that which springs in solitude; + A fount unruffled by the outer world, + Unmingled with its honey or its gall; + But welling through the spirit silently, + Like a pure rill within a garden's bounds. + Let my life float, like the sad Indian's lamp, + Along the waves of Time, unpiloted + Save by the breath of heaven, and the stirred tide, + Till when its course be run it sink to rest + Beyond the ken and fathoming of man; + Let me not be a legend mouthed about + By empty gossips o'er their clinking cups, + Who tell the last sad tale and with a smack + Turn to the merits of the passing wine. + 'Twere something to be wept for by the young + And beautiful, but tears are things that dry + Sooner than dew upon the waking flowers, + Leaving the heart e'en gladder for their flow. + O could my life subside into a dream + Rising amid the stillness of calm sleep, + Filling the soul with radiant images + Of love, and grace, and beauty, all serene + And shadowless as yon blue sky is now!-- + Would that the outward shows and forms of things + Could melt away from cold reality + To the warm brightness of the spiritual, + Losing the grossness of this present world, + As a fair face doth mirror'd in a glass-- + And thus, reposing in seraphic trance, + Let the few years of earth's existence pass, + Like minutes in the quietness of sleep, + And waken to the glorious dawn of Heaven, + Refreshed, and scatheless from mortality. + + SPIRIT. + + Thy wish, attain'd, would brand thee deep with shame; + Life was not made to rust in idle sloth + Until the canker eat its gloss away, + But like a falchion to grow bright with use, + And hew a passage to eternal bliss! + Canst thou stand 'fore that glory of the sun, + That like God's beacon on Eternity + Wakeneth up Creation unto Act, + And sheddeth strength and hope, to cheer them on, + Yet rebel-wise cast down thine untried arms, + Ere foes assail thee, or thy work be done? + No, there's a power within the soul that yearns + For action, as the lark for liberty, + Pursuing ever with insatiate thirst + And aspiration, some unsubstant aim. + There is assertion of the rule divine, + That rest must follow labour as the night + Closeth the turmoil of the wakeful day; + Then let the bright sun lead thee like a king + With dauntless heart to struggle and o'ercome, + Uncheck'd by mischance or poor discontent, + That shrivels up a monarch to a clown, + And rends his purple into beggar's rags. + Let no alluring plea of sensuous ease + Draw thee away from honour's rugged path, + Till sleep fall on thee from the wings of death, + And bear thee to sweet dreams and Paradise! + + MAN. + + How sweet it is to read fair Nature o'er + Reclining thus upon her gentle breast, + Like a young child that in her mother's face + Traceth the motions of deep tenderness, + Listing the murmurs of strange melodies + That wander ever round her fresh and clear, + Whence the sweet singers of our earth have caught + Rapt harmonies and echoed them for aye! + What study is like Nature's lumined page, + So glorious with perfect excellence, + That like the flowing of a mighty wind + It fills the crevices and deeps of soul! + + No upper chamber and no midnight oil + For me, to throw dim light upon the scroll, + Whose feeble pedantry dulls down the soul + From high imaginings to senseless words; + But for my lamp I'll have the summer sun + Set in the brightness of the firmament; + My chamber shall be canopied by heaven, + Gemmed by the glory of the fixed stars, + And round it floating evermore the breath + Of nascent flowers, and fragrant greenery: + And for my books, all lovely things in Earth + And air, and heaven, all seasons and all times. + The Spring shall bring me all the thoughts of youth, + Its budding hopes and buoyant happiness; + 'Twill sing me lays of tenderness and love, + That are the first sweet flowers of childhood's days, + And win me back to purity and joy + With the untainted current of its breath. + Summer will be the volume of the heart, + Expanded with the strength of growing life, + Swelling with full brimm'd feeling evermore, + And power and passion longing to be forth; + 'Twill tell of life quick with the seed of thought, + Rising incessant into bud and bloom, + And shedding hope and promise over Time, + Like the sweet breath that tells the mariner + Of fragrant shores fast rising in his course. + Then Autumn, glorious with accomplishment, + The harvest and the fruitage of the past, + Stored with the gladness and the gain of life, + Or sadden'd by its unproductiveness; + And Winter like a prophecy would come + To warn me of the end that draweth nigh. + Each falling leaf that flutter'd from its bough, + Pale with the sereness of keen-biting frosts, + Would teach me that the ties of earth must loose, + One after one, the interests and joys + That made life's excellent completeness up, + Until the trunk, stripped of its verdant dress, + Stand in the naked dreadfulness of death. + Thus will my soul learn wisdom true and deep, + Not in the school of petty prejudice, + Where truth is measured out by interest, + And duty shrinks into expediency; + Not in the volumes of pedantic fools, + Who bind up knowledge, mummy-like, with terms, + That sunder'd, the enclosure turns to dust; + Not in the false philosophy of man, + Who speculates on causes and effects, + Yet thrusts his hand into the scorching flame, + And wonders that it singeth in the act-- + But from her teaching who can never err, + The Pure, the Beautiful, the Mother mind, + That in the fulness of her unsearch'd soul, + Shrineth all knowledge and all loveliness! + + SPIRIT. + + Ay! there are lessons of true wisdom writ + In every page of Nature, from the flower + Man treads beneath him as he wanders past, + The humblest and the weakest thing of earth, + Yet with its sweet breath rising on the air + To make the fragrance of the summer full, + Up to the rattle of the thunder cloud, + The voice of heaven heard rolling through the spheres + Till earth is dumb and stricken at the sound; + Then let thy heart lean to them reverently, + Knowing that action is the end of thought; + And thus from Nature bring thou precepts still + To guide thee nobly through this pilgrim world! + One deed wrought out in holiness and love + Is richer than all vain imaginings! + Let then her lore fulfil thee evermore, + And like high inspiration send thee forth + To prophecy aloud unto mankind + Of love, and peace, and verity sublime. + Let not disaster daunt thee, nor reproach, + No feeble yelpings of the toothless curs + That follow on the heels of all who walk + The highways of this world in faithfulness, + And strength, but like a wild swan on the wave + Let every billow swelling round thy breast + Raise thee in spirit nigher unto heaven! + + + SCENE. _A Grove--Sunset._ + + MAN. + + O, Earth is beautiful! In such a scene + The everlasting curse that sin entailed + Strikes on the heart by contrast, as though heaven + Rolled back its portals till the holy wrath + Of God burst on Creation. All is still + Save the rapt nightingale, that sings to rest + Earth's warring multitudes, and this bright rill + Whose voice is eloquent as poesy. + The very breeze is hush'd that stirr'd the leaves + To pleasure, and the golden clouds float on + As though an angel steered them o'er the plain + Of heaven. It is a blessed thing to feel + The melody of silence in the woods, + When outer life is hushed, and in the heart + The echo of its murmurous sweetness sounds, + As in the pauses of a song the harp + Still vibrates. 'Tis a test by which the soul + Lies open unto Nature, for its frame, + Impure or guilty, unto discord turns + Those tones of peace and harmony. Perchance + These woods ne'er heard the voice of man till now, + Nor know the motion of his jarring thoughts. + I feel the weight of judgment o'er my head + If, Adam-like, I bring the brand of guilt + On this unfallen Paradise. In sooth + This scene is rich in Eden loveliness, + And peace, and the rude din of jabbering crowds + Unheard as when Earth's generations yet + Lay in the womb of Time. How soft the air + Breathes with the scent of flow'rs, o'er which the dew + Hangs like a charm of sweetness! Ah, fair Earth! + 'Tis sad to die and leave thee e'en for heaven; + Yet the blue sky above is glorious, + And brings the spirit visions of bright scenes + Yet lovelier than this. There is a veil + Of dreamy beauty o'er it, from whose woof + The mystic star-eyes glimmer like a bride's. + In such an hour peace steals upon the soul, + Like the soft twilight o'er the toiling world; + There is no room for passion--strife would blush + As at the chiding of a gentle glance. + + SPIRIT. + + Eve brings forth bright thoughts from the soul, like stars + From the blue heavens. Its sweet serenity + Is as a boon of mercy from above, + Restoring rest unto a toil-doomed world. + Dost thou not turn from this to the pure calm + Of Heaven as by a spell? + + MAN. + + Ay! yonder cloud, + Bright with the last faint glances of the sun, + Bears my soul thither. + + SPIRIT. + + All the Beautiful + Points like the pilot-flower, magnetically, + To Heaven, where beauty is accomplish'd. Earth + Is but the reproduction of one form, + Whose perfectness is heaven, and thus the mind, + Unblinded by the blighting mist of sin, + Sees emblems of its everlasting hope + In Nature's loveliness. This quiet hour + When the calm'd heart cries truce unto itself, + And lays the weapons of resentment down, + And bitterness and anger, yields the bliss + That in completeness is the bliss of Heaven. + The Earth is ne'er so sweet as when it seems + By intuition to the soul like Heaven, + And in the spirit earthliness dissolves + Like mist before the sunshine. + + MAN. + + There's a power + Within the soul that makes it yearn to soar + Up to the Infinite, and, eagle-like, + Bask in the unveiled glory of the sun; + But this frame clogs its aspirations all, + Like gyves that press the struggling captive down. + Tell me of other worlds? + + SPIRIT. + + There is a world + Bright as yon star that flecks the wing of night, + And sheds its glory o'er the Universe, + Made up of such pure loveliness within, + That like a gem it glistens through the crust, + And makes heaven luminous. A chasten'd sound + Of never failing melody still floats + About it, like an ocean, undulating + To the sweet breath of summer scented airs, + From hill to dale and leafy-tufted woods, + That catch the humours of the golden sun, + And deck them in his livery. There falls + From the soft twilight gloom of sparry grots, + And crystal pillar'd caverns, many a stream + That breaks in light and music on the soul, + And like a diamond-sandall'd spirit glides + In beauty through the land, margined by flowers + That mirror in its tide, and seem like stars + In heaven. There are flowers everywhere, in vale + Hill-side and woodland, in the sun and shade, + That whether dreams be on them, or they wake, + Send evermore sweet incense to the heavens. + Sun-crested mountains, softened into grace + By the blue tints of distance, lend new charms + To verdant swarded valleys, in whose lap + As in a mother's bosom, waters lie + And ripple to the wooing of the winds. + The very clouds that scan the blue of heaven, + Fused sometimes by the sunshine as with soul, + Or flaked by the light fancies of the gale, + Form to the vision labyrinths of grace + And beauty, that melt into space, and spread + A hemisphere of magic o'er the orb-- + And thro' this world at morning, noon, and night, + A dreamy sweetness wanders, varying + From blessing unto blessing, that the sense + Of pleasure dull not with satiety. + + MAN. + + And it is habited? + + SPIRIT. + + By beings framed + After the model of all perfectness. + In some the majesty of strength sublime, + Rejoicing on the nervous power of life + Like the broad noontide sun, with glances bold + And open as the soul lies unto God, + And brows that thought wreathes with a glorious crown + Of fadeless immortality, which shines + Like lightning, playing round the arc of heaven. + And some there are as gentle and as fair + As flowers made animate, whose motions are + More graceful than the sweep of evening gales + O'er moonlit waters; and whose beauty fills + The air they breathe with sweetness, and to life + Is what the sunshine is to summer. All + Are filled with deathless spirits, capable + Of joy, and love, and holiness, that make, + Together, heaven's felicity. The strong, + Tho' they be trenched round with mighty thoughts, + Without one breach for weakness, in their souls + Feel the sweet want for love's pure tenderness, + That, like the dew, may soothe the eagle's breast, + And send it soaring nigher to the sun. + Thus to their lives they graft the fragile blossom, + Whose sweetness is an amulet to lay + Life's else perturbed spirit; so that all + Have oneness of necessity and good. + + MAN. + + O! I can compass spirit that could grasp + A star and dash it from its orbit, till + It flew through space eternally, and whelmed + Myriads of spheres in flaming ruin, yet + Cannot consummate that which is so light, + One hour's emancipation from this clod + To wander thro' such worlds. Which brightest orb + In heaven's wide treasury shines in thy tale? + + SPIRIT. + + Listen! e'en in this paradise there works + A mighty power of evil, conjured there + By acts of foreknown consequence. This rears + A standard of rebellion against God, + And whirls a giddy tide of interest + And pleasure to suck souls unto itself, + The centre--dashing sorrow like salt foam + To sterilize humanity. Yet still + There is a virtue, given to make its guiles + Shrink into ruin, like a withered leaf, + And pass the spirit scatheless. 'Tis a strife + Of spirit against spirit, whose result + Of loss or gain fashions eternity. + + MAN. + + O! it is fine to brace the spirit up, + To struggle with its foes, and feel it swell + Till it could shake a thousand demons off + As lightly as a lion doth the drops + That eve sheds on him. There's no joy like that + Of danger met, and danger overcome. + The soul is like a sword that rusts to lie + Inglorious in its scabbard, but will flash + Bright as the lightning in the battle field. + Spirit! will death transport to such a world? + + SPIRIT. + + Thou art upon it--It is earth--Itself + All lovely, but man's soul so warped and blind + He scarce can see her beauty, but still scans + The stars of heaven for that which lies displayed + Beneath his feet. The heart rears phantoms up + To overthrow reality, and make + Intention stand for Act. 'Tis well to boast + Of spirit warfare in another sphere, + Yet like a craven slight the trumpet call + That bids man up and strive in this. In life + There is a struggle evermore, wherein + The spirit grapples with such subtle foes, + That victory is glory infinite. + No crumbling stone to whet ambition on, + That 'neath the sapping of one wave of Time, + Melts to the substance of oblivion. + It is nobility to walk through life + With a stout heart and cheerful courage on-- + To look on sorrow with undaunted mien, + And smile away the fears that trouble brings-- + To bear unto the stricken solace sweet + As water to the wounded, and to be + A strength and an assurance to the weak. + Ay! life, like matter, is atomic, and + Man blows unto the winds what multiplied + Makes up the universe. This radiant earth, + Which, in its penitential moods the heart + Feels were a paradise if guilt were not, + Sprung from the womb of space, in perfectness + Co-equal with the fairest orb that holds + Vice-royalty in heaven for the sun; + Form, substance, seeming, and that vivid charm + Which is the soul of matter like in each. + Mind differs only, making fair seem dull + With what it glances through, and thus yon star + Viewed with man's callous nature, would resolve + Into reality as cold as Earth. + + O Earth! thou Beauty! and thou Wonderful! + That from thy bosom like a living womb + Bringest all forms of loveliness and grace + Into the gladness of the summer air-- + That givest to the winds that are the breath + And heaving of thy passion, winged thoughts + To root, seed-like, into the ground, and spring, + Bud, blossom, nourish'd ever by young showers, + And moon-distilled dews, until they make + Thine utterance odorous. That from thy soul, + As from an unseen presence of divinest light, + Dartest into the spirit subtle rays + That quicken life to blessing, as the breath + Of being stirreth the inanimate, + Making existence joy, and love, and power. + O woods! and rustling forests! Ye that send + Soft murmurs ever to the ends of heaven, + And from your breast, as from a poet's soul, + Issue all sweetest melodies of birds + And leafy eloquence. O springs! and streams! + Blithe hearted wanderers throughout the earth, + Tracing your footsteps still with flowers that rise + Like stars beneath the feet of Night. O hills! + O mighty mountains! round whose hoary brows + Gather the mystic clouds of heaven, like thoughts + Of unimagined wisdom, that are rocked + To slumber by the deep-songed hurricanes, + Sons of Destruction, and whose waking voice + Is the eternal thunder. O wide ocean! + Swelling for ever with the mighty throes + Of Nature's agony and ceaseless Act; + Emblem of Time and of Eternity! + Time the great worker, the Implacable, + That with the roll of human will and deed, + And hopes, and joys, and shatter'd purposes + Dashes relentless on! Eternity-- + The Pauseless, the Insatiate! the gulf + Whereto all motion, all existence flows, + Enters and ends. O sunshine! and cool shade, + And all that makes earth beautiful and sweet! + Soft moonlight! life's pure maidenhood, whose dreams + Are gleams of antenatal blessedness, + Witness for Earth's equality, and bid + The sister orbs of heaven cry "Hail!" to her. + + MAN. + + O Mother Earth! methinks I hear a voice + Sound 'mid the surging of the stars of heaven, + Like a clear trump athwart the mighty roar + Of falling waters. + + "Oh thou beautiful, + "Frail daughter of Immensity! that hangest + "Upon the bosom of dim night, at once + "A glory, and a brightness, and a shame-- + "That from the urn of everlasting love + "Drinkest of light and immortality, + "Like a fair child in waywardness and mirth, + "Triumphing in her loveliness; the swell + "Of thy rapt harmonies is mute in heaven, + "That once rang through the arches of all space, + "A wonder and an ecstasy; but still + "Thy path is with the glorious and pure, + "Spanning the empyrean with a jewelled zone, + "Making heaven beautiful, and with thy grace + "Charming to goodness, though thou act it not. + "Arise, O lovely fondling of the skies! + "Wake from the silence of thy fallen doom, + "Breathe forth thy sweetness to the longing air; + "The angels are about thee evermore, + "Like watchers o'er a stricken one, that hold + "A glass to catch the life-mist from her lips. + "Arise! and don thy bridal vestments pure, + "And lead the train of heaven to the morn! + "Art thou not beautiful, Daughter of Heaven?-- + "Beautiful as a bride before the sun, + "Gliding along the blue serene of space, + "Pensive and glorious; showering soft light + "Upon the path of heaven, as from the eyes + "Of downward-glancing cherubim. Arise! + "Stand in the light of lights, and bare thy soul + "Unto the searching of the undimmed spheres!" + + O, Spirit! are there angels hovering now + In the dim ocean of this twilight air? + + SPIRIT. + + There are pure angels ever round the earth, + As stars are round the azure dome of heaven, + In sunshine and in twilight and in gloom, + That with the sweetness of an unseen love + Circle humanity, and like the lark + Hid in the glory of the noonday sun, + Pour o'er the world heaven's constant tenderness. + Some in the soft-hued glimmering of dreams, + Through the unfolded lattices of sleep, + Steal to the soul in visions of delight, + Pure and benignant as the evening dew + That cools the bosom of the blushing rose. + Some all unseen, save in the blessed care, + That like a lover's arm, from life's rough way + Presses the serried thorns that choke it up; + But all as with an atmosphere of love, + And peace and strength encircling man, alike + Within him and without, that the foul breath + Of pestilent corruption touch him not. + Some are there who have loved and suffered much + For earth, as a fond mother doth who sees + Her babe die in her bosom; who have traced + Man to the precipital brink of ruin, + With open arms to charm him back from death, + Rejected and despised; who on the scroll + Of conscience, as with words of living light, + Stamp the pure precepts of a holy lore, + That sin obliterates and sets at naught. + + MAN. + + Oh! how polluted must man's spirit show + In contrast with these ministers of heaven, + That e'en beneath frail woman's purity + Dims like a taper 'neath the light of day!-- + Methinks if from our eyes sin's blindness fell, + And gave pure angels to our ravish'd sight, + Gliding around us clad in the bright robes + Of love and immortality, this earth + Would be like heaven. O! 'twere a blessed change, + And perfect as when Death's exulting sigh + Swoons through the empty chambers of the soul + His note of liberty. + + SPIRIT. + + 'Tis man alone + Makes Earth less Paradise; its frame is full + Of perfect blessedness, which to the pure + Were Heaven in all its fulness; but mankind + Are crimsoned o'er with sin, which like blood-stains + A soundless ocean could not cleanse away. + And thus all flesh must thaw back to the dust + From which it sprang, as ice doth unto water, + Before the soul is purified for heaven. + Men little dream how near heaven is to them + In possibility, how far in deed. + As little as they dream amid their mirth, + Death stalks beside them; that his shadow falls + In the same mirror where the maiden sees + The image of her loveliness, and flits + Amongst the whirl of revelry and show. + + + SCENE. _A rock overhanging the Sea._ + + MAN. + + A rock and the wild waters! 'Tis a spot + To moralize on life, and strip the world + Of all its gaudy trappings and false gloss, + That like the daubing on a wanton's cheek, + Crimsons the paleness of disease and shame, + And with life's semblance mocks a rotten heart. + + O wild, wild sea! eternal wilderness + Of strife and toil and fruitless energy! + Birthplace and Tomb! whence unto being spring + Successive myriads to run their race, + Rage, labour, and grow hoar, then pass away + With all their deeds and memories, and cede + Their petty sphere of inches to another. + O wild, wild sea! thou bosom of all passion, + And thought, and hope, and longing infinite! + That struggling ever from the riven caves, + And fathomless abysses of the Earth, + As from the cells of an awakened soul, + Fling your hoarse murmurs and aspiring groans + To the strong winged winds, that puff them on + In sport and in derision; that art stirred + To tumult and to madness by the breath + Of unseen currents, unsubstantial air, + That passes on, and leaves a foaming train + To wonder at the thing that angered them. + O wild, wild sea! soul of indifference! + Lashing eternally the rifted sands + And lonely shores about ye; swallowing + The wreck of man's dependence, and the life + That struggles with ye for the prize of love, + And joy, and sorrow, clinging round its soul; + That flowest on in coldness and self-aim + O'er the dissolving frames of countless waves, + That sink like generations, and so rise, + Pausing or stilling never, numb'ring up + A myriad selfish interests to make + Thy sum of being perfect. Man may read + The lore of human nature in thee, writ + Not with the pen of flattery, that gilds + The base past recognition, but all plain + And coloured only by its truthfulness; + The good and ill alike displayed, that lie + Within the sounding of its inmost soul. + O! thought might wander o'er this briny waste, + Dove-like, without one Ark whereon to rest + From the interminable ebb and flow, + As many a soul has flutter'd o'er the earth, + Weary and faint, as mine did till it found + A haven in the bosom of sweet love. + + SPIRIT. + + Then thou hast loved? + + MAN. + + Ay! so that life is bound + About by it, as by a Gordian knot, + Inseparable, until Death's sharp blade + Divide its inmost coil. There is a time + When all that sweeten'd youth and childhood dulls + And fades to nothingness, as the faint moon + Pales at the bright foreshadowing of morn, + And leaves heaven void, when every chord is dumb + That once made music in the soul, and life + Is still and silent, though it be the pause + That presages the storm and bitter strife, + Whose fury ofttimes bends the spirit down, + And strips it of its blossoms; Then to me + O'er the blank chaos of my being came, + As from the haunted chambers of deep thought, + A glorious presence--an imagined grace, + Whose footfalls as she rose pulsed thro' my heart + With tremblings exquisite. It was sweet Love, + The Blessed! the Indwelling! that doth make + A virgin firmament for its pure light, + Then at the pleading of its own deep want, + Shines forth in glory and in tenderness. + + Amongst the laughing and the gay I went, + Seeking for one to realize love's dream, + As mid the countless hosts of heaven the sage + Peers for the brightness of a new-born star. + Then, soft hands trembled in my palm, and forms + Graceful and rounded with the bloom of youth, + Flitted about me in the languishment + Of music and sweet motion; voices low, + And modulate from laughter unto sadness, + Hung on the air like perfume on the wind, + And eyes, flashing, and mild, and fond, spake too, + A very Babel of soft speech, and yet-- + I sighed. Life seemed to me a painted daub--all glare, + And show, and tinsel, where the eye in vain + Sought some green spot to rest on, till a mist + Swam o'er it as in gazing at the sun. + + SPIRIT. + + Man ofttimes palms an artificial life + Upon the heart for that which is the true, + Though to the real it be what a flower + Is to its mimicry, a tinted rag + Unsweetened by the breath of summer's love. + Joy flows alone from an _untroubled_ spring, + Unstirred by the false whirl of giddy dreams, + That send the dregs of passion through its veins. + + Amid that gay assemblage many wore, + Perchance, a laughing vizard o'er a heart + Empty and sad; many a vacant smile, + Like a sun-ray upon the winter's snow + That freezes yet beneath it. Some there were + Who flutter'd round its glitter, like a moth + That takes a petty rush-light for the sun; + And few who let the honest heart appear + Unveiled mid Fashion's frigid masquerade. + Didst thou look deeper than the outward guise? + + MAN. + + Ay! some there were so lovely, that the eye + Dreamt of them in its night, when they were gone; + But when I search'd them, like a single flower + The outer blossoms parted, and showed nought within. + + Oh! then I fled, as one whose own wild thoughts + Bid him outstrip the curbless winds of heaven, + And storm the bulwarks of sublime desire. + Want grew within me as a famine grows + With every hour that fleets unsatisfied; + But in my wanderings there rose a spot, + Where man had wrought pure nature's counsel out, + Nor reared a shrine to mock her loveliness; + Yet this I heeded not, for there was one + Who came to me on sudden with such joy + That I stirred not, but like one weak with thirst, + Let the life draught flow o'er my powerless lips. + + O! yet I see her, with those blessed eyes + Slaying my soul with beauty; eyes so deep, + That in their azure ocean of soft light + Thought shrank into a fathom length; and smiles, + Stealing their sweetness from a heaven of love, + And joy, and immortality within, + Whence all emotion, angel-like, came forth, + Clad in a vesture of celestial light. + Her face beamed on me like a glimpse of heaven + Caught in the rapture of prophetic trance, + That in all day-light thoughts, and shaded dreams, + Haunts the deep soul for ever. As she went, + Grace lapt its mantle o'er her, like the gold + On fleecy-bosomed clouds in sunny skies. + O Spirit! she was beautiful! a thing + Guileless and pure, as though her youth had past + With Heaven's own children in the light of God, + Thence come to make a paradise of earth, + And breathe the transports of transcendant bliss + Like floral exhalations through my soul. + + And I--I loved her with the love of heaven, + That melts down time and space, and all between, + And clasps an essence in the soul's embrace; + And from her being there would ever flow + Full streams of holy melody, that lapt + Earth, air, and heaven, and all terrestrial forms + With charms bright as heaven's new-created light. + And as she gazed on the blue firmament, + And shrined the stars with her pure thoughts, and dreamt + Of that which lay beyond; I gazed on her, + And drew Elysian theories of Heaven, + As though borne thither by wing'd seraphims. + Oh! what is there in love that wreathes all things + With an unfading halo of sweet light, + Making the mystery of Nature clear? + + SPIRIT. + + Love, like the sun, clears from the soul all clouds + That darken understanding, and wrap earth + Round with a misty curtain, through whose folds + The lineaments of beauty glimmer forth + In undefined luxuriance. 'Tis a spell + That brings by sympathetic influence + The soul-deep glory from the universe. + All things are beautiful to those who love, + Whether in mind or matter. Life becomes + A pathway of soft light and radiance, + Whereon the spirit glideth unto heaven + As angels up the sunshine. Thought and deed + Are blessed in the framing and the act, + Fashioned and temper'd with pure charity, + That knits man unto man, and grants the weak + Exemption from the thraldom of the strong;-- + And things inanimate, that yet are pierced + Through with the spirit of eternal love, + As with a life that circulates and glows + In ruddy currents throughout all their frame, + By gracious intuition stand revealed + In all the plenitude of Eden charms. + Then Nature's language reaches to the heart, + As through the modulations of a song + Sweet thoughts flow o'er the spirit. What was fair + Seems fairer, what was vividless grows bright. + + MAN. + + Ay! she made all things beautiful to me, + Drawing, with youth's pure privilege, the sting + Of guilt and wrong from life--'twas as the sun + Rose on a sphere seen but by night before. + Ah! bitter image of a transient thing, + That shineth with Promethean glory, then + Sinks 'neath the shadow of Eternity! + Oh Spirit! day by day I saw her fade, + The life within her grew more spiritual, + Triumphing in the weakness of the flesh, + And in her eyes supernal brightness shone, + As from the glory of approaching heaven. + Dear child! that kisses could not keep awake, + Or woo from the sweet love of Mother-land. + She lay within these arms, and angels came + And whispered her away with them to Heaven, + So softly, that I knew it not, but still + Murmured my heart to her. To sense she lay + Upon my breast, and yet she was in heaven; + This but the earthly mantle she had shed. + There were those silken locks that curtained her, + And her sweet lips that I had kissed but now; + From whence, as from a living spring of love, + Trickled pure heaven streams o'er my life's dull waste. + But Oh! I kissed the soft lids from her eyes, + And knew my desolation, for the soul + That was their soul, as light is day's, no more + Stood in their dewy portals, like a queen + Swaying true-hearted multitudes. Oh heaven! + 'Twas wonderful to fold her thus unto me, + With life's ripe bloom upon her cheeks, and grace + Clinging round her like a bridal robe, + Yet feel that she, the verity, the self, + Was floating, worlds-off, on the stream of souls + To God. Oh mind! 'tis ever thus with thee! + Thou graspest at material shadowings, + Whilst that the immaterial substance of all good + Flies from thee like a vapour from the wind; + So that thou hast a clod within thine hand, + Life seems eternal, till the crumbling dust + Runs through thy clenching fingers, and thy gage + Mocks thee up from the mould'ring frame of Earth. + There is no mystery like Death; it comes + Sightless as the first breath of infant life, + And goes to an unsearched Eternity-- + The End and the Beginning are alike. + + SPIRIT. + + Death strikes upon the soul the last deep chime, + That tells it Time's short hour has passed away, + Eternity's undialled course begun; + There is a trackless ocean round this life + Whose tide is tremulous with unseen gales, + And storms that lash it off to fury--shades + Of deep chaotic darkness ever hang + Above it, like the thunder crags of heaven, + And sounds, as of the swooning of a blast + Through time-worn caverns, flap their heavy wings + On the white foam crest of the surging waves. + O man! that standest on the pinnacle + Of life's abysmal heights with failing heart + And reeling brain, gaze on that troubled gulf-- + It is thy pathway to the Better-Land, + Which thou must traverse with a sea-bird's flight, + Whose rest is on the bosom of the storm. + Ay! 'tis a fearful plunge! Now think of Death-- + There is an angel merciful and strong, + Hovering ever o'er the weary world, + That foldeth in his arms the weak, whose feet + Totter upon the brink of the Inane, + And, like a mother, wafts them from Earth's strife + Into the bosom of eternal rest; + Is he not merciful who spares so long + The guilty for repentance, and the pure + Transplants in all their purity to heaven? + Death harms not aught that's lovely, that poor frame + Is mere corruption, which the soul makes fair + By luminous infusion, and the soul + Feels not Death's breathing on its healthful bloom, + But like a virgin doffs its earthly veil, + And gives its fullest beauty to the light. + + MAN. + + O Spirit! tell me, shall we meet again + As those who have loved well in Time; or drop + All memories of Earth with the sad dust + The soul shakes from it at the gate of heaven? + 'Twere bitter to regard her angel there, + Unknown, and lost amid the myriad host + Of spirits glorified! + + SPIRIT. + + The soul is wrought + In an eternal mould, which still remains + Unscathed 'mid the vicissitudes of flesh; + And the same power that makes identity + 'Twixt man and man, being the soul within, + That constitutes the _Self_ of every man, + Bears its distinctive features when it sheds + The crysalis of frail humanity; + They who have loved on Earth will love in Heaven, + Through each the current flowing unto God, + Thence shed again in blessing on their souls, + As from clear tided springs a summer cloud + Gathers its dewy freight to yield again, + In sunny showers upon the native earth. + + True Love is Earth's blest blessedness. All else, + Wealth, fame, nobility, and the poor gauds + Wherewith man trinkets out his little life, + End with the dust that rattles on his bier; + But Love, like a rich heritage, ascends + With the freed spirit to the throne of God, + There to be perfected and purified + To commune with the Children of the Light. + Therefore love much on Earth, keeping the heart + Pure from the rank pollutions of the flesh, + That like a mould'ring bank hangs loose above + To launch its filth upon each errant wave; + Let thy love circle wider with all time, + Like the light ripple round a pebble plunge, + Wider, and wider till the swells subside + In the calm fulness of Eternity. + The love of heaven flows in _one_ stream to God, + As from a fountain'd unison of soul + Wherein all spirits blend inseparably; + There is no isolation but in Time, + For Death that units out mortality + Like minutes on a dial, now, will break + His arrows 'mid the ruins of the Earth, + Proclaiming _everlasting_ life and love, + The consummation of all unity. + + + SCENE. _Hill and Dale--Morning._ + + MAN. + + The breath of morn is stealing o'er my brow + All redolent of life, and health, and joy, + As the first breeze that fans the prisoner's cheeks, + And welcomes him to Liberty. The Earth + Is yet in her sweet childhood innocence, + Ere the dark cloud of worldly interests + Obscure her taintless heavens, and the blue mist, + Which is the spirit of the rising dew, + Hangs o'er it like the sadness of first love, + That makes youth beautiful. The lark is up + And singing like a disembodied soul + Within the brightness of the blessed sun, + Telling of naught but heaven and happiness; + There is no dew upon her bosom now, + For the young beams have kissed it utterly; + Yet over flower, and bud, and blade there lies + The crystal tissue, trembling with soft light, + As the young day moves gaily up the sky, + And sheds his guerdon o'er the waiting Earth. + + O what a charm there is in purity, + Of morn, life, love, and nature all. This scene, + So clear and calm and peaceful, that it fills + The soul with its o'erflowing blessedness, + Pales 'neath the glare of noon, and man's rude lust, + To scarce the semblance of its former self. + But with the heart--O God! Thy richest gift + Is Innocence, that like a quenchless spring + Of everlasting light, encircles life + With beauty and unfading radiance, + Keeping all sense and feeling fresh and sweet + As the untainted breathing of the morn. + + How lovely is all nature, separate + From man! There is no whispering of strife + Or sorrow here, naught to inform the soul + Of man's deep wretchedness and sin. No lust + To justify the wretch who binds his soul + In the drear darkness of a murky cell, + Scraping for gold as beasts do in the earth + For carrion, and counting life-time out + By ducats; closing house and heart alike + To the benignant sunshine. If our hearts + Could lave in Lethe's cleansing stream sometimes, + Till evil vanished from its memory, + And left a virgin tablet for the pen + Of Nature, life would be as sweet as love. + + What far extremes of woe and blessedness + This earth can yield! The woe create, the joy + Begotten from a never failing womb; + Woe! fashioned out of craft, and guile, and sin, + That hungereth for prey, till, as it were, + The mother eats the babe that sucks her breast; + The joy! inherent and diffused like light + From the eternal glory of the sun, + Gather'd from all things, sight, and sound, and sense, + E'en from the very breeze that whispers us + Of yielded sweetness and unhoarded gifts. + + O God! preserve my heart emancipate + From all world feelings that must die with Time, + Like things unworthy of Eternity; + Sow in my spirit seed that may spring up + And bud and increase throughout life, until + It blossom fully in the light of heaven, + Grant that the evil of the world may ne'er + Harden my heart against the sweet impress + Of Beauty, that beholding there, she see + No mirror'd image of her loveliness! + + Methinks life were a curse if separate + From loving of the Good and Beautiful! + To gaze upon that azure dome, so blue + And penetrate with sunshine through and through, + As lover's eyes with fondness--the far hills, + And sun-green meadows sloping to the stream + With tints of bosky shadows, yet not feel + A motion in the spirit, like the tide + Of waving woodlands rippled by a breeze; + Better return to dust from which we sprang, + And bid the winds of heaven scatter it! + + SPIRIT. + + Love Beauty: let it be an atmosphere + Above thee and around, whence comes the breath + Of life and health and gladness. Yet beware + Thy love be not an ideality, + That, like the smile upon a sculptur'd lip, + Freezes upon the stone nor sheds abroad + The genial influence of a loving heart. + There is an aim still nobler than the love + Of Beauty; to show Beauty forth in _act_, + And _life_, that like some fertilizing stream + It glide flower-margined to Eternity. + Beauty quiescent loseth half its charms, + As a blue eye when sleep hath closed its lid; + But in its operation, 'tis a star + That leaves a track of glory on the sky; + Worst miser he who hoards up in his soul + The blessed wealth of Beauty and repels + Unbenison'd the weary at his gate. + + There is a way to make life glorious, + And nobler than the heritage of kings, + Though thy path lie along a vale in life, + With mountain pride reared up on either side-- + To make thy march triumphant, trailing not + The colours of thy Purpose in the dust-- + And be received as victor into heaven. + Set Beauty in thy soul like a sea-light + To warn thee from the rocks and shoals of wrong, + And guide thee surely to thy journey's end; + Let her pure promptings stablish in thy heart + A living spring of motive, that may flow + Through thought and action, like the veined life + Through man and all his members; not for praise + Let thy work be, nor gain, but heaven and right, + And for the feeling of that sweetest sense, + That from thy sowing springeth up no tare + Of grief or bitterness, but goodly fruit + That nourisheth the heart, and gives it strength + To combat manfully for life and truth; + Look manhood in the face unblanchingly, + With no rose-coloured veil 'twixt it and thee-- + With pure integrity to match the great, + And humbleness to poize thee with the small; + Look at its guilt and shame, as on deep wounds + Wherefrom a life is flowing; seek thou then + To staunch them in thy measure; mark its wrongs, + The burden of oppression and the toil + That grind the sand of life down till it run + Like water through the mighty glass of Time, + And let thy voice come like a trump to call + The faithful to the rescue. Find the weak, + And weary, and the desolate of heart, + Faint with the sorrows and the cares of life, + And let no act add to their bitter cup + One drop of gall, but like a priest do thou + Tell them of hope and peace, and gladden them + With that blest balm, pure kindness, which transforms, + With more than Magian art, the meanest act + Into the brightness of the summer sun!-- + Doth not this quiet hour fall on thy soul + Like music dropping from the spheres? + + MAN. + + Ay! sooth + It is most sweet! Methinks that such a time + Were meeter far for lover's tryst than eve, + When the dark night must sadden o'er their vows, + And hide them from each other. Now, all things + Are pure and beautiful as love should be, + The dew of youth fresh on them, and though life + Should darken o'er with clouds as it roll on, + Still love would light them on, like the bright guide + Of Israel, to the promised land of rest. + 'Tis beautiful, love plighted in the morn + Of life, when not a shadow dims its heaven-- + Plighted for good or ill, as fate may rule, + Enduring alike true through sun and storm, + Save when the cold blast sweeps across the way, + It knits them only closer heart to heart. + + SPIRIT. + + Love is no faint exotic made to bloom + In the close summer of a glassy frame, + That at the first breath of the unquelled air + Shrivels up like a parchment in the flame. + No! let it stand upon the mountain's brow, + And bid the untamed winds make sport of it; + Yet though they drive it 'fore them in their might, + 'Twill be like the strong eagle that exults + In the wild rapture of his headlong swoop; + The strongest and the tenderest is Love! + + MAN. + + Now as I gaze upon this cloudless sky, + So soft and tranquil, mem'ry paints to me + One whose life bid as fair--that my heart said + Beholding her--"O flower! so bright and sweet, + "With the pure dew of maidenhood bestrewn, + "Thy life will be unfolded like the rose, + "That leaf by leaf adds sweetness to the spring!" + She was most beautiful! but more in this, + That she moved like an angel, minist'ring + To joy and peace and charity. The weak + Rejoiced before her as the embodied smile + Of Providence, and sadden'd when she pass'd; + And yet one short, short year and she was gone, + Her heart pierced through with thorns, who ne'er had borne + The semblance of a sorrow into life. + Is there no armour against sorrow's sting? + + SPIRIT. + + The highway of this world is set with thorns, + O'er which poor pilgrims still must journey on; + There are who walk it shod with iron sense, + That crushes opposition like a vice, + And puts aside the ready points like twigs + Pressed backward in the woodlands by a child. + There are who seem buoyed upward by some power + Above the level of affliction's range, + Until their term be run, and then they fall + Into the bosom of the angel Death. + And there are some whose tender feet are pierced + Evermore deeper by the rugged path, + Whose softness and whose beauty nigh invite + The cruel spoiler to his unarmed prey, + As the swift hawk high poized in the sky, + Swoops when the dove floats past on silv'ry wings. + + There is a veil upon the eyes of men, + That makes all things show dimly, but if rent + Would work like resurrection on the mind, + Bringing to life thoughts dead in doubt and error; + Thus, standing on the bridge of Time, which spans + The gulf 'twixt two eternities through which + Flows ever on the tide of human life, + That troubled stream would seem a sea of glass, + And all its thick impurities appear + Clear as the outline of a floating corpse; + Gaze down upon it though it sicken thee. + + There cometh one beneath whose ermined pride + Stalks the corruption of a charnel-house, + Where fest'ring flesh lies in its cloth of gold, + E'en yet the wonder of the gaping crowd. + Upon his brow the jewelled circlet rests, + His only title to nobility; + But that, unto the vulgar, symbols still + The orbit of the everlasting sun, + That fills and glorifies a universe--of clay. + Where is the mind that should have overtopp'd, + Saul-like, the level of the multitude? + Where the bold front that in the breach of wrong + Stemm'd the fierce current of insidious foes, + Flashing Truth's falchion in the van of Time? + Shame! it hath rusted in its scabbard, till + The nerveless arm can scarce withdraw it thence. + O Earth! rejoice that at his side there comes + An undimm'd light to beacon on the world; + One who upholds the honour of his line + Unsullied as the glory of the stars; + Whose voice rings clear above the battle strife, + And shakes oppression from his iron throne; + And for the purple, round his heaving breast + Folds like a vesture manly Honesty. + Is it not glorious the light that gilds + The hoary summits of the giant hills, + Spread like the standard of eternal Truth + O'er many phalanxed Ages--blazoning + The stalwart band that barrier'd from the world + The bitter fury of Heaven's huricanes! + Onward there come a thick'ning mass who drown + Defects and vices in a shower of gold; + Who crush report, like Rome the Sabine maid, + Beneath the burden of their molten wealth, + And 'neath their gilding flaunt them in the sun + Brightly as though there were no dross within; + So the eye sees them, but search thou the soul, + And part the sterling from the counterfeit. + Oh! for the sighing of the desolate, + The widow and the orphan in their woe, + Drown'd 'neath the clink of gold wrung from their need, + Like moisture from the crushing of the grape. + Oh! for the fruitless cry of misery, + The Tantalus of stern reality, + That feebly perisheth in Famine's grasp, + Whilst plenty moulders for the lust of pride, + And adds its rottenness to the hot-bed + Of wantonness and subtle infamy. + And yet the worker wears as fair a port + As he whose life is holy Charity, + Setting his footprints on the way of life + Like sunshine rippling o'er the summer sea. + Some wear their little merit on their sleeve, + Which 'neath the friction of Time's troublous waves, + Grows threadbare as the coat of beggary. + Some under rugged lineaments enclose + Treasures of truth and goodness, that like gems + Shine through the fissures of the strong Time-quake, + Showing more perfect as affliction works, + And sorrow rends the earthy covering. + Some are there with the sight turned inwards still, + Beholding but the narrow sphere of self, + And trampling under foot the weak who stand + Betwixt them and the goal of their desire. + Blessed the few who unto fellow men + Turn with the fervent grasp of Brotherhood, + Breasting the surges of tempestuous fate, + With souls fulfilled with kindliness and Faith-- + Raising the ensign of prophetic Hope + Like the clear rainbow on the thunder-cloud; + And 'mid the darkness of impending care, + Pouring the cheerful daylight of the soul! + There are sweet spirits mingling with the throng, + Marked out with sunshine, like the pouting waves + When heaven looks down in sun and shadow, hearts + So leaven'd through with grace and purity, + That though sin warp and sift them at its will, + Some hidden sweetness lingers yet to tell + The perfectness of Nature's handy-work. + Are they not as the ministers of heaven, + Liveried with beauty, and deep tenderness, + Missioned in mercy to this fallen sphere + Proclaiming peace and blessedness above; + Threading the ranks of Earth's fierce battle field, + Amid the clangour of death-darting steel, + Raising the wounded from their helplessness, + And bearing life draughts to the sinking soul! + O Mother Earth! thine arms will fondle her + When ingrate man hath drain'd her spirit dry, + Fashioned in weakness, yet in weakness strong + Where honour were the foeman, what is she + Before the onslaught of satanic serfs?-- + The mirror of her purity obscured, + Polluted by lust's pestilential breath-- + Pluck'd like a flower to while an hour away, + Then cast to wither on the barren ground, + Shattered and bruised beneath base passion's heel, + And all the clinging tendrils of her love + Torn bleeding from the stay round which they clung. + + Look thou upon that stream, rough with the whirl + Of crime, and woe, and wretchedness, that float + Like poisoned scum upon the driving flood, + Filling the breath of life with noxious blasts + That smite humanity with pestilence. + And tremble thou, though man discern it not, + Ten thousand times more foul it shows to God; + Then praise him for the twilight of thy sense. + Yet there is much of good and fair in life, + That like the glow upon the eastern sky, + Blazons the glory of approaching day. + + MAN. + + O! is not life then sweetest to the soul + In utter solitude, or that deep calm + When all of Earth, its cares and interests, + Are shaken from the spirit, as the moth + Doffs from its wings the natal crysalis + And wanders through the blue serene of heaven? + In this pure scene the din of man would sound + Harsher than discord amid melody. + Here no rude tongue should whisper of the things + Poor Earth bows down to worship--fashion, wealth, + And hollow mockings gilded by a name, + That makes the calf which browses on the plain + Turn to a god when moulded in the gold. + No thought should rise, that passing into speech + Might soil the purity of new-born flowers, + Fresh with the dews of morn and paradise, + But like an angel singing through the skies, + Wing the blue empyrean of the mind, + And break in music on the thrilling sense. + + SPIRIT. + + Is there no music in the gentle word + That falls in consolation on the sad, + Starting the crystal tear into the eye, + Filtrate through gratitude till there remain + Naught earthy in its brightness? Though the scene + Be as a plague spot on the face of earth + Sweet Charity can cleanse it, till it shine + Bright as the jewels in a monarch's crown, + That not the midnight of Earth's blackest sin + Can dim. All beauty emanates from soul, + And all deformity. The piteous straw + Where sickness writhes in suffering and want-- + The cold, bleak dwelling where the winds have will + To brag o'er man's debasement, if possess'd + In fortitude and patience, with the heart + Clear in its honour, stedfast in its faith, + Is to the eye of angels, beautiful as day; + And this fair spot with all its waken'd charms + Is purgatorial torture to the wretch + Whose life shrieks in him under conscience-stings. + + Let sunshine be within thee, and without + Summer will dwell in everlasting bloom, + Whether in light or darkness, in close cell, + Or 'neath the blessed canopy of heaven. + + + SCENE. _A Mountain Summit--Sunrise._ + + POET. + + 'Tis glorious to stand thus nigh to heaven, + And like a Prophet with the mark of god + Set on him for an everlasting work, + With outstretched hands, and earnest-hearted words, + To speak unto the Nations. This calm spot, + Emblem of Truth's serenity and peace, + With no hoarse dissonance to stir the deep + Of thought to passion, till the whirling waves + Swallow the love-steered purposes of soul, + And leave its being desolate--looks down + On Earth, and all its jarring multitudes, + Its miseries of soul and sense, as Earth + Looks on the distant glory of the stars, + All unparticipant of weal or woe, + Save as the glass is of its mirrored form; + Thus Action rises over Thought, and sets + Man over man preeminent for and great, + As mountains in the sphere of human life. + This were a throne meet for the Sent of God + To rest on, and give laws unto the world, + Rooted in the unshaken strength of Earth, + With man for footstool, and the disc of heaven + For canopy and witness to swell down + The quenchless words into the heart of Time; + Here to raise up the wand, and smite Earth's soul + Till streams of penitence and love gushed out + To wipe away her barrenness, and fill + The latent seeds of holiness with life, + To blossom for the harvest of the Angels. + + O Thou that from Thy throne set on the flood + Of measureless Eternity, dost bind + The mighty thunder in its misty cave, + And still'st its throbbings with a single word; + That break'st the chain which holdeth it, and send'st + It booming o'er the boundless Universe, + Thy minister to testify of Thee, + And shake the pillars of the firm-set Earth + With knowledge of Thy majesty and strength; + That with the trenchant lightning dost search out + The limits of immensity, and bare + Its inmost soul to Thy dread scrutiny, + Before whose holiness the sun grows dim, + And vanishes to nothingness like mist; + That bidd'st the winds sweep o'er the bounds of space, + Strong in the terror of Thy mightiness, + Till stars are shaken from their seats, like fruit + From the autumnal fulness of the bough; + Breathe Thou upon me till my soul be full + Of deathless inspiration, that may flow + In burning currents through all space and Time, + And stir up generations with warm life, + To battle for the cause of Truth and Heaven. + Let my words ring upon the sleeper's ear + Clear as the trump that wakes the dead for doom, + Fright him from false security and sloth, + And rouse the _man_ within him, though it be + Feeble and powerless as a creeping babe. + Let them break on the conscience of the base, + As billows break upon the shifting sands, + Crumbling the false foundations of his hope, + And sweeping all his theories to naught: + Let them rush swifter on him as he flees, + Circle him with their terrors everywhere, + Snatch from his clutching fingers every prop + That guilt or error flings him, till he fall + Into the waves of truth a drowning man + With not a straw to grasp at. Let them smite + Wrong and oppression like a gnawing blight, + Eating into the heart, till like dead leaves, + Shrivell'd and pow'rless, beggars tread them down. + Let them fall on the pure in heart like dews, + To strengthen and to nourish all sweet thoughts, + Raising the drooping and the weary up, + And adding sweetness to the path of life. + To all may they be wafted on the wings + Of love, not the false love that shines alike + On flower and weed, until the evil rise + To choke the good seed with its overgrowth; + But let deep kindness fill them utterly, + In comfort, or in sorrow, or in doom. + + Hard is their journey, and unsmooth their way + Who walk like pilgrims to eternal fame, + Raising for ever hymns of love and beauty, + Amid the jar and weariness of life, + Working through joy and sorrow equally + To stamp their names upon the world's great heart, + And piercing their own bosoms, like the bird, + For glowing streams to nourish it for aye. + Yet it is glorious to make this life + Great in the strength of Action, till it stand + A landmark and a guide immoveable, + To witness of the struggle and the end; + A life of thought is blossom without fruit. + + O Life! would I could map thy minutes out, + And give to each its purpose, like a king + To claim just tribute from futurity; + Would I could freight ye with such spirit power, + That, like a huge rock cast into the sea, + Ye sent Time waving back for evermore; + Would ye could track your footsteps out in deeds, + Like prints in the soft sands that heaven's decree + Changeth into the adamantine rock, + Till time nor tide can wipe the trace away. + Let my steps march right onward, pausing none + For pleasure or for folly, for the path + Is long, and difficult, and hard to walk, + And at its limit lies Eternity. + Let no false weakness clog me in the work, + And cramp the motions of my willing soul, + But let me gird my spirit up to run + Before the chariot of the speeding age, + A Prophet, and a Poet, and a guide! + + O! my heart thrills to that great watchword "Act," + To leave no record written on the sand + For the first wave to crumble into naught, + But to materialize on thought--to raise + A standard glorious with the sign of heaven, + And set it waving o'er oblivion; + To seize on spirit like a willow rod, + And bend and fashion it to perfect use, + Curbing its wayward fancies and desires, + Until it sway true to the Poet's creed; + To move Earth's multitudes with nervous power, + And burning eloquence, as leaves are swept + Before the breathing of a mighty wind, + Urging them on for Truth and Nobleness, + And leading on the van to show the way-- + No prating coward framing theories + For other men to build on, with "Do _this_" + For empty precept--but there, standing forth, + Set _deeds_ in the world's face, and cry "Do _thus_!" + + The Poet's life is action spiritualized, + Words sublimate by earnestness and truth + To the reality and force of deed-- + Falling upon the great world's soul like spells + That take the reason captive, and subdue + Its motions to the gentle sway of love. + His thoughts are like the moonlight that enshrines + All earth and heaven with beauty and soft grace, + Pouring rich floods of radiance divine + O'er life's reality of grief and pain, + Making e'en sorrow luminous and sweet, + And freighting sighs with gentlest melody. + His creed is--Love--Love perfect, uncontrolled; + Twining round all the good and beautiful, + As ivy twineth round the sapling oak, + Evermore growing with its growth more strong, + Till not e'en Death can tear those arms away; + Love--winging o'er creation like the morn + And show'ring light and beauty as it flies + O'er mountain, vale, and streamlet, equally-- + In flowery mead and desert solitude + Making itself a presence of delight, + A radiant glory sweeter than all forms, + All shows, all substance--rising in the soul, + Like water in the desert--heaven in death! + Opening the unseen gates of Heaven, till sense + Dream of its utter blessedness and peace; + Leading life onward like an angel pure, + Through strife and sorrow scatheless and secure, + Scattering joy around it evermore, + Like benisons shed from a mother's heart, + Making the weary and the bruized glad, + Wiping the tears from sorrow's clouded eyes, + And soothing pain like woman's tenderness. + + Let me love all things with a perfect love, + That would e'en coin its own heart-drops to pay + Life's ransom from the bitterness of woe, + Bear tenderly upon the weaknesses + Of flesh, and its oft seen infirmities, + And turn with hope and trustfulness to man; + Let me not be a stunted thorn on earth, + With jagged points to scare all fondness off, + Unsweeten'd by a blossom or a bud, + And branded deep with harsh sterility, + But like a soft wind breathing to and fro, + May love and sympathy wave through the Earth. + Life without love, is sorrow without hope. + + O Love! thou law of Heaven! thou joy of Earth! + That like the Star of Bethlehem dost rest + Above the cradle of a Poet's soul, + The witness and the seal of holy birth; + Before whose brightness all earth's shadows fade + Like fiends before the angel of the Lord; + That rend'st in twain the veil of doubt and fear + Shrouding the perfectness of heaven's pure bliss, + Till man may worship with unsmitten soul + Before the glory of the inner shrine; + O Love! the Quenchless! Pure! and Beautiful! + Be to me as the Prophet's cruize of oil, + That wasteth not, nor minisheth with use, + To nourish me through this life's famine time, + And strengthen me unto the poet's work; + Fold my soul throughly in thy sweet embrace, + In honour, or in sorrow, or in joy, + Filling it with thy holy influence, + As air is filled with sunshine at the noon, + Till all thought feel its blessedness and peace. + Thus would I furnish me for life's long march, + Arm for its dangers, cater for its wants, + Work out its ends with confidence and truth, + And rest unstained, unwearied at the goal! + + + + + ALCESTE. + + + I. + + Beautiful Florence! e'en thy very name + Falls on the ear with a strange magic spell, + As though upon the wings of Time there came + A breathing of sweet chances that befell + In days of old, all chronicled by Fame, + Whose faintest whisper makes the bosom swell + With kindred feelings, as a sea-flower waves + Concordant to the tale the ripple laves. + + + II. + + Thou art entwined with all lovely things + That bind a rosy chaplet round the earth; + The life of Poets, whose sweet utterings + Have the soft cadence of an angel's mirth; + The springs of genius--high imaginings + That are the wealth of ages, and the birth + Of Art, beneath whose vivifying wand + The stone, the canvas, animated, stand. + + + III. + + Thy very dust is hallowed, and we tread + The footsteps of the mighty, meeting ever + The prized memorials of the Living Dead, + Those whose sublimed spirits, waning never, + Hover around the struggling world and shed + Their blessings o'er it, which nor time can sever, + Nor can oblivion crush, but which endure + Strong in their greatness, in their truth secure. + + + IV. + + Would that some faint ray of the heavenly light + Shower'd on thy children now might rest on me, + Illume my twilight thoughts and grant me sight + Into the depths of Nature's poesie; + And tune my faltering tones to breathe aright + That which my heart so fondly feels of thee, + For 'twere a music sweet as heaven's own lays, + Could love's deep soul be cadenced in thy praise. + + + V. + + There was a garden sloping to the west, + Smooth'd downward from the giant Apennines, + The serried outlines of whose hoary crest + Blent with the distant heavens in mystic lines, + At eventide with golden splendours drest, + When the red sun its farewell greeting shines; + A palace topped it, from whose terraced height + Wound a broad stair of marble, snowy white. + + + VI. + + And paths went wandering beneath the sweep + Of Orange boughs and trelliced vines, whose leaves + Gave in their parting many a transient peep + Of the blue sky, as through soft-tinted eaves; + And oft they led to arbours shaded deep, + As are the nooks the midway forest weaves, + And carven forms of nymphs and dryads gleamed + Through leafy screens, as though a Poet dreamed. + + + VII. + + A fountain rippled in the midst, and threw + Coolness into the sky; the sculptor's thought + A quaint conceit--Aurora flinging dew + Upon the earth--the marble finely wrought, + Till through the Iris-tinted drops it grew + Warm with existence, all its fair limbs fraught + With grace and motion--'twas a thing so human, + The heart forgot the goddess in the woman. + + + VIII. + + Beside the marge of this fair fountain stood + A maiden tranced with its melting sound, + For rillet murmurs are to pensive mood + Sweet as the rain-drops to the thirsty ground. + Alas! that youth so soon should feel the rude + And merciless stinging of cold sorrow's wound, + That Nature's sweetest melodies should gain + The heart's full rapture through the ear of pain. + + + IX. + + She was a maiden, in whose gentle mien + The spirit mirror'd all its fairest hues, + As on the undimm'd summer sky serene + The noonday sun its golden splendour strews; + Her deep blue eye o'erflowed with tender sheen, + Like sadness through whose frame soft smiles infuse, + Whilst on her lip expression rippling lay, + And limned in silence what the soul would say. + + + X. + + Her's was a beauty vivified by grace, + That made each motion music to the eye, + Beam'd from the sunny sweetness of her face, + And tuned her accents all so tenderly, + That when Alceste spake the heart could trace + A woman's spirit full of motions high, + And kind, and noble, and whose inward bent + Sway'd to all courses pure and innocent. + + + XI. + + There were full many suitors who had sigh'd + Their amorous orisons before her shrine, + And with the flutter of a doublet vied + To win the smile they toasted o'er their wine; + There were full many who with blinded pride, + Deem'd that a title could the scale incline, + And flung their lordships, gauntlet-fashion, down, + Daring a Caesar to refuse a crown. + + + XII. + + But there was one who loved for love's own sake, + And treasured its dear sweetness in his breast, + Whose spirit thrill'd within him when she spake, + And bowed before her as the flower down-prest + By her light step, and who could ever make + A long day happy and a midnight blest + With brooding on a word, a smile, a glance, + That haply served to sun love's young romance. + + + XIII. + + They had been playmates in gay childhood's days, + When hearts are open as a summer flower, + And love had wound them slowly in his maze, + And knit them close ere yet they felt his power. + But once a-wandering by green-shaded ways, + The silence drew their souls out, and that hour, + Hand clasped in hand, and lip to lip united, + Their pure young vows of constant love they plighted. + + + XIV. + + What spirit fused into the blossom'd spray, + And wreathed about them in its waving scent? + What angel echoes tuned the thrushes lay, + And gave the tones such sudden ravishment? + For sure they ne'er were sweet as on that day, + Nor with such magic to the spirit went; + If it was love, then love is wondrous sweet, + The point of life where Earth and Heaven meet. + + + XV. + + Yet Love but drew the summer clouds away + That curtain'd heaven from their raptured eyes; + Still from attainment spread an ocean wide, + And bade them pause in sight of paradise: + Her father sternly his fond suit denied, + Nor soften'd to his prayers, nor heard his sighs; + So Julian shrined her image in his soul, + Till happier fortune brought them sweeter dole. + + + XVI. + + Now at Verona sojourn'd he a space, + Dreaming of her, as he must everywhere; + Unconscious of the woes that grew apace, + And soon might drive his spirit to despair; + Unconscious that his love in grief's embrace + Cradled her panting soul, nigh dead with care, + And wept at noontide, wept at dewy eve, + Till e'en the light that saw her seem'd to grieve. + + + XVII. + + There was a suitor, who with crooked frame + Crawled in the race for beauty; thither prest, + Not 'fore the gaze of heaven, but as in shame + Hid he the purpose in his own dark breast, + And serpented his motions to his aim, + Like one who stabs a victim in his rest; + For still the heart must feel in its calm time, + That to crush love's true spirit is a crime. + + + XVIII. + + One midnight gather'd round the fatal board + Where wealth's death rattle echoes in the dice, + Her sire, Amieri, with some others pored + In full abstraction of the cursed vice. + Each golden piece raked from his precious hoard, + Froze the vext heart-pulse of the wretch like ice. + There was no sound save the cold ring of gold, + That broke the stillness as a knell had toll'd. + + + XIX. + + Amieri staked, and lost, and staked again, + Drawn, fascinated, to his ruin fast, + Imploring fortune to his aid in vain, + Till, desperate, he staked all on one cast, + And lost--was ruined--and fell down as slain, + Life, fortune, seeming at a moment past, + Like gambling pledges raked from Earth's rich hoard + By Death's strong hand, whose gains are ne'er restored. + + + XX. + + Better if he had staked upon a throw + His honour and his daughter openly, + And thus like some fell fiend at one swift blow + Sunk all he loved in utter misery, + Than yielding unto calculation slow, + Consent to blast them, and a witness be + While sorrow sapped the vigour of her frame, + And with her weakness stronger grew his shame; + + + XXI. + + For in the morning the betrayer rose, + The crippled Pietro, the false lover, and + With honied phrases, and well studied shows, + Sought from Amieri poor Alceste's hand, + Whilst for his "intercession" he bestows + Full restitution of his wealth and land; + Fortune and Honour, fronted, held the field-- + Ah! poor Alceste, why did honour yield! + + + XXII. + + Amieri humbled like a guilty thing + Beneath shame's level, tremblingly agreed, + And sought by torture of the mind to wring + Her sad consent to save him in his need, + Falsehood and art together minist'ring, + To soften her weak heart, and gild the deed; + By prayers he moved her, and by childish tears, + And fann'd into fierce flame her woman's fears, + + + XXIII. + + Till she, poor fluttering dove, mesh'd in the net, + Panted with bitter anguish and dismay, + By love and fear so grievously beset, + That each would draw her on a diff'rent way. + Her tears at night the sleepless pillow wet, + And coursed along her pallid cheeks by day, + Making life weary, sad, and full of woe, + Her hopes of bliss and rapture shatter'd so. + + + XXIV. + + When did a woman's spirit true and sweet, + E'er close its issues against pity's cry, + E'er hold the field for self without defeat, + Nor yield to prayer, though yielding were to die! + And so she trembled to this calm retreat, + To weep her bitter doom forth silently, + Where in the sadness of the fountain's tone, + She heard a gentle echo of her own. + + + XXV. + + A feeble step trail'd o'er the gravell'd way, + At which she thrill'd and turned in sudden fright, + Whilst in her eyes there shot a fitful ray, + That scorched the tears up with its flashing light. + He was a weak old man, and time's decay + Stood on his brow and thin locks snowy white, + And trembling hands that shook upon his staff, + As though, alive, they wrote their epitaph. + + + XXVI. + + Slowly he came, reading with anxious eyes + The thoughts that flicker'd on Alceste's mien, + Veiling dishonour under Virtue's guise, + And avarice as though 'twere sorrow keen; + And still 'mid tears, and groans, and piping sighs, + He querulled forth his plaints the space between, + "Must thy poor father beg so near the grave, + "Be not so cruel--O! my daughter--save!" + + + XXVII. + + "Sir!" softly said she, while the colour fled + From her smooth cheeks till they grew ashy pale, + "Cast off your mourning features--I will wed + "Though Death should be the bridegroom, and not quail; + "The sorrows of our house be on my head; + "What though a woman's--'tis no novel tale,-- + "Within her _weakness_ does my comfort lie, + "For if the storm be sore, the _flower_ will die. + + + XXVIII. + + "Think not, sir," she said on with noble scorn, + "This husband of your choosing loses aught + "In that the world doth know him basely born, + "And with a shrine that fits the inner thought; + "Think not a silly woman's heart will mourn + "A shape in Nature's merry moments wrought, + "Or weep the finding of each broad defect, + "Or wish the form less wry or more erect. + + + XXIX. + + "No! sir! each twisted joint will be my pride, + "The blazon of my fortunes to the crowd, + "Till envy shall pursue the happy bride + "Sworn to a lord with graces so endowed; + "And fame shall bear his virtues far and wide, + "And trumpet them unto the world aloud; + "Then let them say--'Ah! she is over-bought; + "'He is a jewel rare, and she is naught'! + + + XXX. + + "But, sir, although I would not have men hold + "My love won by his merits or his charms, + "This tongue shall ne'er the bitter truth unfold, + "Though falsehood soil me with its sneering harms; + "'Tis meet to _you_ the secret should be told, + "But henceforth a stern law my grief disarms; + "Pray heaven, sir, that your conscience may be dumb, + "And his, as my lips for the time to come!" + + + XXXI. + + Thus far her woman's indignation ran, + Roused into conflict by the cruel wrong, + Standing erect before that crouching man, + Weak in his shame--she in her virtue strong; + Whilst on her quivering lips and cheeks so wan, + Reproach and scorn alternate coursed along-- + But to her heart the silence went, and then + She swept past in her gentleness again, + + + XXXII. + + The tresses rustling on her neck, and she + A woman meek and tender as a dove, + Yet to her full heart stricken utterly; + And as she went, her moist eyes turn'd above, + Sighing, "Poor Julian, heaven have care of thee, + "And grant thee mercy for thy hapless love!" + She said no more, but 'twas a piteous thing + To see a helpless maid so sorrowing. + + + XXXIII. + + She wept her tears full out, for on the day + That was to make her bride, the lids were bare; + And such cold sternness on her lips did stay, + It seemed as though a smile had ne'er been there. + They clad her graceful form in white array, + And twined sweet blossoms with her golden hair, + And made her lovely who must still be so + E'en 'mid despair, and tears, and cruel woe. + + + XXXIV. + + He darken'd by her side with honied smile, + And fawning courtesy, and limping stride, + Showing to those who knew the heart, more vile + The baseness that his gilding sought to hide; + But she went on unmoved, and stood the while + Still as a marble statue at his side; + Certes, a terror o'er the spirit crept, + It had been mercy had the lady wept. + + + XXXV. + + Julian heard it, and with passion burning + Sped he to Florence--to the spoiler's den, + Knock'd at the portals, and the lacqueys spurning, + Rush'd into presence of the guilty men, + Father and husband from the church returning, + Alceste standing by them--paler then, + She thrill'd as though she would have fled to him, + Then calm'd again to stone in every limb. + + + XXXVI. + + He said--"Alceste!"--he said nothing more, + But gazed a space into her melting eyes + So woefully, her poor heart flutter'd sore, + Like a caged lark that thrills to mount the skies. + He said, "Is this the bliss we pictured o'er? + "Is this the rapture, this the Paradise? + "O perjured vows! O cruel love!" he said, + "Thus at a blow to strike hope's spirit dead." + + + XXXVII. + + He said, "Shame on a venal love like thine, + "That barters truth for every gilded toy; + "Shame on the heart that kneels at mammon's shrine, + "There calmly immolates another's joy; + "Shame on the tongue that breathes in tones divine + "Sweet vows, that on the fond soul never cloy, + "Then with their echoes faded scarce away, + "The victim of their magic can betray!" + + + XXXVIII. + + "Shame on thee, false Alceste, most of all; + "Shame on thy gentle face, so frank and fair; + "Shame on thy tender eyes, whose light did fall + "Softly upon the soul, like blessings there; + "Shame on thy voice, so low and musical; + "Shame on the clusters of thy golden hair; + "Shame on them that make thee so bright and sweet, + "Yet but an angel-temple for deceit!" + + + XXXIX. + + She stood stone still, and answer'd ne'er a word, + Though sore the taunts went stabbing through her breast; + But her heart beat till it could nigh be heard, + Amid the silence of her breath supprest, + And through her frame a fitful tremor stirr'd, + Like a bowed willow trembling in its rest. + And then he turn'd him to the speechless twain, + With looks of bitter anger and disdain. + + + XL. + + "Sirs! Ye are noble warriors in good sooth, + "With bearing worthy of so fair a cause; + "Spoilers of love, and constancy, and truth, + "And laurelled by a sordid world's applause! + "Curses upon ye and your gilded ruth, + "Whom pity nor remorse could ever pause; + "Curses upon ye, deep as your own shame, + "Deep as your fiendish hearts themselves could frame." + + + XLI. + + Again he turned to her with softened feeling, + "Dear shattered idol of this heart" he cried, + "I cannot curse _thee_, e'en thou art sealing + "The cruel doom that bans me from thy side. + "No! No! a blessing from my soul is stealing, + "Nerved by a power that will not be denied, + "So be thou blessed, charm'd against all evil, + "An angel still, though wedded to a devil." + + + XLII. + + She answer'd ne'er a word, but stood stone still, + Fetter'd as 'twere within some horrid trance, + Alive to torture and to deadly ill, + Yet powerless of a word, a sigh, a glance; + But when he fled at last, a mortal thrill + Shot cold and icy through her like a lance, + And down she swoon'd, without a word or tear; + It made those guilty men grow pale with fear. + + + XLIII. + + They bore her, stirless, to her snowy nest, + Stirless, they laid her there as cold as lead, + All in her stainless bridal garments drest, + With fragrant blossoms circled round her head. + They laid their hands upon her dewy breast, + And trembled back as those who touch the dead; + They wiped the dew from off her clammy brow, + And shudder'd, 'twas so cold and passive now. + + + XLIV. + + Vainly they pierced the fair and rounded arm, + No crimson stream gush'd o'er its spotless snow; + Vainly they sought the frozen heart to warm, + And bid its chill'd and torpid currents flow; + Vainly they practised every learned charm + To call into the veins life's ruddy glow; + Stirless, they laid her on that bridal bed, + Stirless, she lay, all life and motion fled. + + + XLV. + + The life-long night they watched and laboured there, + With fearful whispers pulsing on the ear, + The trembling women gasping many a prayer, + Wrung by a rustle, freighted up with fear, + Till morning came, and with it came despair, + So still she lay, so icy cold and sere; + And silently and slow they crept away, + With bated breath as though she slumb'ring lay. + + + XLVI. + + They 'lumed pale torches at her moveless feet, + That flung grey shadows round the ghostly room, + And ofttimes misty clouds of incense sweet + Went wreathing upward through the death-like gloom; + There was no sound, not e'en a faint heart-beat, + But all was silent as it were Death's tomb, + And from without the breezes as they drave, + Sigh'd low and sad like mourners o'er a grave. + + + XLVII. + + The maiden lay there beautiful and pure, + As one that slept and sunn'd her soul in heaven, + From every chance of grief and pain secure, + Sublimed from every taint of earthly leaven; + Her placid bosom through white vestiture + Shone soft and holy, that poor breast so riven, + And her small hands prest gently as in prayer, + Breath'd from the Earth to Heaven, and ended there. + + + XLVIII. + + They came with stilly tread and panting breath, + And softly laid her on the narrow bier, + A lovely sleeper in the arms of death, + Unruffled by a dream or chilly fear, + As some fair child that sweetly slumbereth + Upon the bosom of her mother dear. + They bore the dead forth over flowers to rest, + Whose living feet on cruel thorns had prest. + + + XLIX. + + He, crooked though in frame, in spirit more, + Went by her now as erst he did in life, + A slayer, watching whilst they slowly bore + The helpless victim of his unseen knife; + And sorrow for a mask he broadly wore, + To cloak the guilt that in his heart was rife. + Woe to thee, base heart, from the lids that weep! + Woe to thee, base heart, from the eyes that sleep! + + + L. + + There was a vault within whose stifling maw + Lay many a scion of Amieri's race, + Crumbling to dust beneath Death's sapping thaw, + That still melts down mortality apace; + And round the fastness distillations raw + Moulder'd the stones with damp and hideous trace; + And here they laid her beautiful and pure, + From every chance of grief and pain secure. + + + LI. + + Close in their cold and narrow coffins pent, + Around her lay ancestral ashes heaped, + That through the dank and clammy darkness sent + Currents in foul and noxious vapours steeped; + And loudly through the gloomy stillness went + The oozy plashes from the roof that dripped, + Marking the minutes as they slid away, + With slimy tokens of the frame's decay. + + + LII. + + The rank air slumber'd deep on midnight wings, + Dead as the dead that fester'd 'neath its shade, + Hush'd from those low and fearful whisperings, + That make the living pallid and afraid, + Till nigh amid its awful shadowings, + The cerements silver'd round the hapless maid, + As might a lucent gem with radiance glow, + Caught from the brightness of the soul below. + + + LIII. + + Soh! 'tis a sigh--low drawn and very faint, + A spirit stirring 'mid the slumb'ring dead, + Bodiless, homeless, breathing forth its plaint, + Nor yet from life and its sad memories fled. + Soh! it comes swooning through the air so taint + Acute and clear as ever arrow sped; + Ah! miserere for the hapless soul, + That from the shores of death thus wafts its dole. + + + LIV. + + Soh! the soft raising of a white clad arm-- + Are holy angels bearing her away? + Ave Maria! shield thy child from harm, + And guard her from this mansion of decay! + Soh! how the lady trembles with alarm, + How wildly round the cave her glances stray, + Until amid the torpid gloom they die + Of space deep darken'd to immensity. + + + LV. + + With frenzied strength from off her naked feet, + She tore the linen fetters they had bound, + And mantled closely in white winding sheet, + The maiden slid upon the icy ground; + With tottering steps that terror rendered fleet, + And trembling hands she traced the vault around, + Stumbling o'er rotten shells whose prison'd bones + Rattled beneath her touch with hollow groans. + + + LVI. + + Her palm grew clammy with the slimy ooze + That fester'd on the walls in sick'ning streams, + As on the pallid brow Death's icy dews + Gather, the presage of corruption's seams; + Pale horror every sound and motion glues, + So corpse-like all around the dungeon seems; + But on--and a low portal met her hand, + By iron staunchions in quaint tracings spann'd. + + + LVII. + + And so escaping from her death-like swoon, + Forth sped she to the clear and healthful air, + Fearing her shadow which the orbed moon + Flung darkly on the moss-enwoven stair; + And her white feet, used to the silken shoon, + Chilled 'neath the stone so comfortless and bare, + Falling unechoed as she sped away, + Wing'd with the strength of wonder and dismay. + + + LVIII. + + Amid her loosen'd hair the night-breeze play'd, + And sent it waving wildly o'er her breast, + Until the snowy lawn with golden braid + In soft and waving traceries seemed drest. + And as she sped along a muffled shade + Still at her side o'er tombs and grasses prest, + As though insatiate Death in discontent + Pursuing his escaped victim went. + + + LIX. + + Ah! whither shall she flee, poor hapless thing, + To find a rest more blissful than the grave, + For what sweet haven spread her weary wing, + To nestle from the foam of sorrow's wave? + The midnight winds are sadly whispering, + And coldly on her beating temples lave; + Yes!--on--an iron law is in her soul, + Peace! trembling heart, brave not its stern controul. + + + LX. + + Weary and trembling tarried she at last + Before her bridal home, with fitful cries, + Till on the crooked Pietro limping past + The buried voice in trembling accents sighs. + The portal opens--but the wretch, aghast, + Before that white-draped phantom, livid, flies + As slayer 'fore his risen victim might, + Smitten with guilty terror at the sight. + + + LXI. + + Woe to thee, coward, in thy secret places! + Woe to thee in the daylight haunts of men! + Cold terror wrap thee in his close embraces, + And bear thee shrieking to his haunted den. + Circle thy midnight couch with vengeful faces, + And conscience torture beyond mortal ken; + Ave Maria! blessings on the maid + All in the moonlight at thy portal laid. + + + LXII. + + Vainly she calls for help in fainting tones, + Only the watchful echoes heed the sound, + Respondless bearing on her hapless moans, + Fainter and fainter o'er the moonlit ground-- + On--on--she hurries o'er the flinty stones, + Like spirit on some dreadful mission bound; + And from that guilty threshold as she stept, + The grave clothes off her trembling footprints swept. + + + LXIII. + + She sank nigh dead with weariness and fear + Before the dwelling of her early youth, + Breathing forth saddest sighs which but to hear + Might melt the heart with tenderness and ruth. + She lay there like a bud which tempests drear + Nip in its spring time with remorseless tooth; + Ah! sure a father's heart will tender be, + Nor close its issues 'gainst her utterly. + + + LXIV. + + Amieri wander'd through his gloomy halls + With restless steps and vacant rolling eyne, + Whilst from each wide spread casement down there falls + Upon his blanched locks the moon's pale sheen, + As though a voice within him ever calls, + And bids him follow some old form unseen; + She lies upon your threshold, weak old man-- + Up! take her to your arms while yet you can! + + + LXV. + + Faint sighs come to him on the sleep-hush'd air, + That swell to thunder in his timid breast, + Rooted he gazes out with glazed stare + At his poor murder'd child in grave clothes drest; + "My Father!" cried she in her chill despair, + With palms together in mute anguish prest-- + "Hence! hence! avenging spirit, haunt me not!" + He cried, then totter'd from the fearful spot. + + + LXVI. + + She rose and fled in terror through the night, + All witless whither her weak steps might stray, + As some freed bird first wings its rapid flight + From its close prison to the realms of day; + But on a sudden beam'd an inward light + Upon her troubled soul and bid her stay, + With the warm blood sent swiftly to her cheeks, + The trace that signals when the fond heart speaks. + + + LXVII. + + She thought of Julian--he so kind and true, + And how they gladden'd in the times gone by; + She thought how he had stolen her love's young dew, + And fused into her heart so tenderly, + Until beneath affection's power, they grew + Together knit in one sweet unity; + And now poor maid, by kith and kin forsaken, + Unto _his_ heart she felt she would be taken. + + + LXVIII. + + O blessed power of Love! that still can keep + A quiet haven for the weary soul, + When o'er the sea of life grief-tempests sweep, + And surging billows o'er contentment roll; + And thither though Affliction's cloud be deep + The heart steers true beneath its sweet controul! + To him, the loved, the lost, thus basely spurned, + She fled a prisoner from Death's chains return'd. + + + LXIX. + + Sigh for the heart that follows to the grave + The perish'd idol of its summer dreams! + Sigh for the heart that powerless all to save, + Sees its sweet treasure gulph'd in sorrow's streams; + And joys that ivy-like around it clave, + Nipp'd of their blossoms, shorn of their warm beams! + So Julian follow'd from afar her bier, + With many a sigh, with many a bitter tear. + + + LXX. + + Within the stillness of his chamber, he + Open'd the flood-gates of his chill despair, + Darkening the midnight with deep misery, + Freighting the moments all with heavy care, + Weeping for her he loved so utterly, + Whose presence only made existence fair, + His pallid face sunk in the outspread palms, + Moist with the dew that her dear loss embalms. + + + LXXI. + + Soft through the lattice steals a gentle voice, + Breathing his name in accents faint and weak, + Tones that in past days made his soul rejoice, + And now send crimson currents to his cheek. + "Dear vision," said he, "of long cherish'd joys! + "That now so sweetly in my soul dost speak, + "Fade not away, but like a fixed star, + "Shine on my spirit from thy heavens afar. + + + LXXII. + + "Oh! thou art lovely in thy radiant sphere, + "As thou wert once, the day-star of my heart, + "Revealing ever shadowless and clear + "The blessed rays that in thy spirit start. + "O light! O life! O angels hovering near! + "Pity us, sunder'd thus so far apart." + Upon her love the maid imploring cries-- + Awaken, Julian, or thy loved one dies! + + + LXXIII. + + He rose, and to the lattice tranced went, + Where through the opened eaves the moonlight fell, + And to his tearful glances downward bent, + Show'd that dear form, loved and remember'd well. + Gazed he in fond and loving wonderment, + As one who slumbers under Fancy's spell, + On his beloved in cerements snowy white, + All in the moonrays pictured there so bright. + + + LXXIV. + + "Dream of my soul!" he said, "thus softly stealing + "From thine empyrean o'er my aching sense, + "Pouring thy balm on my pierced heart, and healing + "Cold sorrow's wounds with ravishment intense; + "Fold still thy wings, and thus in light revealing + "Thine angel charms, flee ne'er away from hence." + Still on his name she call'd with swooning sighs, + And hands convulsive prest, and upturn'd eyes. + + + LXXV. + + "It is my love," he said, "by death set free + "From cruel bonds that sever'd our true vows, + "Thus from the piteous tomb return'd to me, + "In white array with blossoms on her brows. + "Ah! blessed is love's immortality, + "That e'en the grave with softest charms endows; + "And blessed thou, mine own, alive or dead, + "That to this yearning heart once more hast fled. + + + LXXVI. + + Entranced still he wander'd to the gate, + Where stood Alceste in sad weary plight, + Sore press'd with sentience of her hapless fate, + Weeping, nigh hopeless, in the pale moonlight. + Tarried he there in strange delicious strait, + Lapt in the wonder of his dreaming sight; + Then opening wide his arms in raptured prayer, + Her gentle spirit swoon'd and nestled there. + + + LXXVII. + + O Paradise! to waken from a dream, + A sleep-revealment of delights, and find + The rosy fancies, beauteous though they seem, + Reality, and in our fond arms twined; + Truth haloed by imagination's beam, + And heaven and earth in one sweet birth combined. + Thus Julian gazed upon her fainting form, + Robed for the grave yet with existence warm. + + + LXXVIII. + + He bore her as a mother bears a child + Within the cradle of her tender breast, + His throbbing heart, 'twixt hope and fear nigh wild, + With that dear lifeless form against it prest, + Like some bright angel beautiful and mild, + Sunk in the calmness of Elysian rest. + Upon her lips he breath'd his soul away, + Whilst she in stilly swoon Joy's prisoner lay. + + + LXXIX. + + Slowly she oped her silken-lidded eyes, + As night steals from the virgin blue of morn, + Gazing on him she loved, in sweet surprise, + Thus tenderly within his bosom borne; + Whilst clouded Memory through old time flies, + Sinking where she from that dear breast was torn. + Ah! blessed future never snatch her thence, + But sun the visions of her innocence. + + + LXXX. + + Report ran through the city that the maid + Ransom'd from Death's cold grasp had happily been, + And, in the moonlight, no unhousell'd shade + Those fearful, conscience-stricken men had seen; + Till they in day-born confidence array'd, + Followed in quest, like blood-hounds swift and keen, + Tracking love's footsteps out with cruel art, + To its sweet resting place within the heart. + + + LXXXI. + + They came to Julian, and with honied guise + Flatter'd him to restore the risen maid; + Seek ye to charm the eagle of his prize, + Within his eyrie on the mountain laid; + But Love, more strong, all sapping art defies, + Nor ever from its fixed trust is sway'd! + They came with arms, they came with vengeful threats, + Poor fluttering dove! what danger thee besets. + + + LXXXII. + + Before the Father of the Church they went + With humble suit, with supplications strong, + Revenge and lust confirming their intent, + And like foul magic drawing them along. + Ave Maria! save the innocent, + Nor let firm judgment minister to wrong, + Warping the tenor of the righteous laws, + To aid oppression and a hollow cause. + + + LXXXIII. + + It was decreed that she who thus had been + Parted from all earth's cares and sympathies, + Wafted by prayer into a fairer scene, + As one who in pure penitency dies, + Thence drew new birthright from that air serene + To ransom her from antenatal ties. + Rejoice, Alceste, twice from Death thou'rt free! + Rejoice, O Julian! life is brought to thee. + + + LXXXIV. + + Sweet are the joys that follow on despair, + Like sunrays kissing noontide mists away, + Leaving the unveil'd summer skies more fair + For the deep shades that on their brightness lay. + And love's sweet firmament dispell'd of care, + Rivals the glories of its early day, + Sunning their progress down life's troubled stream, + Wrapt in each other, pillow'd in a dream. + + + + + PYGMALION. + + + PART I. + + THE MAN. + + In the blue AEgean is Cyprus, + Set in the midst of the waters + Like a starry isle in the ocean of heaven. + The waters ripple around it + With soft and luminous motion, + Strewing the silvery sands + With shells amaranthine, and flowers + Borne from amid the white coral stems, + Like off'rings of peace from the ocean. + + Amid it riseth Olympus,[A] + Stately and grand as the throne of the gods, + And the island sleeps 'neath its shadow + Like a fair babe 'neath the care of its father. + Streams clear as the diamond + Evermore wander around it, + Like the vein'd tide through our members, + Quick with the blessings of beauty, + And health and verdurous pleasure, + Filling with yellow sheaves + And plenty the bosom of Ceres; + Calling forth flowers from the slumbering Earth, + Like thoughts from the dream of a Poet, + Till the island throughout is a garden, + The child and the plaything of summer. + + [A] The principal mountain of Cyprus was thus named. + + In luscious clusters the fruit hangs + In the sunshine, melting away + From sweetness to sweetness. + The grapes clust'ring 'mid leaves, + That give their bright hue to the eye + Like the setting of rubies. + The nectarines and the pomegranates + Glowing with crimson ripeness, + And the orange trees with their blossoms + Yielding sweet odour to every breeze, + As the incense flows from the censer. + + The air is languid with pleasure and love, + Lulling the sense to dreams Elysian, + Making life seem a glorious trance, + Full of bright visions of heaven, + Safe from the touch of reality, + Toil none--woe none--pain, + Wild and illusive as sleep-revelations. + Time to be poured like wine from a chalice + Sparkling and joyous for aye, + Drained amid mirth and music, + The brows circled with ivy, + And the goblet at last like a gift + Thrust in the bosom of slumber. + + Thus are the people of Cyprus; + Young men and old making holiday, + Decking them daintily forth + In robes of Sidonian purple: + The maidens all beauteous but wanton, + Foolishly flinging youth's gifts, + Its jewels--its richest adornment, + Like dross on the altar of pleasure; + Letting the worm of mortality + Eat out their hearts till they bear + Only the semblance of angels. + + Amongst them like a gaunt and gnarled oak + Waving majestic o'er a pigmy race, + Pygmalion was; for by the mete of soul + Man ranges in the phalanx of his age. + His heart was like an ocean, tremulous + With radiant aspirations and high thoughts + That fretted ever on mortality, + Wearing life out with passion and desire, + Struggling against the limits of the flesh, + The bonds and shackles of the Possible, + That bound him, like Prometheus, to the dust, + And clogg'd the upward winging of his soul. + He walk'd 'mongst men like one who felt the strength + Of nobler nature swelling in his breast, + Eternal breathings fanning the Divine + Within him into flame and utterance. + He spake not much, for that his heaving thoughts + Yearn'd vainly for the living fire of heaven + To burn them through the soul-core of the Time; + But in the inner man the tumult sped + In burning currents, like the ruddy streams + From every pulse-beat of his o'er-fraught heart. + His soul hung in an atmosphere of grace, + And beauty, midway betwixt earth and heaven, + Revolving, like the moon through azure space, + Mid starry fancies and faint orbed dreams, + That made bright land-marks in the spirit's flight. + Faint glimmerings of loveliness untold + Flash'd ever on him in his solitudes, + Luring him on to search and far pursuit + Through empyrean altitudes of thought, + Sped onward by the god-like thirst to grasp + The spiritual, and with creative hand + Mould it to corporal reality. + Love was his guiding star--his bright ideal + Shining above all visions and all dreams, + As doth the Pole-star o'er the icy North; + Love in its broad and fineless empery + Ruling, directing all by right divine, + Pressing its seal of vassalage on thought, + And crushing passion with relentless heel; + Love--the refiner, whose alchymic art + Transmuteth very dross to purest gold, + Passing emotion through the furnace heat + That scorcheth up its perishable frame, + And yields the essence purified for Act. + The soul that wanders like the mission'd dove + Along the chaos waste of boundless thought, + Must have some ark to nestle in on Earth, + And shelter from the endless Undefined. + So to Eve's daughters would Pygmalion seek, + Won by sweet hopes and promises of good + And beauty, such as emblem'd to him still + The end accomplish'd of aspiring thirst-- + Essence and grace materialized. In them + He saw the sum of Nature's perfectness, + The acme of idealism reach'd: + Fair forms, smooth with the ruddy glow of health, + And ripening time, whose every motion seemed + The wak'ning of ethereal gracefulness + To life, and on whose lineaments the light + Of a seraphic imagery play'd; + Forms lithe and rounded by the art of youth + To be the shrines of spirit excellence, + And hold the fusion of immortal grace + Unblemish'd by corporeal defect. + What found he then? Flower-wreathed chalices + Tinted with rosy dyes, bright elegance + Of shape and garniture, but brimming up + Draughts bitter to the taste and nauseous. + He gazed upon their beauty, which his soul + In thought had dower'd with purity and truth, + As from the inward reflex of itself; + But, gazing, all his visions pass'd away, + And cold reality rose death-like up + To mow the aureate blossoms from his soul. + + In Amathus the chill grey morning dawn'd + That woke him to truth's ruggedness, and left + Life struggling, joyless, sunless, to its goal. + Woman stood forth before him beautiful, + But mocking heaven with a shameless brow, + Wearing foul lewdness like a victor's crown, + And dashing virtue's elixir away. + From the deep fountains of her eyes there flow'd + No lucid streams of holiness and love, + But lust and utter wantonness, that fill'd + The heart with loathing, fraught with death to Hope. + Her crimson lips shed forth no silvery strains + Of gentleness and peace to hymn life's bark + Across the heaving waters of this Time, + But folly and discordant revelry + Sounded around her evermore, and woo'd + To sin and shame with notes once toned for heaven. + No Priestess she of lovely innocence, + Stoled for the work with beauty nigh divine, + But, warping all her natal destiny, + Prostrate she lay before the shrine of vice, + Yielding herself a living sacrifice + To the deep blasting of the idol's breath. + + The heart clings fondly to the last faint hope + That bindeth still the once dear to its love, + Rejecting credence whilst a doubt remains, + And so Pygmalion. Thought he, 'tis a phase + Through which her soul doth pass, like rippling streams + That filter for a space through earth's deep pores, + Emerging thence more pure and bright than erst, + And set himself with patient love to watch + The giddy current of her blinded soul, + For the subsidence of its troubled waves. + + It came not; till his spirit sick'ning o'er, + Pour'd forth its bitterness and wounded sense. + "Oh! living lie! truth's outward counterfeit! + Fair masquerade of virtue's unknown charms! + Thou too hast perish'd from my trusting soul; + Thy beauty yet endureth, the fair sweep + Of limb and rounded form, such as my art + Can yield the senseless marble; but the soul + That made the work of heaven stand forth alone, + So peerless in its radiant loveliness, + Hath perished 'neath mortality's cold grasp, + And yielded up the patent of its charm. + Henceforth I can compete with Heaven, and fill + My world with bright creations as its own, + Unmarr'd by inner loathsomeness and sin, + That rushing through its pulses like a blight + Make beauty hideous. Thou, my soul, return, + Sit on thy throne, and with creative might + People thy kingdom with a beauteous race, + Fair form'd, and nobly featured, and the life + Set undulating on the Parian, + Whom viewing, thou may'st cry with lofty joy, + 'Behold the life without its baser part.' + O Beauty! I have loved thee with full heart, + Follow'd thy shadowy guidance as the cloud + Sails at the unseen steering of the wind; + Sought thee in Heaven and Earth and Nature all, + Led by supreme adorings and desires, + Till by communion with thy perfect soul, + Mine hath grown wise, in measure, to discern. + Not now can I be satiate with grace + That gildeth but the superficial frame + With the false tissue of deep-seeming life; + The searching knife must pierce into the heart, + And shew a frame veined with the same warm stream + That melts in blushes on the downy cheek. + My bright ideal, like the bow of heaven, + Hath faded into nothingness, and made + A blank upon the clouded sky of life. + Can my soul live and love not? + + "I will call + Art my divinity, and bid her frame + New joys to cherish such as Earth hath not + Create by natural developement; + Nature shall be my monitress, and teach + The chisel knowledge of all loveliness, + That wrought upon the snowy Parian, + Shall give investiture of life's pure part, + Grace, ease, and motion's unexerted power. + Better no soul than one debauched and foul, + And shaming beauty with eternal blots; + Therefore my creature shall be beautiful + With all that makes up woman's excellence; + Youth's bloom imprinted on her gentle charms, + And tenderness set playing on her lips, + Whilst round her gracious presence for a robe + Shall float the vesture of pure modesty; + A woman, she, save in the fallen soul, + A spotless angel framed, but spiritless; + This being shall I mould, and with my love + Animate to ideal consciousness, + Then let her sisterhood pass humbled on, + Unheeded in the depth of my content." + + + PART II. + + THE WORKER. + + Forth went he from the ebb and flow of men, + Whose busy vortex drowneth quiet thought, + To hold communion with wise Nature's soul + In solitude. Amongst lone woods he roamed, + Listing the murmurs of the swaying boughs + That quivered with the spirit of the breeze, + Threading their arched aisles with solemn heart, + And hiving in his soul a myriad thoughts + That fell unseen upon him. Oft he stood + On mountain fronts, and gazed long hours away, + Tracing the sweep of hill and dale, now veined + With glistening waters, and now dark with groves, + Still changing till sight lost identity, + And the ideal and the real met. + He saw the sun enter the golden gates + Of Night, that closed upon his radiant path, + And left Earth wondering; and star by star + Unlid their shining orbs, and o'er heaven's plain + Wheel their bright cars to greet him in the East. + He saw the morn break beautiful and pure, + Like virgin from her slumbers, and robe earth + In dewy brightness, cresting the far hills + With glorious halos of oncoming day. + All loveliness of earth and sky he sought, + And pondered with a heart attent to learn, + Knowing that Beauty, like a parent stream, + Is nourished by each trickling rill that flows + Into it; and the soul that would be apt + To work its highest counsels out, must toil + Through long apprentice-ship to mastery, + By units gath'ring fitness for the whole. + + Thus did he, till with spirit brimming up + With glorious inspiration, he returned, + And set the god-like in him to create; + His swelling soul grew patient to the work, + Wise with the sense of innate potency, + And on the shapeless marble still he wrought + With faith and firm assurance. + Many came + Amid their aimless wanderings, and stood + Beside that quiet worker, wondering + At the majestic purpose on his brow, + And vapouring forth their self-important views, + That turned his course as little as the air + Swerveth the eagle in his lightning flight. + Many applauded with patronic warmth + And empty commendation, and no scorn + Curled his proud lip, not one defiant word + Echoed their nothings into transient life. + But as the marble grew beneath his hands + To shape and comeliness, his soul-deep eyes + Flashed with the joy of high accomplishment, + And scanned each valiant critic with a glance + That sifted all his littleness away. + + Thus did he till his work stood perfected, + A woman beautiful with youth and grace, + But like a Vestal singled from her sex + To show the beauty of pure innocence. + Her form was such as rapt Endymion + Saw on the heights of Latmos when he slept + And dreamed Heaven down to him. A glorious shape + That to the brightness of ethereal charms + Join'd the familiar sweetness of a maid; + A soft clear forehead circled by the light + That heaven sets lambent on its imaged self; + A face that beaming on the heart of man + As by a silent teaching in the sense + Makes goodness natural. Upon each limb + Grace laid its sweet commandment lovingly, + Whilst the fair bosom glowed with tenderness, + As from the fulness of a soul beneath, + Woman's divinest attribute possessed + Unsullied and entire; and through the frame + And every feature radiating went + A lovely sense of gentleness and love. + + Bright is the summer of Cyprus, + Undimm'd the skies and clear, + Blue and clear as a maiden's eyes + That loves and hath never felt sadness. + Then, Time is a sunlit river + Flowing 'mid flowers and green pastures + Brightly onward to heaven! + There is music pervading the air, + Music of voice and of instrument, + And the silver toning of laughters + Blendeth in jubilant chorus; + Bands of maidens and youths + With flowing garments of purple, + And zones jewelled and bright + As the mystic girdle of Venus, + Wreathed with myrtle and roses, + And their beauty wantonly bared + To the swimming glances of passion, + Evermore sweep o'er the pathways, + Strewing sweet flowers as they go + To the sacred altars of Venus + 'Neath the feet of the snow-white kine, + That must bleed at the shrine of the goddess; + Care is forgotten, for life + Hath no aim and no mission but pleasure; + Its cup is a foretaste of Paradise, + Drain the sweet draught to the dregs, + The fountain will flow on for ever! + 'Tis the feast day of Venus--Hail! Hail! + + Pygmalion stood beside his master-piece, + Still with his mind devote to mighty thoughts + And busy inspiration, for through Time + The worker must be constant to his toil, + Heedless of pleasure and the idle toys + For which man bartereth eternity; + Life is his seed-time, after life his rest. + Had he not joyed to scan that lovely form, + And mark each glorious lineament, that held + A model up to Nature of pure grace + Unblemished by the shadow of a fault? + Had he not loved with more than Artist soul + The beauteous creature of his heaven-drawn power, + And oped again the flood-gates of his heart + To the full current of humanity? + Had he not thanked the gods for victory, + And gloried in his strength with conscious might + That made e'en fame his fellow? Yet he stood + Silent and sad beside his finished work. + What lacked he yet? Life! life! for his creation: + "What have I wrought," he uttered, "what achieved? + Naught! naught! my power hath wasted on a stone, + Changed its rude seeming haply unto grace, + But as it was, so is it now, mere stone; + My beauteous image, emblem of my soul, + Cast in the mould of thought's supremest good, + Fairer than all of womankind on Earth, + Is yet more worthless and more transient + Than is the meanest wretch who feels the life + Throb quenchlessly within him. Time may strew + Its fragments blindly o'er the face of Earth, + Scatter its spotless beauties, yet pass on + And leave the world no poorer than it was. + There is no beauty separate from soul; + From it as from a spring flow all the streams + That clothe this dust with living loveliness + Else doomed to deep aridity and death. + O lovely daughter of my craving soul! + Hope of my life! Divinest shape of Earth! + Can I regard thy beauty thus and know + Thou art the empty semblance of a worthless thing. + Are those sweet charms where loveliness hath set + The limits of her potency, mere dust + Unnobled by the passage of a soul, + Rescued a moment from the senseless mass, + That soon again shall have thee for its own? + What hath my soul begotten? Death in life-- + A child of Earth unblessed, unstamped of heaven. + First-fruit of Spirit love! is this thy fate? + Gods! hear me from your thrones! Must it be so?" + Forth sped he. + Like a stream that is swayed in the sunlight, + Breaking in flashes of brightness, + The people of Cyprus were gathered + Around the temple of Venus; + Mirth and music ascended. + Amid the fumes of the incense, + Loud as when pleasure hath knocked + On a heart that is hollow and empty. + Maidens rejoiced in their shame, + And fancied their lewdness devotion, + Banishing thought from their bosoms, + And making them giddy with passion. + Men forgetting their birthright, + And the glorious spirit of freedom, + Made themselves slaves unto folly, + And lust, and imbecile pleasure. + Life was summed up in the Present, + For foolishness knoweth no Future. + + Through the deluded mass Pygmalion prest, + As each true soul must on its course to Fame, + Blind to the follies that beset his path, + The empty pleasures, and fictitious joys; + Deaf to the jeers and mockings of the crowd, + Their sottish laughters and unmeaning mirth, + His senses all attent to his great aim, + Fixed on the prize of immortality. + Within the Temple separate he stood + From the base host of giddy worshippers, + And prostrated his soul with strong desire + At the bright shrine of Cytherea's power. + + "O Cypris! goddess! Light of heaven and Earth! + That from the snow-crest of the waving sea, + The endless worker--the unresting soul, + Sprang'st in the glory of thy charms divine, + And Beauty mad'st immortal! That dost hold + The sacred urn of everlasting love, + Whose draught is life, strength, rapture to the soul, + And pouring of its fulness o'er the Earth, + Makest its drooping energies revive, + To struggle onward through the fight of life! + O thou divinest arbitress of fate! + Stoop from thy starry throne, receive my prayer, + And grant me life, breath, being for my work. + Let not the love that glorifies a man, + Sink 'neath the level of humanity, + And take unto its Holiest a shape + Of woman's dust engraven on a stone; + Grant that this first-fruit of my soul may be + Endued with lovely immortality; + That she may have the throbbing pulse of life, + Quick'ning with every gracious influence, + To work some sweet seraphic Purpose out, + And walking 'mongst Earth's multitudes exalt + Man's soul to worship Beauty, that when I + The Worker shall have gone unto my rest, + A glorious witness may remain to tell + That such an one wrought, struggled and attained." + + Thus prayed he. And an answer stirred his soul, + "That which is born of Truth dies never. Time + Still takes its sweet impression as it flies, + And drops it seed-like into some wise heart, + Where it may blossom and bear fruit anew + To make its good perpetual. Thy prayer + Is heard. The fire shall go from Heaven. Thy work + Shall live." + + Homeward he sped, and by his work stood soon. + O'er that sweet visage once so motionless, + To his rapt gaze there stole the rays divine + That bear all high intelligence of heaven, + And undulating o'er each graceful line + Made the cold stone angelic. Liquid eyes, + Bright with all pure imaginings, and full + Of young emotion, love, and gentleness, + Beamed softly on him in dim wonderment; + Whilst from her lips that parted half for speech, + Flowed the deep sweetness of a woman's smile, + And o'er his perplex'd spirit shed the light + Of Hope and glad assurance. All her frame + Glowed with the rosy hue of life and youth, + And melting from the rigidness of stone + Sank into attitudes of peerless grace. + + And when conviction strengthened in his soul + As the awak'ning beauties of his work + Expanded 'neath the spirit influence, + He clasp'd the maid unto his beating heart, + As father might the daughter of his love, + Rejoicing with blent pride and tenderness + In the supernal beauty of his child. + Hearing within him murmurs of a voice-- + "I have accomplish'd, have not wrought in vain, + Left no faint record written on the tide + Of life, to perish with its setting wave; + But my fair work shall live for evermore, + And through the phalanx of advancing Ages + Speed like a herald sounding to the world, + 'Behold a man who crushed oblivion, + 'And girding up his soul in faith and love + 'Wrought like a God beyond the reach of Time!'" + + + + + ODE TO FANCY. + + + O! thou art a sweet and playful thing, + And light as a lark upon the wing, + Pouring the melody of thy mirth, + In sunny showers down to the earth. + The sunbeams pave o'er the crystal waters + A pathway for thee to Triton's daughters, + Down in the depths of the waving sea, + Where their bright arched palaces be: + There mermaids hasten unto thy side, + And sing their songs till the ravished tide + Feels the soft music through all its swells, + And whispers them o'er to the coral shells. + Fays are thy playmates at dewy e'en, + For o'er their land they have made thee queen, + Crowned thee with flowers of fadeless hue, + And drained thy health in the honey dew; + And over mountain, and hill, and dale, + 'Lumed by the glow of the moonbeams pale, + Thy merry train in the stillness dance, + Like a beam of pleasure and radiance; + Thine are the revels each summer night, + Held on the mead by the glow-worm's light, + Till maidens, straying at early dawn, + Trace thy blithe footsteps upon the lawn; + Thus dost thou lead on thy joyous rout, + And trip around till thou'rt wearied out; + And in the harebells the yellow bee + Creeps in the morning to waken thee + Forth from thy sweet dreams of joy and love, + That rise in odorous breath above. + + Like some fair wizard thou weavest spells + Over all flowers, and brooks, and dells, + Wreathing above every mossy bed, + Till with bright dreams it is canopied + And through the rose-coloured atmosphere + All things more lovely and bright appear, + Losing the faintness of earthly things, + And shining with heaven's illuminings. + Thine are the Naiads and Nymphs which rise + From dell and fountain to daze our eyes; + Thine are the spirits 'mid leafy trees, + Whose voices come to us on the breeze. + Thine are the maidens whose trackless feet + Bear to the flower cups their honey sweet, + Pressing their perfume till through and through + Is pierced the soul of the rising dew. + + Lead me, sweet sprite, to thy sunny dwelling! + Is it where brooklets are softly welling + Amid the greenwoods with many a fall, + Making the lily-cups musical? + Is it where mosses and violets meet, + And blend their lives in an union sweet, + Whither the butterflies speed to tell + Glad tales of the flowers thou lovest so well? + Is't in the covert whose lonely shade + The ring-dove her resting place hath made, + Lulled by the melody of her note + Till dreams of Elysium round thee float? + Is't on the breast of the sunlit sea, + With ripples of glory to circle thee, + Bright flashing dolphins to bear thy car, + And waft thee to glorious isles afar? + Is't in some cave where the light of day + Borrows new hues from the diamond ray, + Paven with jewels and silv'ry sand + Borne by the waves from the mermaid's land + Is't in the arms of the balmy gale + Over the ocean thou lovest to sail, + Loosing the folds of thy silken hair + To float at will on the perfumed air? + Is it by valley or heath-clad mountain? + Is it by streamlet or limpid fountain? + Tell me, and I will come to thee, + Follow thy flight through immensity! + + Dost thou not roam in the realms of sleep, + While stars above thee their bright watch keep, + Lapping the soul in a crystal sea, + Whose every swell is felicity? + And in the halls of her quiet home, + Where darkness pillars the starry dome, + Making all beauty more beautiful, + And keeping the moonbeams soft and cool, + Dost thou not sit till the morning beams + Weaving the fabric of happy dreams, + Bringing dear visions to weeping eyes, + Till sorrow transforms to paradise? + Dost thou not kiss sweet lips till they smile, + And murmur of joys they knew erewhile, + And build up hopes that are shatter'd quite, + Decking the past in a robe of light? + + O! thou art a kind and gentle thing, + Bearing the gifts that _good_ angels bring, + Joying in all that is bright and free, + And soothing the sting of misery; + If thou would'st dwell in my beating heart, + And breathe thy fragrance through every part, + I would ever love and obey thee, + Never slight thee and never betray thee + Into the hands of cruel scoffers, + Who sell their souls to fill their coffers, + Crush every flower beneath their feet, + And make the sole bliss of life--to cheat; + Cheat the greenwoods of happy ramblers, + To rear a race of slaves and gamblers; + Cheat the summer, cheat the spring, + Cheat the sweet flowers of their ministring; + Cheat the soft meadows and sunny skies + Of their glad tribute from glist'ning eyes; + Cheat the birds in their leafy bowers, + Cheat every day of its few short hours, + Cheat even life of its little pleasure, + Dealing its needfuls out in short measure; + Cheating all beauty while they draw breath, + But true to _one_ commerce, that is--Death! + + Come to me then, and I'll cherish thee, + Thou shalt my loving companion be; + From the cold world we will live apart, + And build up a new one within my heart. + + + + + WHAT IS A SIGH? + + + It is the sound + Raised by the sweeping of an angel's wing, + As through the air + It bears a prayer + Of the soul's uttering. + + It is the sweet + Melodious echo of some thrilling thought + Retold by sadness + Unto gladness, + Which memory hath brought. + + It is the hymn + Breath'd ever by the votaries of love, + Whose dulcidence, + Soft and intense, + Soars dreamily above. + + It is the sign + Of Earth's fraternity, the only tie + That links us all, + Both great and small, + In common sympathy. + + It is the heart + Issueing from its prison house of clay; + Perchance gladly, + Perchance sadly, + Wending on its way. + + + + + IONE. + + + Sad are the glances from thy deep blue eyes, + Ione, + Soft as the mirror of the summer skies + When twilight shadows o'er its surface steal, + And twinkling stars their radiant orbs reveal! + Why are they sad + Which were so glad, + Ione? + Have their rays bathed in dew-drops 'mid the air, + And still the sparkling moisture trembles there? + Then, smile, for dewy tears + Melt when the sun appears, + Ione! + Yet thou art very beautiful in sadness, + Ione! + More beautiful e'en than in gladness, + And the sweet music of thy gentle sighs + Comes like the language of thy speaking eyes; + What do they say? + Tell me their lay, + Ione! + Fain would I learn from thee what passing thought + Can with such plaintive melody be fraught-- + Ah! wherefore turn away, + Stay, yet a little stay, + Ione! + + + + + REALITY. + + + O the heart has dreams Elysian! + That steal o'er it calm and sweet, + Hushing pain like a magician + Who binds spirits at his feet. + + But the forms that throng its mazes + Are too bright for mortal birth, + And the scenes that fancy raises + Far too beautiful for earth. + + Let us turn with humbler spirits + To the things that God has made, + Pass the weakness flesh inherits, + Since the sunshine, too, has shade. + + 'Tis the pride of human nature + That makes life seem cold and drear, + Drawing up a dwarfish stature + To o'ertop its proper sphere. + + Gath'ring round it misty fancies, + Like the mountain's cloudy wreath, + Till the spirit's errant glances + See no beauty underneath. + + There are true hearts beating nigh us + As we fight the fight of life, + Hearts unstain'd by guilty bias, + Hearts unharden'd by its strife. + + There are gentle bosoms swelling + With all motions pure and kind, + That unceasingly are welling + Solace to the weary mind. + + Few there are without possessing + Some good virtue in their heart, + Whence, beneath love's soft compressing, + As from flowers, sweet perfumes start. + + Dreamer, turn then to the real + With a frank and trusting soul, + Not alone to the ideal + Let thy genial currents roll. + + Pierce the clay that oft encloses + The pure brightness of a gem, + Think thee, flowers less fair than roses, + In their sweetness rival them. + + Thus in truth, and not in dreaming, + Life will blossom to the full, + Unto love's eyes all things seeming + Prism'd through the beautiful. + + + + + RETROSPECTION. + + + Oh, my heart throbs ever wildly, half in joy and half in scorning, + As the course of my life's story dimly flits across my mind, + Now that fate seems clear and steady, and the mist that veil'd its + morning + Has resolved into bright sunshine with the azure heaven behind. + + And I cry with exultation--"Bless he who feeling in him + Precepts of pure grace and beauty guiding on his willing soul, + Yields himself unto their teaching, nor lets toil nor danger win him + To forsake the race he runneth till he resteth at the goal." + + I was sprung, from lineage noble, with a spirit inly burning + To uphold my name and honor taintless from the blast of shame, + I was born to be a freeman, by my birthright therefore spurning + All the gilded chains of fashion that make freedom but a name. + + From the forms and outward emblems of the deep-lored spirit Nature + Drew I inspiration early for the moulding of my thought, + Gath'ring strength from her o'erflowing, till I grew unto the + stature + Of a man nerved to accomplish all the good her wisdom taught. + + So when years had ripen'd on me, and the world's great portals + yawning, + Bid me enter the enchanted palace of youth's mystic life, + Eager, breathless to explore it, at each step new wonders dawning, + I went on with stedfast courage, arm'd alike for peace or strife. + + And I loved, that I might ever in my bosom bear a treasure + Strong to ransom life from sorrow, strong to furnish it with joy; + So I sought with keenest insight--neither small nor scant the + measure + To content my requisition--purest gold without alloy. + + And I found it lying lowly, far beneath my proud line's dreaming, + Who if they perchance had seen it, would with scorn have turn'd + away, + But I sought it with soul-gladness, e'en with pride, for to my + seeming + A pure gem is worth the lifting though it lie amongst the clay. + + She was fair, a lumin'd beauty rippling o'er each chisell'd feature, + Changing ever like the sunshine playing on the summer sea, + Revelations of God's spirit permeating through his creature, + Making loveliness all perfect by infused divinity. + + What to me though all her dow'ry were the wealth of love and + kindness, + And a heart full fraught with feelings vein'd with gentleness + and grace? + Which the worldling holds as nothing, smitten with judicial + blindness, + But which I o'er all things prizing, wed her in the weak world's + face. + + Scared my kinsmen were and bitter for the shame and the dishonour, + Said they, I had brought upon them and the noble name I bore; + And my sire with passion burning launch'd his deepest curses on her, + And as though I were a felon, drove me fiercely from his door. + + I was destined for some puppet, some gold image of his choosing, + Doubtless, who was made to worship like the golden calf of old, + With no merit but her riches, but such shame my soul refusing, + I was cast forth without blessing, poor and guideless from the fold. + + Poor?--Not poor, for she went with me, pouring still with patient + spirit + Balm upon my wounded feelings, peace upon my burning soul; + So that though man's love was reft me, 'twas the better to inherit + That which far transcends man's favour,--sentience of Heaven's + sweetest dole. + + Words of scorn and deep contemning gave I back for their reviling, + For my soul waxed wroth within me to be judged by such as they, + Fools so sage in their great folly, that they shake their bells, and + smiling + With an imbecile self-blindness, sneer the wise of heart away. + + Let them wear their masking purple, threadbare now with vilest uses, + All the ancient gloss and brightness faded from it through their + stains, + _They_ may be disgraced, degraded, but true nobleness, ne'er loses + By relinquishing its trappings, whilst the spirit still remains. + + Did I shame them that I ceded all the forms and false adorning + That doth deck them for their stations heedless of the stuff within, + And stood forth in my own fashion, such as God had made me, scorning + To be made a man of tinsel, to be honoured for my kin. + + Did I shame them that rejoicing in the freedom of my spirit + I asserted all its fulness, spite of prejudice and pride; + Whilst they, slaves of wealth and fashion, trembling cowards did not + dare it, + Would not risk a pointed finger e'en to gain an angel bride. + + Was the noble name they cited but the badge of slaves and vassals, + Bound beyond emancipation to obey another's mood? + Better far to be a peasant 'neath the shadow of their castles, + Than debase the soul within me to such brutish servitude. + + What were they with all their lordship, all their riches, + measured duly, + That they looked with scorn upon her in her unadorned worth? + Ashy fruit with surface golden, she with goodness leavened + throughly, + All her wealth by heaven imparted, their's derived alone from + Earth. + + Oh! I felt a high compassion for their warp'd and narrow feelings + As I press'd my bride unto me, and read o'er her gentle eyes, + Gaining deeper insight daily, meeting ever new revealings + Of the grace of woman's spirit, and her holy sympathies. + + So we pilgrim'd on together, buffeting the ills about us, + Sharing hope, and joy, and sorrow, as we shared our daily bread, + Keeping still a pleasaunce scathless in our hearts, though all + without us + Might be cheerless desolation, and the sky with clouds o'erspread. + + Through much toil and tribulation, we attain'd at last to honour + With no succour from my kindred, I upreared my house alone, + And I see my cherish'd maiden, with admiring gazes on her, + Glide amid the high and noble with a grace beyond their own. + + And those proud ones now are gracious, bowing fawningly before her, + Whilst she with her true eyes calmly takes the measure of their + hearts, + Weighs aright the honied speeches, and the praise they heap upon + her, + Her own innocence instinctively disarming all their arts. + + For she knows their tongues are venal, sold to flatter wealth and + power, + And to crouch with serpent homage in the dust at Fortune's shrine, + Ready to revile and slander if calamity should lower, + And to flout as base, deceitful, what they late had termed divine. + + Thus unmask'd and sifted throughly let them stoop and fawn at + pleasure, + Little reck I to revenge me better for their former spite + As I mark their degradation falling on them in full measure + When they humble themselves vilely, thus, to one who reads them + right. + + + + + THE STORMY PETREL. + + + Far in the wilderness of waves, + Where vision dieth 'mid endless motion, + Where only the madden'd storm-wind raves, + And sinketh its chains in the soundless ocean; + Far from the ken and the power of men, + And lone as though Earth were in chaos again, + The Stormy Petrel cleaveth the air, + And maketh the surging billow its lair. + + The black cloud scuddeth along on high, + Silent and swift as the angel Death, + Led by Euroclydon through the sky + Unto its victim with bated breath, + Whilst only God and the Petrel seeth + The path by which the Avenger fleeth, + And with shrill accent of wail and mourning + Riseth the Petrel's wild cry of warning. + + Anon the bones of the wreck come past + Bitterly mock'd of the roaring tide, + From wave to wave in derision cast + With scorn and jeers at poor human pride; + And still the Petrel with lightning sweep + Circles their way through the raging deep, + Settling in awe on some shatter'd spar, + And tracking its course as it drifts afar. + + Into this realm of the winds and waves + Man cometh not with his living soul, + But like the mounds over clammy graves, + Over his body the surges roll; + No mortal weeper hath seen his tomb, + Buried he lies in eternal gloom, + Save that the Petrel with wailing cry + Hover'd around as he floated by. + + What doth the Petrel so far away + From the home of love and the field of strife? + In this lone spot doth the Petrel stay + To show the beauty and power of LIFE. + For the broad Earth and the boundless sea, + Time and the endless eternity, + All, all acknowledge the spirit's controul, + And like the frail body, were made for the soul. + + + + + TO ---- + + + When the stars are up and keeping + Holy vigils in the skies, + Whilst Night's train is passing slowly, + Footsteps hush'd, and voices lowly, + And on earth sweet dreams are steeping + Slumbering souls in Paradise, + In my heart there comes a vision, + Angel-like from its elysian, + Bent upon some blessed mission, + And its form resembleth thee + In thy grace and purity. + + I with tranced rapture gazing, + Scan each lineament divine, + Trace again thy pensive sweetness, + Beauty's soul, and love's completeness, + Heart and hands devoutly raising + Like a pilgrim at Love's shrine, + Evermore within me feeling + Like a charm thy beauty stealing, + Hushing pain, and sorrow healing, + And I pray to dream for ever + Gazing thus, and waking never; + + For the morn comes, and the Real + Once again resumes its sway, + Scattereth these radiant fancies, + Cloudeth o'er thy gentle glances, + And still seeking my Ideal + Through this life I take my way, + Weary, heart-sick, longing, sighing, + Praying much, yet no replying, + Phantom Hope before me flying + Leading ever back to thee, + To behold thee in thy beauty, + Feel that love is only duty, + Meritless, save that so dying + Gain I Love's eternity. + + + + + THE MERMAID. + + + A mermaid smoothing her sunny hair, + Fanned by the breath of the summer air, + Sang to me,--"Love, wilt thou go with me + "Down to the depths of the purple sea?"-- + "Maiden, ah yes! I will go with thee, + "And lap my soul in felicity!" + + Down we went through the crystal waters + Evermore waving round Neptune's daughters, + Down, till the light of the starry sky + Melted away like an echoed sigh, + And the rapt breast of the restless ocean + Sank into still dreams of past emotion, + Down, and we stood on a pleasant shore + Paven with shells from the Naiad's store, + Shining and rosy-lipp'd such as keep + The mermaid's songs for their balmy sleep. + Flowers there were set with sparkling gems, + Gleaming amid the white coral stems, + And flinging their measure of light and scent + Up through the translucent firmament. + And as the air by a bird's wing laven, + Or a deep pool by a white hand waven, + Floated the swells of the dewy tide + Round the sea-maiden and me beside. + Onward we went where a diamond portal + Kept the pure light of the dawn immortal, + Making the heart sicken o'er to win + The halcyon joys it enclosed within; + Entered we under its arching sweep + Into the palace hall of the deep, + Where 'neath the vault of its lofty dome + Have the nymphs and mermen gay their home; + There sat old Neptune upon his throne, + A foaming wave that was turn'd to stone, + And round about him his merry crew + With brimming cups of the purple dew; + Wandering far through the lumin'd halls, + Where light was bred in the ruby walls, + Stray'd the fair Naiads with golden hair, + That wanton'd about in the perfumed air; + And flowing robes round their white limbs waved, + Like moonbeams bright into substance laved. + Neptune in tones that spread far and wide, + "Ho! Ho! a man with a mermaid bride!" + And the blue dome rung with cruel laughter, + Till all the arches mutter'd it after; + Then came the nymphs in a radiant string, + And circled us round like Saturn's ring, + Forms that appearing to mortal eyes + Dazzle them so that the spirit dies. + Then to my mermaid old Neptune saith, + "Hymn the rash mortal unto his death!" + She with a voice that murmuring stole + Deep as a heaven thought into my soul-- + "O! in the land that is under the waves + "To dwell with my love in the coral caves, + "To bind his brows with a diamond zone, + "And call the light of his eyes mine own; + "To roam with him through the boundless space, + "And make the billow our resting place, + "There sing our songs till we fall asleep, + "And dream of Elysium in the deep; + "Waves are flowing for ever and ever, + "O they will rock us for ever and ever, + "Hush every sorrow to quiet rest, + "And pillow love in each other's breast; + "O they will sink us deeper and deeper, + "Until they themselves sleep with the sleeper, + "Until there is only love awake, + "That cannot sleep for his own sweet sake; + "Come in my bosom, then, come with me, + "Down to the depths of the purple sea!" + All my soul thrill'd and panted for bliss + As pilgrims thirst in the wilderness; + I cried, "O maiden, whose softest sighs + "Are sweeter than all Earth's melodies, + "If thou wilt wander with me for ever, + "And naught have power our true hearts to sever, + "I shall forget all that earth calls fair, + "And all that I fondly treasured there, + "The meadows and hills and sunny dells, + "And the birds and fragrant heather-bells, + "And I will follow thee through the deep, + "Where waves shall rock us to tender sleep; + "All powers of ocean I will defy, + "And follow thee though it be but to die!" + Neptune then, "Youth thou hast bravely said, + "And meet art thou with a nymph to wed, + "So thou shalt live out thy little span + "Unscathed by the hands of the blithe merman." + + So they bound me fast in cruel sleep, + And bore me silently from the deep, + And ne'er have I seen my mermaid more, + Though oft I watch for her on the shore. + + + + + THE SPIRIT OF THE AIR. + + + A spirit came to me on the breeze + Sweet with the breath of the orange trees, + Floated about me, and murmur'd soft, + "O Poet! wilt fly with me far aloft? + "And I will show thee the realms of space + "Where the lightning can find no resting place. + "We will away to the home of morn, + "And see the first youngling sunbeams born. + "We will away to the cave of Night, + "And wake the echoes to sudden fright, + "And then we'll wander among the stars + "And mark the roll of their golden cars?"-- + "Spirit! I'll go with thee through the sky, + "For my soul pants ever to soar on high, + "If thou wilt bear me upon thy wings, + "And guide me amid our bright wanderings." + + Swiftly we went through the sunny air, + Higher than ever the skylark dare, + And the bright clouds where the summer beams + Slumber and revel in golden dreams, + Lay far beneath us like dewy fumes + Hovering over the flower-blooms. + Higher we went till the puny Earth + Dwindled away to an atom girth, + And the record of our rapid way + Was the far death of a starry ray; + Then we drew nigh to the palace bright + Where morning treasures her dewy light, + Cool'd by the breath of the angels' wings, + And sweet with their musical utterings. + There we saw the young day-beams awaken, + And the earth's rays from their soft tresses shaken, + And there we saw the sweet zephyrs rise, + That woo the flowers with gentle sighs, + And kiss the mist from the streamlet's tide, + As tears are kiss'd from a happy bride; + The angels of Joy and bliss were there, + Lapt in the folds of the balmy air, + Breathing their paeans till far away + The echoes went with the light of day; + The spirit said, "Hence the ray of morn, + "Like a poor child unto sorrow born, + "Wends to the earth with sweet smiles uplit, + "And from the darkness awakens it; + "But though it whisper of peace and love, + "And tell the world of the joys above, + "They will not hearken unto the voice + "Whose accents faint make the flowers rejoice, + "But still grovel on in strife and sorrow, + "And make the signal of war, 'the morrow.'" + Onward we went through the heavens afar + Swift as the course of a shooting star, + Until dark shadows began to fall + Around our way, like a funeral pall, + Deeper and deeper, and then the gloom + Grew thick as it were the Night's own tomb; + There was no sound save the rushing wave + Closing the furrow our passing clave; + There was no sound save the beating heart, + That at its own throbbings seemed to start; + There was no sound save the ebb and flow + Of my own breathing drawn long and low; + Then the air-spirit gave forth a cry + That rang through the arches of the sky, + Whereat a myriad echoes leapt + Forth from the darkness 'mid which they slept, + Shouted an answer in fierce surprise, + That rumbled far into faintest sighs, + Then slowly sank to their rest again, + And left the Night to her silent reign. + On we went whilst the sounds grew dimmer, + Till stars afar began to glimmer + Like flashing lights on a lonely mere, + Like tapers dim round a sable bier; + Onward, till many a radiant world + In solemn glory across us whirl'd, + Shaking the air in their mighty march, + Like thunder beneath its prison arch; + Ever louder the swift wind bore us + The swell of their eternal chorus, + Filling the soul of the boundless sky + With strains of adoring harmony. + Past us came Mars all fiery and red, + Like a warrior stain'd with the blood he shed; + And his voice o'er all rang clear and high + Pealing for ever Truth's battle-cry; + Saturn came with his blazing ring, + Like a crown round the brows of a Titan king, + Circled by many a satellite, + That made his pathway through heaven bright; + The star of eve like a maiden sphere, + Gleaming with beauty and grace, drew near, + Sweeping along 'mid heaven's panoply, + The sweetest and fairest child of the sky; + Onward they came in myriad lines + From space whereon the sun never shines, + But fades away like a twinkling star + 'Neath orbs whose glory is greater far; + Many a beautiful world appear'd, + Such as not even Fancy hath rear'd, + Sinless and happy as Heaven will be, + And stamp'd with the seal of Eternity. + + But sadly we sank to Earth again, + And heard the discord and strife of men, + Like a harp that jars from a sudden fall, + And turns to discord tones musical. + + + + + WHY DO I LOVE THEE? + + + 'Tis not because thou art so fair, + So beautiful unto the sight; + 'Tis not because thy silken hair + Curls o'er a neck of spotless white; + 'Tis not because thy speaking eye + Claims kindred with the deep blue sky, + Alone I love thee! + + No! 'tis because around thee gleams + The light of innocence and truth, + Adorning with its radiant beams, + And pure reflex the charms of youth; + Because thine every word and thought + With thy soul's gentleness is fraught, + Therefore I love thee! + + + + + LADY ANNABEL. + + + She had suitors many, many, + The fair Lady Annabel, + But she loved him more than any, + For she knew he loved her well. + She was rich, but he was lowly, + Lowly in the world's esteem, + But that made her love more holy, + As the darkness gilds the beam; + For she knew his manly honour, + All the beauties of his mind, + And they sweetly stole upon her + Like the scent borne on the wind; + So she loved him ere she knew it, + Ere she thought to close her heart + 'Gainst the tender spells that drew it + Evermore to take his part + When in idlesse or in malice + Others lightly spoke of him, + Careless that in his life's chalice + They poured sadness to the brim; + For he was a dreamer throughly, + Feeding on sweet Poesie, + And few knew his spirit truly, + And none prized it well as she; + But upon the thymy mosses, + With wild flowers by his side, + Blossoms that the summer glosses + For the brow of fairy bride, + He would lie and weave bright fancies + From the maze within his heart, + Which her gentle smiles and glances + Kindled with an angel's art; + For a firmament of beauty + Hung like heaven o'er his mind, + And it seem'd a sacred duty + To hymn all the fair it shrined; + So he praised her golden tresses, + And he thought them fair and soft + As the locks the sun caresses + On bright angels far aloft; + And her eyes so blue and tender, + Made for love to glisten through, + That their gentleness might render + Love as welcome as the dew; + And her cheeks with roses blushing, + And her lips with sunshine drest, + Her white bosom gently hushing + With its swells all ill to rest, + All came to him in his dreaming + Like things from another sphere, + Till bewildered by their gleaming + He felt only they were dear. + Must he perish, must he languish + For the love of one so fair, + Till the cruel sting of anguish + Change a blessing to despair? + He is poor, and favour never + Smiles on one so weak as he, + Poverty still comes to sever + All hopes of felicity. + But she loves him, and communion + With his soul gives strength to hers, + So they blend their lives in union + Careless of cold fashion's slurs; + She resigns what earth calls treasure, + Titled suitors, wealthy-dower, + That is _commerce_, she seeks pleasure, + For she knows life's but an hour, + Far too short and full of sadness, + Far too full of grief and pain, + For the heart to barter gladness + For a shadow or for gain; + So she fondly stood beside him, + And she placed her hand in his + With a smile that seem'd to chide him + For the shade that veil'd his bliss, + As he thought how he could duly + Make return for all her love, + Only could he serve her truly, + Love her as the light above; + And she said "We will live gaily + In some sylvan hermitage, + Worshipping all beauty daily, + Till my foolish heart grow sage; + We will have sweet flowers about us, + Birds to sing from every tree + No suspicious friends to doubt us, + So we must live merrily!" + + Thus they went, and of their marriage + Jesting spake the giddy world; + Nobles, pillow'd in their carriage, + Laugh'd aloud with proud lips curled, + And fair ladies smiled their pity, + With a sigh for mortal folly, + Whilst rich merchants in the city + Frown'd, and called it, "Melancholy." + What they said, or what they ponder'd + Little reck'd fair Annabel, + As with joyous hearts they wander'd + By green vale and shady dell; + And she cried "O! life was never + Made to be ambition's fool, + Bound in fashion's chains, and ever + Banish'd from the Beautiful!" + + + + + TO JENNY LIND. + + ON HER RE-APPEARANCE IN ENGLAND + + MAY 4th. 1848. + + + Summer hath come, led on by sunny May + The blue-eyed, round whose brow the first pure ray + That trembles from the opening gates of dawn + Still seems to circle, and the mossy lawn, + As they glide gently onward, ever breathes + A beauty and a fragrance, which enwreathes + Within the being until every thought + With a strange mystery of joy is fraught. + And where the hazel forms a leafy screen + Of verdant matting, the cuckoo, unseen, + Chaunts forth her woodnotes through the stilly air, + Whose silent motions far the accents bear. + And thou hast come, sweet Nightingale! once more + O'er our entranced spirits to outpour + Thy liquid warblings! 'Mid the flow'rets' scent + And summer's gladness rises interblent + Thy loving welcome! Not the bird that sighs + Her thrilling love-tale through the moonlit skies + Of Italy, as erst to Juliet's ear + From the pomegranate tree 'twas wafted near, + Seizes the soul with ravishment more sweet + Than thy soft tones, stealing unto the seat + Of passion, waking echoes in the breast + Of love, and purity, and quiet rest, + Murmuring through the windings of the soul, + Till interpenetrated is the whole + With holy harmonies, and blissful sense + Of joyance, and straightway is refted thence + All baser feeling, and all earthly leaven, + By the dear magic of that voice from heaven. + Fair Priestess of the Beautiful! that bringest + Missions of sweetness from above, and flingest + In a rich flood of song--now faint, yet clear + As Helicon's own murmurs to the ear, + Now swelling till around our being floats + In thrilling cadences thy bell-like notes,-- + The poetry of poetry, the deep + Mysterious essences whose wavings steep + Life in the bliss of angels, and the real + In the ethereal hues of the ideal; + A welcome to thee! heartfelt as the lay + Hymn'd by the panting lark to the young day, + Joyous and loving as the sunny beam + That greets the early primrose, when the dream + Of flowery revels through the noontide hours + First steals upon it. Such a joy is ours + Now, as with falt'ring tones our spirits hail + Thy glad return, O sweetest Nightingale! + + + + + THE GOLD SEEKERS. + + + Ever onward sweep the Nations, marching with a mighty train, + Prince and peasant, youth and maiden, toiling, struggling o'er + Life's plain; + + Turning from the land that bore them, from the loving ties of old, + Still to wander, weary pilgrims, o'er the wide world after gold. + + Little reck they of the dangers, little reck they of the woes, + Urged along by strong endeavour, heedless both of friends and foes; + + Gazing on the shadow moving at their sides till sun hath set, + Ever whisp'ring to their spirit, "Courage! we will grasp it yet!" + + Over plain and over mountain, rocks their zeal cannot resist, + Up the rugged heights they clamber till they perish in the mist; + + Down the precipital hollows blindly falling as they speed, + Calling still with dying accents on their fellows to take heed; + + Over stream, and trackless ocean, with the storm-cloud hatching + nigh, + Ever waiting there to thunder at the bidding of the sky; + + Tossing on the angry billow, heart and soul beset with fear, + Yet with longing all unshaken, onward through the blast they steer; + + Over marsh, and sandy desert, sinking 'neath the scorching sun, + Hopeless, weary, madly thirsting, slowly dying one by one; + + Leaving many a bone to whiten by the wayside, and to tell + By mortality's drear tide-marks, how its surges rose and fell; + + Through the spring, and through the summer, when the flowers are on + the lea; + Through the Autumn when the blossoms fade and wither drearily; + + Through the chill and ghostly Winter when the year is in its shroud, + And corruption preys on Nature, stooping fiercely from its cloud; + + Through the light and through the darkness, through the rain and + through the snow, + Striving onward without resting seeking it above, below, + + In the earth, and in the water, in the rock, and in the clay, + Gathering up the sandy beaches, searching, sifting them away; + + Never resting, but with spirits eager, breathless to attain, + Evermore they hurry forward to their purpose o'er life's plain, + + With their garments waxen olden, and their sandals wearing out, + And the sinews growing weaker that once bore them up so stout, + + With the vision ever dimmer to discern the cherish'd prize, + Till at length upon the highway, at each step some pilgrim dies, + + His glazed eyes still feebly turning e'en in death unto the goal + That yet glimmers far beyond him, the life haven of his soul. + + But a stalwart phalanx presseth onward still with hearts serene, + Strong in faith and stedfast courage, meeting toil with dauntless + mien; + + Working out their primal mission through the calm and through the + blast, + Gath'ring fitness for the Future from the Present, and the Past. + + Thus enduring, thus pursuing upheld by a mighty hand + Through all dangers of the travel, come they to the Golden Land, + + Find the treasures they are seeking richly pour'd into their breast; + Toil and danger ever finish'd, now they sweetly take their rest, + + With the light of glory shining from the Godhead on their souls, + Whilst above them the broad banner of Eternity unrolls. + + + + + TO WOMAN. + + + Beautiful Spirit! Angel of the Earth! + That glidest through the storm-tost world, + And bearest + Blessings of peace and rest unto the weak, + Giddy and faint within its vortex whirled; + O! fairest, + Sweetest Pilot of the wavering soul + Through the wide-yawning gulfs and shoals of crime, + Whence issue siren-spells that seek + To sink the wayward in their noxious slime; + Emblem of Purity! + That like the star of Bethlehem dost lume + The wise of heart through this life's deepest gloom + To hope, and joy, and blessedness, + Hail to thee! + Thou art the Priestess of all Holiness! + Standing midway betwixt the earth and heaven, + Part shared of either, + Mortality inwrought with purer leaven, + Good sympathies, sweet thoughts, and stainless love, + That like distilled perfume float above + To charm the breather! + + O vision of soft eyes and flowing hair, + Mild gentle eyes that chasten as they glance, + And on their dewy brightness ever bear + The heart's warm language writ in radiance! + O blessed smiles! heaven's golden sunrays shed + On life's cold stream, + Renewed summer when the old is fled + Like a dream! + O voice tinct with the spirit's sweetness, + Last tone of heaven's clear harmonies + Ere in the silence of wide space it dies, + Music's completeness! + O gentle laughters! rising from the crystal spring + Of joyance and free-hearted sympathy, + Pure rills to trickle sunnily + From eyes and rosy lips in liquid warbling, + Sweetly ye win us + To shrine the blest spirit of Beauty + Within us! + + O tender heart! Love's everlasting dwelling, + Beautiful fountain of all generous thoughts, + From whose unsealed fulness, ever welling, + Come to mankind their purest pleasure draughts; + O gentle heart! Grief's only sanctuary, + Safe refuge from the rude assaults of woe, + Throbbing with mild compassion constantly, + That never change nor withering can know; + From the pure spring of virgin slumbers + Peace falls upon the soul when thou art by, + Lulling it sweeter than Philomel's numbers, + Lapping it deep within felicity. + O brightest! dearest! still there floats to thee + The incense of pure minds eternally, + Thoughts sown of loveliness, that bud and bloom, + And through the summer-time of after years + Shed sweet perfume, + Love-imaginings that rise through tears + Like rainbows, and soft dreams + That are the heaven-gleams, + Caught from the deep + Of Elysian sleep! + + + + + THE POET. + + + You might think, to look upon them with their arms around each + other, + And the tale that he is breathing softly crimsoned on her cheek, + That a sweeter spell enwound them than the love she bears a brother, + And that sweeter words are spoken than the words that brothers + speak. + + For, fair one, she loves him dearly, dearly as a woman's spirit + Full of gentleness and beauty loves all pure and holy things, + Just as though some blessed angel, screened from sight, were + floating near it, + Fanning every tender feeling into motion with its wings. + + So she hears with echoed rapture hopes that in his breast are + swelling, + Of the glory and the honour that have sunned his poet's dream, + Charmed him by their bright illusion madly from his quiet dwelling + To immerse him in life's ocean, there to lose him like a stream. + + Ay! look in her eyes, poor poet, kiss the tears that tremble + brightly + On their fringes till thou deem'st them her pure soul distill'd + for thee, + They are true ones, they are fond ones, and that vision, coming + nightly, + May refresh thee like a fountain rising 'mid sterility. + + Backward from her upturned beauty did he smooth the golden tresses, + That Madonna-like fell clust'ring round the softness of her cheek; + 'Twas a frank one, and a fair one, with the grace that truth + impresses + Beaming o'er it without shadow, so he gazed but did not speak. + + Then he whispered, "Bright May, dear May, in the world where I am + going, + Going, it may be unwisely, but some magic draws me on, + There to win the fame and honour with whose fire my soul is glowing, + Thou shalt be my guiding angel, thou shalt be my helicon. + + I will paint thee in my verses, thee, so beautiful and tender, + Till that world shall thrill with pleasure, and pure hearts shall + cherish thee; + Bright May, dear May, they will love thee, and thy gentleness shall + render + Earth again a sunny Eden dedicate to Poesy. + + They will crown me for _thy_ beauty, they will love me for _thy_ + sweetness, + They will shrine my name in glory, hear it like a household thing, + They will feel the spell of beauty, think of heaven for thy + meetness, + Thus I'll do the poet's mission, thou an angel's ministring." + + So he went into the wide world with bright hopes around him playing, + Youth to make his footsteps buoyant, and firm trust to nerve his + heart, + Fame and glory clear before him like a sun the path arraying, + Witless that the golden vision of his dreams could ere depart. + + + II. + + There are thousands in the highways buffeting the waves beside + them, + Struggling onward without respite in pursuit of sandbuilt gain; + There are thousands sinking daily, but the selfish crowd deride + them, + Only hurry on the swifter--there's no time to pity pain. + + Ah! what hope for thee, poor poet! in the race that they are + running, + When the jar of stormy passions makes thy temples wildly beat; + Can'st thou wrestle with the torrent, can'st thou stand against + their cunning, + Who will crush thee without mercy, like a flower beneath their feet. + + Wherefore did'st thou leave thy dwelling 'mid the calm and pleasant + places, + Where no sorrow came to rouse thee from the heaven of thy dreams, + Where the wood-birds gave thee music, and the path the wild bee + traces + For its sweetness thou could'st follow, or repose by gentle streams. + + O poor world! immersed in folly, O dull world! that will not hearken + To the music of a Poet singing of the Beautiful, + Close your heart against its teaching, though it be so sweet, and + darken + All the sunshine of the spirit by the coldness of your rule. + + * * * * * + + Who would bid us draw the curtain that conceals the poet's sorrow, + Who would need to _hear_ his anguish when they look upon his brow,-- + It is written there in tracings far more true than tongue could + borrow, + It is brimming in his glances, once so bright, so woeful now. + + Gaze upon him! dost thou know him? to his long-left home returning, + For his step is very feeble, and his cheek is very pale, + And amid it like a sunset is the hectic plague-spot burning, + Ye who know no shatter'd hope-dreams, gaze upon him--there's the + tale! + + O the holy love of woman! O the gentle love of woman! + Breathing like a balmy zephyr on the fever'd brows of care, + Centrate sweetness of all sweetness, only in its sorrow human, + Joy without you were a phantom, grief without you were despair! + + See! how tenderly she leads him with her arm around him pressing, + As to shield him from the rough world that had wrought him so much + woe, + And his eyes are filled with moisture, scarcely can he breathe his + blessing, + But she feels it in the throbbing of his full heart as they go. + + Gaze again into her kind eyes, gaze into them, weary poet, + Fill thy soul with holy calmness from the fountain of her love, + If there's peace for thy poor spirit in this earth they will bestow + it, + For she is a gentle angel sent to bless thee from above. + + And she said, as she bent o'er him, half in language, half in + glances, + For there is a hidden meaning far too deep for words to tell, + "We will dwell," she said, "with nature, nourishing all gentle + fancies, + And the lark shall be our minstrel, and the flowers shall love us + well." + + So he smiled upon her gently with a glance more sad than weeping, + That a bitter thrill ran through her like a harp struck suddenly, + And she thought upon the summer with cold shadows o'er it creeping, + And she thought upon the flowers fading on the mossy lea. + + But she turn'd her till the paleness, and the tears that would be + flowing + Faded from her that they might not be the mirrors of his own; + Smiling comfort on him ever, evermore as they were going, + For she said "Ah! there are none to smile on him but I alone." + + + III. + + He is lying in the sunshine with the blithe birds round him singing, + There are flowers beside his pillow, there are flowers beneath his + feet, + Summer pours her treasures round him, like a gentle maiden flinging + Fragrant blossoms from her bosom o'er a path to make it sweet. + + She is kneeling in the sunshine with the radiant glory o'er her, + And his palm is on her tresses, her's are folded on her breast; + He were very calm and happy, only for the love he bore her, + Which was far too sweet a feeling to resign it e'en for rest. + + "Bright May! dear May! draw still nearer, nearer, dear May! till my + spirit + Sun itself within your brightness, as the lark doth in the day; + Soon the air will be so lumined that my weakness will not bear it, + So I'll gather new strength from thee to support me on my way. + + "There are tears within your eyes, May, let me kiss them from your + eyes, May, + They will taste as sweet to me as do the dews upon the rose; + Dear eyes how I love them! they oft tell me of the skies, May, + Tell me secrets of the Blessed more than mortal spirit knows. + + "Ah! I knew not in the old time half the sweetness that doth linger + Round the simple things of Nature which the proud heart passes by, + Now I see there's not a wildflower but doth point with warning + finger, + To the unobservant passer, truths of immortality. + + "Bright May, thou shalt be my beadsman, and thy golden tresses + drooping + Round thee shall be all the vesture that my loving soul shall seek; + Thou shalt be a meet confessor for a lowly poet stooping + To breathe forth his secret failings, and read pardon on thy cheek. + + "Bright May! I have been a strayer from the narrow path that wanders + Through this world to lead the traveller to a glad eternity, + I have been an erring madman, for the blind heart never ponders + Till the fancied light it follows lead it from felicity. + + "I have been most false and perjured, false to all a poet's duty, + Even whilst my heart was boasting proudly of a poet's creed, + I have loudly claimed the title of a worshipper of beauty, + Yet could gaze upon a flower till I thought it but a weed. + + "Yes! I dwelt amid the woodlands with bright streamlets singing + round me, + Sunny dells, moss-paven alleys, and cool shades to ramble in; + All was happy, all was peaceful, yet e'en there ambition found me, + Charm'd me forth into the rough world to engulph me in its din. + + "Yes! I wearied of the woodlands, of the streams and sunny places + Where I lay me in the summer to dream all the noontide o'er, + Like the child of a sweet mother lapt within her fond embraces + Drawing fitness from her beauty to lisp forth in poet's lore. + + But the time is drawing nigh; now, when my soul sublimed from folly + Shall see all things in their trueness, with no sun-veil drawn + between; + Know that glory is mere weakness and that aim alone is holy + Which, wrought out in life with patience, fits man for a higher + scene. + + + + + EVENING. + + + Far away in Western ether + Day and Night at length have met, + Like old friends that come together, + And their eyes with tears are wet. + + In the heart, too, joy and sorrow + Meet together without pain, + Loving friends who, on the morrow, + At the dawning, part again. + + 'Tis the time for sweet contentment, + Thoughts all dedicate to love, + Soften'd down from all resentment, + Chasten'd as the light above. + + 'Tis the time to breathe a blessing + Forth on all things good and fair, + That make life so sweet, repressing + Like a charm the strokes of care. + + Tis the time when those who love us + Rise like stars in Fancy's sky, + Shining steadily above us, + Though afar, in seeming nigh. + + Sure our life is but a gloaming + Deep'ning slowly unto Night, + To give rest unto the roaming, + To the sad, dreams of delight. + + Should not _life_, then, be contentment, + Only dedicate to love, + Softened down from all resentment, + Holy as the light above. + + + + + LIFE. + + + Many a bright and pleasant vision + Hath the heart in youth, + Visions that the wizard Fancy + Conjures by sweet Necromancy, + Ever robed in hues Elysian, + From the world of Truth; + Many a bright and pleasant vision + Cheers the heart of youth! + + Just as though the curtain parted + From the Life Unseen, + And a portion of its gladness, + Unalloy'd by any sadness, + O'er the ripening spirit darted + Like the morning's sheen, + Making us awhile pure-hearted + And our sky serene. + + Many a pleasure from the real + Hath our manly prime, + Though the mystic light is shaded, + And the rosy dreams have faded; + For our strengthen'd spirits see all + Things matured by Time, + Growing out of the ideal + Unto truth sublime; + + Blossom unto fruitage golden, + Hope to certainty; + All things by divine transition + Keeping pace with life's ambition, + New joys springing from the olden + As we pass them by + Climbing still, by faith upholden, + Onward to the sky. + + Many a pleasant recollection + Hath the heart of Age, + That life's tide hath staunchly breasted, + Wrought, achieved and nobly rested, + Musing with calm retrospection + Their past pilgrimage; + Many a sweet and wise reflection + Hath the heart of Age; + + Looking forward, dreaming ever + Of the Better Land; + Waiting for the promised glory, + That shall bind their temples hoary + With a brightness fading never + On that holy strand, + Crowning life's devout Endeavour + With a bounteous hand. + + + + + SORROW. + + + Through the Earth a Spirit goeth + Onward still from morn till night, + Silent as the Time-stream floweth + Out of darkness into light. + + And her heart is very tender, + Full of love and kindliness, + Yearning evermore to render + Goodness fuller, error less. + + Through the Earth the spirit wendeth, + And full many a little child + With light heart her course attendeth, + By her gentle eyes beguiled; + + Turning to her fond embraces, + Playing round her as she goes, + With no shade on their glad faces + Deeper than the budding rose. + + A maiden dreaming of her lover + Like a star amid the night, + Felt the spirit bend above her, + In between her and the light; + + And she quivered back in terror + From the spirit's offered kiss; + Ah! how often, thus, doth error + Backward fright our souls from bliss! + + Then the spirit "Ah! thou dearest, + Wilt thou close thy heart from me? + Through the shadow that thou fearest + Heaven's own light will shine on thee. + + "Like the streams that most refresh us + In the desert parch'd and drear, + Sorrow renders love more precious, + Makes the cherish'd one more dear." + + On--the spirit circled gently, + Kindly round a Poet's heart, + Gazing through the veil intently + After life's diviner part; + + And the poet bent to meet her, + For he said "The truth will be + Made through Sorrow ever sweeter, + Ever clearer unto me. + + "We are blinded by the sunlight + From the heaven's _unclouded_ blue, + But through mist we eye the One-light + Till we read it through and through." + + To the beautiful the Spirit + Open'd wide her loving breast, + Wooed their souls to nestle near it + And from life's excitement rest, + + Whispering, "Sleep on Sorrow's bosom, + Dear ones, and your souls will rise + With fresh sweetness on their blossom, + Richer perfume, brighter dyes." + + Most shrunk from her, but some weeping + Yielded to her soft controul; + And whilst on that bosom sleeping + Heaven-dew fell upon each soul. + + Young and old fled from her ever + Waving off her proffered grace, + Thwarting each divine endeavour, + Trembling still before her face; + + And she said "Ah! ye are blinded, + Seeing not the things that are, + For unto the earnest-minded + Sorrow is life's guiding star; + + "Not delusive, not unsparing, + Richer fraught with good than pain, + Unto life sweet blessings bearing + Though she scatter them in rain." + + + + + I. + + WRITTEN AT ULLESWATER. + + The tide is rippling to my very feet, + The mountains are before me, and around, + Stretching in misty grandeur till they meet + In one dim bourne, their hoary summits crown'd + With cloudy chaplets, such as might have bound + The new-born Thunderer when Saturn fell, + All wonder-stricken, from his mighty throne. + The sun is shining upon wooded slopes, + And distant headlands, with faint shadows thrown + Amid its brightness like the shatter'd hopes + Of a young noontide, and its golden light + Crests the upheaving waters till each swell + Is tremulous with glory, and the sight + Pictures strange fancies which no tongue can tell. + + + II. + + There is a spell by which the panting soul + Shakes from its stainless pinions all the gyves + Wherewith our frail mortality still strives + To bind it downward 'neath its stern controul; + When springing from the earth like the sweet lark + That wings its flight in music to the sky, + Amid the spheres it wanders, where the eye + Trembles to blindness, and the last faint spark + Of Earth's far gleaming flickers and expires; + Thine is the charm, dear Poesy, which sets + The caged spirit on its heavenward flight, + And fills its being with those pure desires, + And holy aspirations, which like light + Shower on the world in distillations bright. + + + III. + + We wander on through life as pilgrims do + O'er trackless deserts to a distant shrine, + Weary and parch'd, and to our longing view + Springs many a false mirage of joy divine, + That fades before us as we fain pursue + The empty picture which our fancy drew. + O thou, my heart! seek not the empty shows + And gilded nothings of this little Time, + But let thine endless effort be to climb + Above Earth's petty vanities and woes + Unto a nobler range of feelings, joys, + Which no false leaven of decay alloys, + But whose substantial sweetness may increase, + And make thy journey pleasure, and thy slumber peace. + + + IV. + + Sweet spirits of the Beautiful! where'er ye dwell, + Whether upon the misty mountain tops + With mantling crags about ye, or in dell + And sunny valley, by the hazel copse + Wherein the ring-dove nestles, or by streams + That wander amid woodlands, with the sheen + Of noontide trembling through the leafy screen + Down to their mossy banks in fitful gleams, + That murmur with the linnets and at e'en + Sigh with the plaintive nightingale, and oft + Mirror your bright eyes in the sparkling dew, + Circle me ever with your joyous crew, + Bring inspirations to me bland and soft, + And sun my slumbers still with happy dreams. + + + V. + + We are ambitious overmuch in life, + Straining at ends of hard accomplishment, + And goaded onward by poor discontent, + We build our little Babels up through strife, + And bitterness of soul, and motions rife + With passions that oft slay the innocent, + Like Priests of Lust plunging the cruel knife + Into the victims of their wilderment. + Not thus do thou, but with a patient hand + Place thou thine acorn in the fertile soil, + Labouring ever with unhurtful toil, + And cheerful hope until the seed expand, + Grow with the strength of truth, and ripening Time, + And stand at last in majesty sublime. + + + VI. + + Mountains! and huge hills! wrap your mighty forms + Close with mantle of eternal cloud; + Gather around ye the fierce band of storms; + And let the stainless snow-drift be your shroud. + Back from your rugged steeps, and caverns hoar + Bellow in hoarse disdain the tempest's roar; + Laugh at the rolling thunder; let the flash + Of its fierce lightning lumine but your scorn; + Down your deep-furrow'd slopes let torrents dash, + And on the winds their hollow rage be borne. + Ye mighty ones! Why should ye bow your pride, + And doff your venerable crowns, or dress + Your wrinkled brows in smiles, or lay aside + The dread insignias of your mightiness! + + + VII. + + TO ELLA. + + Ofttimes I gaze upon thine eyes, fair child, + Till sense forgets all but the beautiful, + And my entranced and raptured heart is full + Of blissful visions, pure, and bland, and mild + In their o'erstealing, as the rosy sleep + That falls upon an infant, wafting it + In balmy dreams to heaven. Within the deep + The thrilling sea of their blue loveliness, + By sun-reflected gleams of heaven uplit, + My spirit bathes in sweet unconsciousness + Of aught material, and oft doth drink + Of beauty there, whose freshness never dies, + Till, pleasure-lapt, it feels as it could sink + Beneath the waves, and enter paradise. + + + VIII. + + I traverse oft in thought the battle-plain + Of my past life, 'mid many a shatter'd dream + Of pleasure, and of hope, which youth in vain + Based on the shifting sands of Time's swift stream, + Fond bulwarks 'gainst the strong assaults of pain; + And 'mid their ruins, like an exiled man + Gazing on scenes where he can dwell no more, + I stand and mourn their sweet enchantment o'er, + Where both life's pleasures and its cares began. + Earth crumbles 'neath our feet as we walk on, + And leaves a gulf behind none can retrace; + Its pleasures flash a moment and are gone; + But if we treasure in our soul _love's_ grace, + _That_ will refresh and gladden all our race. + + + * * * * * + + C. 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