Madmoments: or First Verseattempts :: :: University of Virginia Library

Oh! God, how wondrous are thy works, how vast
Thy Bounty to ungrateful man — thy Love,
The bright Horizon, which domes over Past,
Present and Future! in which all Things move
And breathe— but most man's Heart, which as the Dove
Should be, yet like the fabled vulture, oft
Preys on itself— the Flowers in the Grove,
The starry Spheres on high— all Beauty soft-
-Ly in Love's smile is born, on Earth and up aloft!

2

Thou Ether of the Universal Heart;
Sole Atmosphere in which its Pulses beat;
Thou steep'st with golden Light of Heav'n each Part
Of manyfeatured Life—thy Divine Heat
Gives to the Human Breast the Touch of sweet
Affections, till man's Voice seem as a Tone
Of thine own Lips— the Dayseye at thy Feet
Thou bend'st thy meeklysublime Eyes upon,
For nought is low to thee— the highest's thou alone!

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3

Oh Love! Love! Love! thus would my soul run on,
Repeating for awhile that name of thine,
Entoiled in Thoughtwoofs, hard to be unspun;
Where thousand Beautythreads entangled twine
Their Irismeshes, like the silkworm's shrine
Selfwove; Oh Love, I know not where or how
Thy praises to begin, such awe is mine;
Oh! let the spirit be upon me now
Of all I love, that all our souls as one may grow!

4

How shall I paint thee? seated with a few,
A few dear hearts around some homefireside,
Far from the world's brute Uproar, and all view
Of Discontent, and selfexalted Pride,
Who cannot find in all life's circuit wide,
The bliss which lies unheeded at their feet;
Or shall I paint thee, as thou lovest to hide
Thy flame within some virginheart, most meet,
And fit receptacle for element so sweet?

5

Or with a baby cradled on thy breast,
And drinking from one fount both Love and Life;
Or watching o'er the dreamdisturbëd rest
Of some dear head; or gathering for the hive
Of worlddespisëd Wisdom, truths that give
The soul its skywardwings; or when thou bow'st,
While Nations with selfscourging Evil strive,
Thy head, like Him of old, true to the last,
A Freewillbloodatonement for crimes long since past!

6

Oh Love! thou art the spirit's dailybread,
The heavensent Manna in this barren Earth;
But likest that whereon God's people fed,
Art given but to Faith; thou hast no worth
For hearts wherein earthgrovelling Thoughts have birth.
These thou wilt nourish not; celestial food
Is not for impure lips; but in the Dearth
Of meaner joys thou com'st with loftiest mood,
And by selfsacrifice thou mak'st man half a God!

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7

Twiceblessëd art thou, Love, for thou dost bless,
Like Mercy, him who gives and him who takes;
Joyfountain everfull, which more or less
Knows not, nor fears; and he who thereat slakes
A heavenly thirst, and of its waters makes
His soul's daydrink, his lips shall never more
Of impure sources taste; of vain heartaches,
And false Excitement, leaving us still poor,
With wasted feelings which have fed no produce sure.

8

He in whom Love has worked no holy change,
No soulexpansion and no Impulse high,
He has not loved; for Love doth allestrange
Itself from Earth; and to the inner eye
It gives o'er all life's forms new mastery,
To read aright their meanings, and to bind
Them into one strong chain, not linked awry,
By passion, prejudice, and yearnings blind
But surely blended by joint-warmth of heart and mind.

9

With Bodypleasures Love hath nought to do,
But as these fade he grows to angelsize,
And heavenly Halos mantle o'er his brow;
The light he loves is in his loved ones eyes;
The food he loves, nor cloys, nor with Earth dies;
Heartcommune and soulintercourse, whereby
He beautifies all forms, and for the skies
Moulds all life's elements, imparting high
And holiest uses even unto things that die!

10

He breaks no law! for Love itself is Law!
And of all Law the holy guarantee;
For where Love is not, there the passions war
Against each other, for brief mastery;
A state divided 'gainst itself no high
And holy end attains; but Love doth bind
All faculties in blessed unity,
Giving them force and strength; no Impulse blind,
But a calm, during energy of heart and mind;

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11

'Mid no vain tumult of the passions He
E'er condescends to dwell; for ever where
Such idle conflict is, true Liberty
Exists not; and the man whose soul doth bear
Such Elements of discord, hath no share
Of Love's calm Essence: he is still the slave
Of earthly hopes and fears; his desires are
Still born of dust, and destined for the grave,
Their End is barrenness; for what can passion have

12

To do with during Things? 'tis of the clay,
And of the body and with them it dies,
Killed by attainment; a false feverish ray
That cleanses not from Earth's impurities
The soul, and with a brighter flame doth rise
The less of these there be, but e'en with these
Its gross materials dies out, and lies
Spent in the dust with them; but Love is Peace,
For where he rules the heart, all warring passions cease!

13

Being himself Divine, he makes Divine
All that he touches: being Heavenly
He maketh Heavenly, and can refine
Earth's brute materials, can purify
And perfect to its end each faculty;
In him they have a conscious being to
High Offices; for he can cleanse the Eye,
Enlarge the ear, and breathe a spirit new
Into the heart, whence all things take his own bright hue!

14

Nor wonder, that thro' him all faculties
Grow perfect, since he is himself alone
The source of all Perfection; fountains rise
Brackish or sweet as is their source; no tone
Of music hath its charm, no scene can own
Its proper spell; no poesy is sweet;
No Joy to full Completion e'er hath grown,
No unheard melody the ear can greet,
No woodsward echo to the trip of Fairyfeet,

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15

No babbling stream speak music, and no song
Of bird be felt as nature's minstrelsy;
No wisdom to the hivëd lore belong
Of Poet or Philosopher, no sky
Be filled with Fancy's mystic Pageantry;
No beauty live to eye or ear, until
Love has embodied our whole Destiny
And Being in his shape; till Power and Will,
Proportioned perfectly, their genuine task fulfill!

16

For Love is life; and where Love is not, there
Is neither happiness nor life; for He
Who loves not, breathes but this vile Body's Air,
As a Brutebeast; for him what can life's tree
But Ashesfruit produce, what can he be,
Poor selfcursed wretch, who eats in Loneliness
Unblessed meals, but brutelike; who can see
No worthier sight than his own nothingness,
Who, with his eye still on himself, grows daily less,

17

Less like that noble being he was made
By God to be; until disfigured quite,
Each divine lineament begins to fade,
His Maker's image lost, he sinks outright
Into the Brute, from that most glorious height
Which Love and Virtue should have raised him to.
But Love can only perfect; like the light,
It shows all things in their own proper hue,
For Love and Truth are twins and up together grew!

18

Nor can Love sin, for then would he belie
His nature, which is to fulfill, not break
All Law, all Duty; Being from the sky,
He is eternal, and tho' Suffering wreak
Its worst ills on him, never can it shake,
But like the winds with trees, it strengthens more
And more his deepset roots, which ever take
Downward their course towards Earth's contrepower,
And rest firm fixed within allmighty Nature's core!

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19

And Love is calm, because immoveable;
And like the seasdepths, far too deep to be
Disturbed and shaken by the stir and swell
Of outward accident; for as the sea
Is still below, while o'er the surface flee
The noisy winds in passing uproar, so
Is Love within himself from all change free,
Save what from his own calm deep depths may flow,
Life's outward forms may change, the soul no change can know!

20

Love seeks not, neither likes disguise; for how
Can he conceal that which he is, or be
Other than what he is; that which is show,
Not heartfelt, may be wrapped in mystery,
And change its Proteusshape unto the eye
Each moment; Fancy's wild Cameleonbirth,
Which as opinions change their hue, doth die
Into another colour; but Love's worth,
From its ownself takes form, not frail like those of Earth!

21

For Love is not a passion; not a part
Of Being, but our Being's self; and ne'er,
Save in the still, calm union of heart
And mind and sense, is Love; an atmosphere,
Wherein we breathe a more serene and clear
And holy breathing; how then can he hide
Himself, or cease in each least act to bear
The mark of what he is; He has too wide,
Too ample Being far, in vain forms to abide!

22

He dwells with Lowliness and Modesty;
For loving all things, how can he be proud?
And being truly Great unchangingly,
His spirit never from its height has bowed
Unto the Littleness of Pride, endowed
With conscious worth, he labours but to be
That which he seems; and 'mid the selfish Crowd
Moves calmly on in his own majesty,
Returning whence He came, from soil and contact free!