The Human Inheritance :: :: University of Virginia Library

Beneath the blue vault of a summer sky,
Where little clouds with white wings strove to fly
Far from the burning noon, leagues long there lay
Wide heather moors that stretched till far away
Northward faint hills arose and southward rolled
The ocean gleaming with sun-litten gold.

II.

And 'mid a great swell of the purple waste
Close to the sea, a rock, which no hand placed
Thus lonely and afar but which was hurled
A meteor from some ruin'd starry world,
Rose dark and frowning, with its hoar sides scarred
By winter tempests and the fiercely hard

Gripe of the death-frosts that from northland heights
Steal silent through grim January nights,
And traced with furrows by the many tears
Of rainy autumns thro' unnumber'd years.

III.

The purple moorland waste alone stretched wide
Beneath the sun—no thing was seen beside
To break the long still sweep that met the sky,
No mounds of rocks confusedly piled high,
No single tree with clear boughs limned in black
Against the blue, no white and dusty track,
But only miles and miles and miles that swept
Purple to where the leagueless waters leapt.
The old rock stood forth like an ancient throne
Great tho' forgotten, where the winds alone
Paid homage, fair in the sunshine of the day,
Solemn by night with phosphorescent grey.

IV.

Around, the honey-laden bees humm'd loud
With summer gladness; in a mazy cloud
Whirling the grey gnats rose and wheeled and spun
Swift golden motes within the golden sun;

And bright with all their royal emblazonries
Flashed like swift darts of fire great dragonflies.
Away across the glowing moors there rang
The lapwing's wild complaint, and far off sang
Hidden in blue a small rejoicing lark
Singing against some unseen yearn'd for mark:
About the heath the yellowhammer's cry
Piped sweet and clear, and often suddenly,
With joyous chirps and jerks, the stonechat flew
From spray to spray, and, darting flame-like through
The scented heather spires to where beneath
The ants had silent kingdoms in the heath,
The green-grey black-eyed lizard flashing shot
So swift the hawk on poised wings saw it not.

V.

O'er all the deep skies arch'd, a wondrous space
Of ardent azure while the sun had place,
That changed to dark deep depths when twilight grey
Dreamt into night, dark'ning to one vast shade
Of purple black, when lamplike star by star
Sparkled or shone or pulsing flamed afar.
Silence save for each blent and natural sound
Of earth and air—where sea-caves made the ground,

By tidal waves of ages undermined,
Groan as in travail—when the trumpet wind
All uncheck'd blew—or swelled the incessant cries
Of tossed waves in their breaking agonies.

VI.

Upon the summit of the ancient stone
(Whose birth was in Time's youth), and all alone,
Sat silent, tranced, and motionless a child
Like some sweet flow'r chance nurtured in the wild,
Sat watching seabirds, with his eager eyes
Full of the deep blue of the vaulted skies.
A child, for he indeed was little more;
A child at heart, such as whom make the door
Of heaven seem open'd here—to whom the seas
Breaking in foam, and scattered spray-swept trees
With long arms wrestling, and the winds on wings
Invisible were wondrous living things.

VII.

A flower, for his wind-kissed locks unshorn
Shone yellow as gold daffodils at morn;
His eyes were blue as in the golden grain
Windflow'rs are blue, and soft as after rain

Violets that under dripping leaves have lain,
And tender as a dappled fawn's that yearn
For pity when the shrew-mice from the fern
Shake down the dew-drops; 'neath his sunlit hair,
As early morning, his sweet face was fair
Beneath the sun-brown,—as a white bud rose
That flushes faintly while the June sun glows.
And even as he gazed there deeper grew
Within his eyes a holier softer blue,
Where some thought brooded in their sacred shade;
It seemed almost as if some song were laid
Asleep upon his face that yet would find
Some perfect utterance for the echoing wind
To carry to the birds; in reverie
Raptured he saw what these could never see.

VIII.

Oh blesséd time, when all God's world is fair
And to the soul not foreign! When the bare
Wide cruel wastes of death-encumber'd sea
Seem as the voice of God that thunderingly
Beats round the recreant earty; when morning seems
The revelation of one's utmost dreams
Of beauty; when the slow death of the day

Makes all the west one glorious crimson way
For happy souls that die; and when the moon,
Wheeling her radiant orb thro' the dark noon
Of night, with conscious splendour makes the seas
Unutterably solemn, and great trees
Lost in the shadow stand forth with huge limbs
Ghastly and clear; when bird songs are all hymns
Of joy and praise, and every wilding flower
Is known and loved; and when each pent up hour
Seems worse than wasted to the eager heart,
That fain would hear the thrush-wings strike apart
The beech leaves in short flight ere full and clear
Burst the sweet tide of song, or watch the deer
Stand with great eyes amid the fern, or high
Hearken the cuckoo's music fill the sky.

IX.

He seemed content just silently to sit
And watch the breaking waves, the swallows flit
Like arrows through the air, save when along
The summer wind swept bearing the sweet song
Of happy larks, or the repeated cries
Of plovers when they caught the hawk's keen eyes
Fixt on their young—and then he seem'd to be

All sight and ear, as yearning tearfully
To beat with spirit pinions that fine air
Where at the gates of heaven exceeding fair
The bird-songs rose and fell like silver tides,
Or else to be as that royal bird that prides
Itself on flinching not before the sun
But stares undaunted, so he might have spun
Downward with death upon the fierce pois'd hawk,
Saving the moorland brood: not man or boy
Seem'd he so much as some incarnate joy
At one with all things fair, flow'r o' the sod
And insect to the Loveliness call'd God.

X.

As a red rose that in full bloom doth spread
Her soft flushed bosom to the wind ere dead
'Mid fallen leaves her queenliness is gone,
So the fair westering day in glory shone
Heedless of coming night though night was nigh.
The sunset burned afar; the holy sky
Seem'd filled with heavenly forms mail'd in clear gold
Guiding their purple rafts through seas that rolled
Immeasurably far off in crimson fire.

The sea lay tranced watching the day expire,
And tired waves rose and fell as though each pray'r
Of rest long sought were granted. Everywhere
God's blessing brooded. And at last the day,
With one long earthward smile, dissolved away
Veiling her head in twilight robes wherethrough
The palpitating stars shone faint and few.

XI.

From out the darkening vault where they had hid
Through sweltering heats of noon, swiftly there slid
Star after star, each swimming from the near
Dark blue of heaven as from a windless mere
Rise in calm morning twilights white and clear
Young lily buds that open golden eyes
Which joy makes wider when the day doth rise.

XII.

Far inland, with an oft-repeated cry
The curlew wailed, and swelled mysteriously
Hoarse sounds from the dim sea. The boy's face grew
White in the dusky shade as swiftly flew
A great grey gull close by him, like a ghost

Haunting the desolate margins of the coast:
Great moths came out, with myriad sharded wings
Huge beetles droned, and other twilight things
Hummed their dim lives away, and through the air
The flittermice wheeled whistling: while the glare
Of summer lightnings flashing furtively
Blazed for a moment o'er the sleeping sea.

XIII.

At last, with a long sigh, he turn'd and slid
From the old rock, and for a little hid
His face amongst the heather-spires that shook
With cool sweet dews: then one last lingering look
Across the twilight seas, whereo'er the moon
Within her crescent shallop would sail soon,
When with swift steps he turn'd and westward fled
Across the moor by a little path that led,
Almost unseen save known, till suddenly,
Screened from the vision of the neighbouring sea,
Low in a dip between two moorland mounds
A cottage lay; whereto with rapid bounds
He sped, and, bearing with him odours of salt foam,
Entered the little doorway of his home.

XIV.

Almost alone they lived, father and son:
The elder had come here, life's joy being done
For him for ever, so that at the least
He might have rest. Nature was his priest
To soothe, and make Hope seem some possible thing
And not the gleam of some phantasmal wing.
Deep in his books he lived; with studious eyes
Scarce noting the young life beside him rise
From childhood into boyhood. Under skies
Far south his wife was born, and there she bore
The fruit that slew her; there for evermore
The man's heart yearnéd with a deathless need,
And thus the child grew up like some wild weed
Fair but untrain'd; a being that loved the birds
And knew their speech, and heard mysterious words
Whispered amid the silence of dim caves
By surging tides; who loved the winds and waves
With passionate joy; and whose clear soul was filled
All day with music, as a lyre is thrilled
By every breath of air: night, morning, noon,
The fires of sunset, th' ever changing moon,

The stars, the seas, the moors, the wave-worn rocks,
The ultimate depths of heav'n, the white flocks
Of drifting clouds about the skirts of day—
All these seem'd his in some divine strange way,
And he at one with them, and his glad soul
But one small chord in the harmonic whole.