Then my soul yielded; spells of numbing breath Crept o'er it heavy with a dew of death,
Its powers, like leaves before the night-rain, closing;
And, as by conflict of wild sea-waves toss'd On the chill bosom of some desert coast, Mutely and hopelessly I lay reposing.
When silently it scem'd
As if a soft mist gleam'd
Before my passive sight, and, slowly curling,
To many a shape and hue
Of vision'd beauty grew,
Like a wrought banner, fold by fold unfurling. Oh! the rich scenes that o'er mine inward eye Unrolling then swept by,
O'er its rich isles of vaporous glory throwing With dreamy motion! Silvery seas were there
One melancholy dye.
And when the solemn Night
Came rushing with her might
Of stormy oracles from caves unknown,
Then with each fitful blast
Prophetic murmurs pass'd,
Wakening or answering some deep Sibyl tone, Far buried in my breast, yet prompt to rise With every gusty wail that o'er the wind-harp flies.
"Fold, fold thy wings," they cried, "and strive
Faint spirit, strive no more!-for thee too strong Are outward ill and wrong,
And inward wasting fires!-Thou canst not soar Free on a starry way
Beyond their blighting sway,
At Heaven's high gate serenely to adore:
How shouldst thou hope earth's fetters to unbind?
O passionate, yet weak! O trembler to the wind!
Never shall aught but broken music flow
From joy of thine, deep love, or tearful woe;
Such homeless notes as through the forests sigh,
From the reed's hollow shaken,
When sudden breezes waken
Their vague wild symphony:
No power is theirs, and no abiding-place
In human hearts; their sweetness leaves no trace,
Born only so to die!
"Never shall aught but perfume, faint and vain, On the fleet pinion of the changeful hour, From thy bruis'd life again
A moment's essence breathe; Thy life, whose trampled flower
Into the blessed wreath
Of household charities no longer bound,
Lies pale and withering on the barren ground.
"So fade, fade on! thy gift of love shall cling, A coiling sadness, round thy heart and brain, A silent, fruitless, yet undying thing,
And still the shadow of vain dreams shall fall O'er thy mind's world, a daily darkening pall. Fold, then, thy wounded wing, and sink subdued, In cold and unrepining quietude!"
Lit by large dazzling stars, and arch'd by skies
Of Southern midnight's most transparent dyes
And gemm'd with many an Island, wildly fair,
Which floated past me into orient day,
Still gathering lustre on th' illumin'd way,
Till its high groves of wondrous flowering trees
Colour'd the silvery seas.
And then a glorious mountain-chain uprose
Height above spiry height!
A soaring solitude of woods and snows,
All steep'd in golden light!
While as it pass'd, those regal peaks unveiling,
I heard, methought, a waving of dread wings
And mighty sounds, as if the vision hailing,
From lyres that quiver'd through ten thousand
strings:
Or as if waters forth to music leaping,
From many a cave, the Alpine Echo's hall, On their bold way victoriously were sweeping, Link'd in majestic anthems; while through ab That billowy swell and fall, Voices, like, ringing crystal, fill'd the air With inarticulate melody, that stirr'd Their piercing sweetness, bade me rise and bear My being's core; then moulding into word
In that great choral strain my trembling part Of tones, by Love and Faith struck from a human heart.
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Shall not my earthly love, all purified,
Shine forth a heavenward guide? An angel of bright power ?-and strongly bear My being upward into holier air,
Where fiery passion-clouds have no abode, And the sky's temple-arch o'erflows with God?
The radiant hope new-born
Expands like rising morn
In my life's life: and as a ripening rose,
The crimson shadow of its glory throws
More vivid, hour by hour, on some pure stream;
So from that hope are spreading
Rich hues, o'er nature shedding,
Each day, a clearer, spiritual gleam.
Let not those rays fade from me;-once enjoy'd,
Father of spirits! let them not depart!
Leaving the chill'd earth, without form and void,
Darken'd by mine own heart!
Lift, aid, sustain me! Thou, by whom alone
All lovely gifts and pure
In the soul's grasp endure ;-
Thou, to the steps of whose eternal throne
All knowledge flows-a sea for evermore
Breaking its crested waves on that sole shore-
O consecrate my life! that I may sing
Of Thee with joy that hath a living spring,
In a full heart of music!-Let my lays
Through the resounding mountains waft thy
praise,
And with that theme the wood's green cloisters fill,
And make their quivering leafy dimness thrill
To the rich breeze of song! O! let me wake
The deep religion, which hath dwelt from
yore,
Silently brooding by lone cliff and lake,
And wildest river shore!
And let me summon all the voices dwelling Where eagles build, and cavern'd rills are welling, And where the cataract's organ-peal is swelling, In that one spirit gather'd to adore!
Forgive, O Father! if presumptuous thought
Too daringly in aspiration rise!
Let not thy child all vainly have been taught
By weakness, and by wanderings, and by sighs
Ut sad confession!-lowly be my heart,
And on its penitential altar spread
The offerings worthless, till Thy grace impart
The fire from Heaven, whose touch alone can
shed
Life, radiance, virtue !-let that vital spark
Pierce my whole being, wilder'd else and dark!
'Thine are all holy things-O make me Thine,
So shall I too be pure-a living shrine
Unto that spirit, which goes forth from Thee,
Strong and divinely free,
Bearing thy gifts of wisdom on its flight,
And brooding o'er them with a dove-like wing,
Till thought, word, song, to Thee in worship
spring,
immortally endow'd for liberty and light.
By the blue waters-the restless ocean waters, Restless as they with their many-flashing surges, Lonely I wander, weeping for my lost one!
I pine for thee through all the joyless day-
Through the long night I pine: -the golden sun
Looks dim since thou hast left me, and the spring
Seems but to weep.-Where art thou, my be-
loved ?-
Night after night, in fond hope vigilant,
By the old temple on the breezy cliff,
These hands have heap'd the watch-fire, till it
stream'd
Red o'er the shining columns-darkly red—
Along the crested billows!-but in vain;
Thy white sail comes not from the distant isles-
Yet thou wert faithful ever. O! the deep
Hath shut above thy head-that graceful head;
The sea-weed mingles with thy clustering locks;
The white sail never will bring back the loved!
By the blue waters-the restless ocean waters, Restless as they with their many-flashing surges, Lonely I wander, weeping for my lov'd one!
Where art thou-where ?-had I but lingering prest
The parted ringlets of thy shining hair
On thy cold lips the last long kiss, but smooth'd
With love's fond touch, my heart's cry had been still'd
Into a voiceless grief;-I would have strew'd
White violets, and the mournful hyacinth,
With all the pale flowers of the vernal woods,-
And frail anemone, thy marble brow,
In slumber beautiful!-I would have heap'd
Sweet boughs and precious odours on thy pyre,
And many a garland of the pallid rose,
And with mine own shorn tresses hung thine urn,
-But thou liest far away!-No funeral chant,
Save the wild moaning of the wave, is thine;
No pyre-save, haply, some long-buried wreck ;—
Thou that wert fairest-thou that wert most
loved!-
By the blue waters-the restless ocean waters,
Restless as they with their many-flashing surges,
Lonely I wander, weeping for my lost one!—
Come, in the dreamy shadow of the night,
And speak to me!-E'en though thy voice be
changed,
My heart would know it still.-O! speak to me.
And say if yet, in some dim, far-off world,
Which knows not how the festal sunshine burns-
If yet, in some pale mead of Asphodel,
We two shall meet again!-O! I would quit
The day, rejoicingly, the rosy light,—
All the rich flowers and fountains musical,
And sweet familiar melodies of earth,
To dwell with thee below.-Thou answerest not
The powers, whom I have call'd upon are mute
By stars, by sunsets, by soft clouds which rove
Thy blue expanse, or sleep in silvery rest,
That Nature's God hath left no spot unbless'd
With founts of beauty for the eye of love.
The voices buried in old whispery caves,
And by lone river-sources, and amidst
The gloom and myst'ry of dark, prophet-oaks,
The Wood-gods' haunt-they give no reply!
All silent-heaven and earth!-for ever more
From the deserted mountains thou art gone-
For ever from the melancholy groves,
Whose laurels wail thee with a shivering sound!-ON
And I-I pine through all the joyous day,
Through the long night I pine, as fondly pines
The night's own bird, dissolving her lorn life
To song in moonlight woods.-Thou hear'st me
not!
The Heavens are pitiless of human tears;
The deep sea-darkness is about thy head;
The white sail never will bring back the loved!
By the blue waters-the restless ocean waters,
Restless as they with their many-flashing surges,
Lonely I wander, weeping for my lost one!
These sonnets written in the months of April, May, and June, were intended, together with the Records of the autumn
nets Devotional and Memorial,' ""
WATCHING the flight of A SKY-LARK
The clouds are steep'd; the vernal spirit sighs
UPWARD and upward still!-in pearly light
With bliss in every wind, and crystal skies
Woo thee, O Birds! to thy celestial height;
Bird, piercing Heaven with music! thy free flight
Hath meaning for all bosoms; most of all
For those wherein the rapture and the might
Of poesy lie deep, and strive, and burn,
For their high place: O Heirs of Genius! learn
Your hearts, no gift of holy strength be won
From the sky's bird your way!-No joy may fil
To bless your songs, ye Children of the Sun!
Save by the unswerving flight-upward and up-.
ON RECORDS OF IMMATURE GENIUS.
of 1834, to form a continuation of the series, entitled "Sou-OH! judge in thoughtful tenderness of those, which appeared in the Who, richly dower'd for life, are call'd to die, Ere the soul's flame, through storms, hath won
Author's last published volume, "Scenes and Hymns of
Life."
O FESTAL Spring! 'midst thy victorious glow
Far-spreading o'er the kindled woods and plains,
And streams, that bound to meet thee from their
chains,
Well might there lurk the shadow of a woe
For human hearts, and in the exulting flow
Of thy rich songs a melancholy tone,
Were we of mould all earthly; we alone,
Sever'd from thy great spell, and doom'd to go
Farther, still farther, from our sunny time,
Never to feel the breathings of our prime,
Never to flower again!-But we, O spring!
Cheer'd by deep spirit-whispers not of earth,
Press to the regions of thy heavenly birth,
As here thy Flowers and Birds press on to bloom
and sing.
FAR from the rustlings of the poplar bough,
Which o'er my opening life wild music made,
Far from the green hills with their heathery glow
And flashing streams whereby my childhood
play'd;
In the dim city, 'midst the sounding flow
Of restless life, to thee in love I turn,
( thou rich sky! and from thy splendours learn
flow song-birds come and part, flowers wane and
blow.
With thee all shapes of glory find their home,
And thou hast taught me well, majestic Dome!
In truth's divinest ether, still and high!
Let their mind's riches claim a trustful sigh!
Deem them but sad sweet fragments of a strain,
First notes of some yet struggling harmony,
By the strong rush, the crowding joy and pain
Of many inspirations met, and held
From its true sphere:-Oh! soon it might have
swell'd
Majestically forth!-Nor doubt, that He
Whose touch mysterious may on earth dissolve
Those links of music, elsewhere will evolve
Their grand consummate hymn, from passion-
gusts made free!
A THOUGHT OF THE SEA.
My earliest memories to thy shores are bound,
Thy solemn shores, thou ever-chaunting main!
The first rich sunsets, kindling thought profound
In my lone being, made thy restless plain
As the vast shining floor of some dread fane,
All paved with glass and fire. Yet, O blue deep!
Thou that no trace of human hearts dost keep,
Never to thee did love with silvery chain
Draw my soul's dream, which thro' all nature
sought
What waves deny;-some bower of steadfast bliss,
A home to twine with fancy, feeling, thought,
As with sweet flowers:-But chasten'd hope for
Now turns from earth's green valleys, as from thee,
To that sole changeless world, where "there is no
DOTH thy heart stir within thee at the sight
Of orchard blooms upon the mossy bough?
Doth their sweet household smile waft back the
glow
Of childhood's morn?—the wondering fresh de.
light
In earth's new colouring, then all strangely bright,
A joy of fairy-land?-Doth some old nook,
Haunted by visions of thy first-loved book,
Rise on thy soul, with faint-streak'd blossoms
white
Shower'd o'er the turf, and the lone primrose-knot,
And robin's nest, still faithful to the spot,
And the bee's dreamy chime?-O gentle friend!
The world's cold breath, not Time's, this life
Of vernal gifts-Time hallows what he leaves,
And will for us endear spring-memories to the end.
STILL are the cowslips from thy bosom. springing
O far-off grassy dell!-and dost thou see,
When southern winds first wake the vernal sing
ing,
The star-gleam of the wood anemone?
Doth the shy ring-dove haunt thee yet-the bee
Hang on thy flowers as when I breathed farewel
To their wild blooms? and round my beechen tree
Still, in green softness, doth the moss-bank swell?
-Oh! strange illusion by the fond heart wrought,
Whose own warm life suffuses nature's face!
My being's tide of many-colour'd thought
Hath pass'd from thee, and now, rich, leafy place!
I paint thee oft, scarce consciously, a scene,
Silent, forsaken, dim, shadow'd by what hath been.
THOUGHTS CONNECTED WITH TREES.
TREES, gracious trees! how rich a gift ye are,
Crown of the earth! to human hearts and eyes!
How doth the thought of home in lands afar,
Link'd with your forms and kindly whisperings,
rise!
How the whole picture of a childhood lies
Till gazing through them up the summer skies
Oft 'midst your boughs forgotten, buried deep!
And old sweet leaf-sounds reach the inner world
As hush'd we stand, a breeze perchance may creep
The past, a glowing scroll, before our sight,
Where memory coils-and lo! at once unfurl'd
Spreads clear! while gushing from their long-
seal'd urn,
Young thoughts, pure dreams, undoubting prayers
And a lost mother's eye gives back its holy light.
AND ye are strong to shelter!-all meek things,
All that need home and covert, love your shade!
Birds of shy song and low-voiced quiet springs,
And nun-like violets, by the wind betray'd.
Childhood beneath your fresh green tents hath
play'd
With his first primrose-wealth:-there love hath
sought
A veiling gloom for his unutter'd thought;
And silent grief, of day's keen glare afraid,
A refuge for her tears; and oft-times there
Hath lone devotion found a place of prayer,
A native temple, solemn, hush'd, and d'm;
For wheresoe'er your murmuring tretours thrill
The woody twilight, there man's heart hath still
Confess'd a spirit's breath, and heard a ceaseless
hymn.
A REMEMBRANCE OF GRASMERE.
O VALE and lake, within your mountain-urn
Smiling so tranquilly, and set so deep!
Oft doth your dreamy loveliness return,
Colouring the tender shadows of my sleep
With light Elysian:-for the hues that steep
Your shores in melting lustre, seem to float
On golden clouds from Spirit-lands remote,
Isles of the blest ;-and in our memory keep
Their place with holiest harmonics :-Fair scene,
Most loved by evening and her dewy star!
Oh! ne'er may man, with touch unhallow'd, jar
The perfect music of the charm screne!
Still, still unchanged, may one sweet region wear
Smiles that subdue the soul to love, and tears, and
prayer!
ON READING PAUL AND VIRGINIA IN CHILD-
HOOD.
O GENTLE story of the Indian Isle!
I loved thee in my lonely childhood well
On the sea-shore, when day's last purple smile
Slept on the waters, and their hollow swell
And dying cadence lent a deeper spell
Unto thine ocean-pictures. 'Midst thy palms
And strange bright birds, my fancy joy'd to dwell,
And watch the southern cross thro' midnight
calms,
And track the spicy woods.-Yet more I bless'd
Thy vision of sweet love; kind, trustful, true,
Lighting the citron groves-a heavenly guest,
With such pure smiles as Paradise once knew.
Even then my young heart wept o'er the world's
power,
To reach and blight that holiest Eden-flower.
A THOUGHT AT SUNSET.
STILL that last look is solemn! though thy rays,
O Sun! to-morrow will give back, we know,
This joy to nature's heart. Yet through the glow
Of clouds that mantle thy decline, our gaze
Tracks thee with love half fearful:-and in days
When earth too much adored thee, what a swell
Of mournful passion, deep'ning mighty lays,
Told how the dying bade thy light farewell,
Sun of Greece! O glorious, festal Sun!
Lost, lost for them thy golden hours were done,
And darkness lay before them! Happier far
Are we, not thus to thy bright wheels enchain'd,
Not thus for thy last parting unsustain'd,
Heirs of a purer day, with its unsetting star.
IMAGES OF PATRIARCHAL LIFE.
LALM scenes of patriarch life!-how long a power
Your unworn pastoral images retain,
O'er the true heart, which in its childhood's hour
Drank their pure freshness deep! The camels'
train,
Oh! by how subtle, yet how strong a chain,
And in the influence of its touch how bless'd,
Are these things link'd, in many a thoughtful
breast,
To household memories, for all change endear'd!
-The matin bird-the ripple of a stream
Beside our native porch-the hearth-light's gleam;
The voices, earliest by the soul revered!
ATTRACTION OF THE EAST.
WHAT Secret current of man's nature turns
Unto the golden East with ceaseless flow?
Still, where the sunbeam at its fountain burns,
The pilgrim spirit would adore and glow;
Rapt in high thoughts, though weary, faint and
slow,
Still doth the traveller through the deserts wind
Led by those old Chaldean stars, which know
Where pass'd the Shepherd Fathers of mankind
Is it some quenchless instinct which from far
Still points to where our alienated home
Lay in bright peace? O thou true Eastern Star!
Saviour! atoning Lord! where'er we roam,
Draw still our hearts to thee, else, else how vain
Their hope, the fair lost birthright to regain.
Nor long thy voice amongst us may be beard,
Servant of God!-thy day is almost done-
The charm now hung upon thy look and word
Is that which lingers round the setting sun,
A power which bright decay hath meekly won
Still from revering love. Yet both the sense
Of life immortal-progress but begun-
Pervade thy mien with such clear eloquence,
That hope, not sadness, breathes from thy decline;
And the loved flowers which round thee smile
farewell,
Of more than vernal glory scem to tell,
By thy pure spirit touch'd with light divine;
While we, to whom its parting gleams are given,
Forget the grave in trustful thoughts of Heaven.
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Thick tapestry; and woodbine tendrils climb
Up the brown oak from buds of moss and thyme.
The rich deep masses of the sycamore
Hang heavy with the fullness of their prime,
And the white poplar, from its foliage hoar,
Scatters forth gleams like moonlight, with each gale
That sweeps the boughs:-the chestnut flowers
are past,
Winding in patience o'er the desert plain,-
The tent-the palm-tree-the reposing flock- The crowning glories of the hawthorn fail,
The gleaming fount-the shadow of the rock-But arches of sweet eglantine are cast
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