Madmoments: or First Verseattempts By a Bornnatural. Addressed to the Lightheaded of Society at Large, by Henry Ellison |
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REVERIES OF NATURE. |
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 | Madmoments: or First Verseattempts |  |
REVERIES OF NATURE.
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How sweet! to stand upon the Oceansshore,And hear the gentle billows kiss the strand,
Like murmurs on Love'slip; while, rude no more,
The Winds sport o'er his bosom, coollyfanned
By their moist wings; aye with rapt wonder scanned
And mingling awe by mortal Eye, tho' Calm
Sit halcyonlike upon his breast, and land
Brightsmiling laughs away all thought of harm;
Still on his azure brow th' Eternal's writ,
Omnipotence is in his rest, still hallowing it!
2
We gaze, and gaze, on his wide world of wavesAs we would read our hidden Destiny
And shape our fortunes from the Tide that laves
The feet of him who passes momently
E'en as the grains of sand that 'neath him lie;
Time's wasteful wing hath swept old Ocean's brow,
A Mockery; he hath not tinged with grey
A single lock, nor laid one sole charm low;
Not timeborn thou, nor subject e'er shalt be,
Eternity alone can hold itself and thee!
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3
Dread Minister of th' everliving God!Whose aweful spirit o'er thy wavy brow,
Allchanging, yet ne'er chang'd itself hath trod
In olden time! thou, whose almighty flow
Of myriad seas did lay the proud world low
In its dark depths, as if 't had never been;
When forth the Almighty's Vengeance bade thee go,
To execute his lateroused wrath, to clean
Sin's Leprosy from the deeprotting Earth,
Baptized by thy eternal waters to new birth!
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And then, thy mighty task with ease o'ercome,As't had been nothing, didst sink back once more
Into thy Giantself, thy boundless home!
Lambmeek, yet lionstrong; thy aweful roar
Died out in praise upon the obedient shore,
Sought by thy myriad waves, who victors sang
The Lord of Hosts, th' appointed triomph o'er,
While thousandvoicëd Hallelujahs rang;
Ages unsummed thou roll'st in calm and strife,
Yet is thy might unworn, thy Form still fresh with life.
5
Thou changeless Mirror, where the Seasons glassTheir manyweathered faces: yet are they
Potent on Earth alone, o'er thee they pass
Like empty shadows o'er the sun's bright ray;
They strew no leaves nor low thy beauties lay!
Thou baskest in, yet quenchest his proud Beams,
Or mov'st in mystic dance with thy Queenfay,
The Vestal Moon, whose love alone beseems;
Thou laughest at the winds in playful scorn,
Thy Giantmirth, fresh, fearless, boundless, and unworn
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Thou flowëst with thine azure Zone aroundThe Universe, and bindest with thy stream
The severed fragments of a world; thy sound
Is as the voice of Heaven, and might seem
An Echo of Eternity, a dream,
Of future things; th' immortal lights shine o'er
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Fit Jewels for such brow; thy depths have store
Unbounded, all that's vast and bright and strange,
Where manunawed, thy myriad tribes in freedom range!
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Yet still his daring steps are on thy fieldsTho' He has never tamed thee to his power,
Thy keelploughed plain as rich a harvest yields
As delvëd Earth assigns her sons in dower;
What tho' in wholesome wrath thy brow doth lower,
And thy roused Might should scatter the frail Pride
And Strength of Man, whom thou, for some brief Hour
Tossing in Sport, engulfest in thy Tide,
As in Eternity, yet still thou flow'st
A Beautybond of Life and Hope from Coast to Coast!
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Highway of Civilization! thouHast wafted Time's rich freights on thy free tide.
While Truth and Wisdom's lights, (whose radiant bow,
Conjointly rising on the basis wide
Of Past and Present, spans from side to side
Time's still clouddimmed Horizon,) caught by thee,
Have shone reflected from thy wavy pride
Upon the Nations, who grew blest free!
Genius has trod thy paths, new worlds displayd;
The Gospel has shone o'er thy brows and holy made!
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Thou o'er whose Virginbreast, the great, the good.Th' inspired Columbus passed; He, whom God chose
To bear the Truthtorch o'er thy mystic flood,
And kindle that bright sun, which widely rose
A Dayspring over half mankind; which throws
Its beams reflected from a thousand seas,
And lights a thousand nations; the brief woes
Of this our mortal life, all that it has
Of greatest and most wonderworthy sink
To nought, when on thine ageless, godlike power we think!
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Th' Almighty's Emblem! thou do'st dwell aloneAnd commun'st with thyself, thy sympathy
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The stamp of mortal birth; but from on high
Thy Inspiration fresh is drawn, nor die
Thy manyvoicëd waves in murmurs vain;
In Conclave dark they meet, when mortal eye
And step in fear have fled the ominous Main,
To talk of Time and Fate; and then o'er Earth,
From thousand shores speak warning to man's sinfull mirth
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Thou goëst forth in Beauty and in Might,Still in eternal youth thy race to run,
Taintless amidst corruption, as the light,
Which, when God looked on thee, thy brows upon
Broke at Creationsdawn; when rose the sun
To glass his form in thy bright wonderment;
Earth's countless streams, the rainbowed clouds, all own
Thee as their mighty Parent; thou hast lent
The Earth her freshness; who shall sing thy praise,
Eternity's dread type, ages to thee are days!
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Thou visible Eternity! at whose behestThose fathomless and boundless thoughts, that swell
To agony the o'erinformëd breast,
With their deep prisoned Tide, those thoughts that tell
The weakness and the strength of mind so well,
As at some dread enchanter's call, must leave
Their clayey prisonhouse, and 'neath his spell
Shape their dim meanings visibly and heave
With wild pulsations of unearthly life,
As tho' th' Immortal were with this frail clay at strife!
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For, ever as we gaze on thee, we feelThy Vastness fill us with a kindred ray
Of Immortality, the big heart reel,
Struggling to dive the mighty thoughts that lay
The Spirit prostrate in their wavy play
Of bottomless profundity; the wind,
Midoceanborn, that o'er thy laughing spray
Sporteth untaint, doth on thy bosom find
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To breathe the breath of a real life o'er man's wild dreams.
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Could I embody those deep yearnings thatFlash o'er my troubled spirit like the bright
Eyedazzling lightning; could I fitly mate
Immortal thoughts with words of heavenly might
To stir the soul, Oh! they would dash the sight
Of dimeyed mortals like the lines of fire,
Which, lightningtraced upon the shroud of night.
Spake, in their silent brightness, words of ire
To the feastboasting Monarch, but the weak,
And flagging wing must needs beneath such burthen break.
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And I have clasped in love thy briny waves,Whose seasonable salt, like truth, doth bear
The properties of health: and 'mid thy caves,
Where, like a mighty Lion in his lair,
Thou flow'dst recumbent, oft alone would dare
To join thy whelplike billows in their play;
Till I have felt my spirit freed from care,
E'en as my body from all leprosy,
All taint of Earth, as I had plunged my soul
Into Eternity, and felt myself made whole!
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For ever on thee is the Shadow castOf the Eternal's Glory; oft unseen,
But felt, his spirit o'er the face hath past
Of the wide waters; not alone, I ween,
When the mad tempestwinds upplough 'thy green
And glittering depths, not in their wild career
Alone, of passing fury, 'mid the sheen
Of the cloudcleaving lightning, is he near,
Robed in His terrors and extorting Faith from Fear,
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But fitlier imaged to the thoughtful mindThan in brute forms of strife, which, passing by
Fell Havoc leave to witness for their blind,
Their brief and selfexhausting energy;
Far fitlier imaged in the majesty
Of the calm ocean, when his mighty form
Stretches in boundless solitude away
In soullike vastness: when no wrinkling storm,
His serene brow with Passion's traces doth deform!
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Oh! then if the Invisible God may beTyped fittingly in aught that's visible,
Then Ocean, doth he glass his form in thee;
His spirit walks upon thee, and the spell
Of his Almighty Presence, sensible,
Embraces us in its immensity,
Filling all Being, even as thy swell
So gently, yet so irresistibly,
Fills each least bay, and creek, and shore that round thee lie!
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And gazing on thee we grow hushed and still,As we had stept into Eternity;
And as thy mighty voice doth gently fill
Our ears with awed delight, and as the eye
Grows to a more creative faculty
Grasping thy vastness, we into the sphere
Of thy blest calm are drawn: all passions die,
And in their pause the inner voice we hear
Making sweet music with thine own in Nature's Ear!
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And now, most aweful of created things!Ocean! thou Name of terror and delight!
Thou on whose waters the Destroyer flings
In vain the shadow of his wingëd might,
Time the Unresting! who before thy sight
Hath strewed with Desolation each proud shore
Whence o'er thy face the Darkness and the Light
Of Good and Evil in the days of yore
Was shed from Empires vast, now dust, to rise no more!
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Farewell, farewell; yet 'tis an idle word,For part of me art thou, wheree'er I go
And of my Being; still thy voice is heard,
As tho' I stood upon the shore, a low,
A still, sad music, piercing tho' I know
Not why or wherefore to my inmost core;
And tho' far, far away from thee, somehow
Or other, I behold the forms of yore
And stand, as of another Life upon the shore!
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Tho' other shapes of Beauty ask my song,Yet in the shadow of thy Presence I
Still walk, as in a dream; and fancies throng,
Like Landscapes, on the eye of memory;
And sounds are in my ears which cannot die,
The hollowvoicëd main that rolleth on,
The deep bass to all Nature's harmony:
Unchanging while all changes 'neath the sun;
Earth's bubbles, like the water's, burst, and all is gone!
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Thy memory haunts me with its Presence, andMingles with all I think or feel; it flows
A deep strong Undercurrent, overspann'd
By many a sunbow which wild Fancy throws
In sport athwart it, and around it grows
A host of Memory's wildflowers by it fed,
Unwithering; while the fount from whence it rose,
The pure Castalian fount, the deep springhead
Within the heart, still flows as erst from Heaven it did!
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But I must turn from thee, thou ancient Deep,Awakener of yearnings which defy
All compass, save of thought: as dreams in sleep
Exist but to Imagination's Eye,
From Time and Space, and all the Jugglery
Of sense set free; so too the thoughts that wake
Before thee, ask an ampler faculty
Of Soul; for they a wider range still take
Skyward than the senseshackled spirit's wing dare make
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I turn from thee, to forms which lovely areIn their ownselves, but lovelier far I ween
When linked with thoughts of thee: for then they share
The spell thou shed'st on all that e'er has been
Hallowed by memory of what we've seen
Amid thy wonders; and we love them more
Than words can tell, if they recall the Green
Of the windcurling billow, or the shore
Where in thy mighty Song of Joy our Part we bore!
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Ye Clouds! which are the Scenery of Heaven,Ye everchangeful pageants of the sky,
How glorious are ye when the goldbreath'd Ev'n,
Piling ye up in might and majesty,
Pours its rich inspiration far and nigh
Throughout your phantomranks; Oh then how sweet,
By brookside seated, with dilating eye
And swelling heart, to mould ye as ye fleet,
To the soul's wish, as Memory or Hope think meet!
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With Fancy's wand to touch ye into shapesOf Glory and of Promise, such as ne'er
On man's frail sight have shone, till He escapes
From sense's thralldom, and can look with clear
And steady glance beyond this dim scene here
Of dust and darkness; till the soul hath so
Subdued this mortal coil of Hope and Fear
To its own Essence, that no outward Show
But like ye clouds, suntouched, to some high type doth grow!
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Ye sunsetclouds, how beautiful ye are,With flamespire towering from some mountainpeak
Thro' Heaven's vast azure dome, which seen afar
Seems pillared up by ye; or when the wreck
Of golden vapors on green ills doth break,
Streaming along the raindropglittering trees,
And leaving happy valleys in their wake,
Shrouded with hazy beauty, till the breeze
The dim, mistmantle shakes, and every cloudflake flees.
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And ye, that wait upon the Silvermoon,Ye Cloudisles floating in the airsea blue,
Tempering her ray, and who from her the boon
Of Beauty take, how lovely are ye too,
When passing by, the brightbeamed stars peer thro
Your veil, like spirits; or when o'er some lake,
As in a magicglass, ye noiseless strew
Your manyshapëd forms, or earthwards shake,
In silvermists, your dewwealth over dell and brake,
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And not less fair, tho' garisher'tmay beThe morningsuncloud's fairyshapes of light
With firebase on the azurebosomed sea,
When the first daybreeze stirs his slumberous might,
Scattering the rearclouds of the darkbrowed night
With golden flamestreaks; and in foammaned play
The wave uprears its bubbles flashing bright,
And as the cloudwreaths windstirred roll away,
Creation seems anew to burst forth on the day!
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And Oh! how beautiful, like fairylands,Mansfootuntrodden, stretching far away,
With happy valleys and goldmargined sands,
Where shapes of wondrous beauty seem to stray,
Spirits in blessed converse: while the play
Of fairyfancied winds sweeps from our eyes
The mighty Panorama on its way,
Still changing momently; new forms arise,
We turn aside and sigh, for all are of the skies!
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Earth knows them not! a homelier beauty hers,More fitted to man's Destiny and End!
The bright Cloudvision passing, idly stirs
The Fancy, leaving nought behind to blend
With afterbeing: not one trace, to lend
The Glories of the Past to coming days;
Tis the heart's birthright, Faith and Love extend
To life's most fleeting forms a divine Grace,
And from Time's grave past Shapes of Glory still can raise!
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On some far harvest Fancy's golden lightShines radiant: she will not bow her pride
To glean near pleasures, surer, if less bright;
Better in idlest mood by some streamside
To stretch thy limbs, and mould the clouds that hide
Its surface to thy wishes, than to base
Hope's frail aircastles on the Future; Tide
And Time roll on: we claim but that small space
Whereon we stand, then build there thy heart's dwelling place.
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But fearful are ye clouds that float alongWrathmessaged, stormblack, over land and sea;
When o'er glad harvestfields, a legioned throng
Of scathefraught elements, frail mortals see
Ye gather in your tempestmajesty,
Strewing the year's ripe glories in the dust,
And making Hope and Toil a mockery;
Yet not allill, for still ye teach us trust
In Providence, whose mercy compensates the worst!
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And thou, most glorious Orb! whose gorgeous lightBlazons the clouds until their pageantry
Seem scatterings from God's own hand; in might
Thou comest forth, and during majesty,
Amid the storm, and mist and darkness fly,
Leaving the chrystal Dome of Heaven clear
As at Creation's dawn; no mortal eye
May gaze at thee, bright Ruler of the year,
Thy Maker's Image, for, like him, thou changest ne'er!
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Most beautiful and beautygiving Orb!How glorious thy coming! in the sky
The starry lamps are dim, thou dost absorb
All meaner Lights in thy Immensity,
On Night's chill brow the last pale Gem doth die!
And from the eyelids of the blushing Morn,
Sleep's sweet Lethean Dew, dropped silently
By angelswings on mortals sorrowworn,
Thou kissest off, and in her smile the day is born!
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Behold! the greymists, round the mountainshead,That from the streamfed dale in still wreaths rise,
And from the blind depths where the river's bed
Tho' viewless, from its rush, the ear descries,
Are touched with sudden glory; the wind plies
His unseen Office, giving motion to
The lazyflakëd clouds: athawrt the skies
A golden Light is flung; and glistening thro'
Their radiant veil, the hillsidewoods break on'our View.
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How beautiful! to Fancy it might seemAs Light and Darkness were at strife; for tho'
In gorgeous masses, on one side, the stream
Of sunlight pour, o'er hill and wood and brow
Of forlorn crag, like Glory wreathing Woe
And haggard Care, and on the flaky foam
Of Waterfall, mistshrouded, where below
From some tall rock it leaps, as tho' its home
And source were 'mid the clouds, yet still thick woof of Gloom
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Hangs on the other side, thro'which is heardThe far off torrent's dash, the sheepbell clear,
With herdsman's shout and song of morningbird,
Or deeper lowing of the ploughyoked steer,
To which the mountainsummits, chiming, bear
Blithe company, from every crag and peak,
With a far Round of Echoes; now 'tis here,
Now there, now in a pack the voices break,
Like hounds when givingtongue, now responsesingly make,
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As the old hills, in very wantonnessOf Joy, had flung the Echo now this way,
Now that, with modulations numberless,
And laughter hoarse; but where the golden ray
Embathes the other side, the hills display
Visions of Beauty, and we seem to see
The «Fortunate Fields» sung in the Poetslay,
Hesperian groves and golden fruits, where free
From mortal grief the soul might dwell eternally;
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Celestial vision! to the common EarthGiving the blessedness of Paradise,
'Till it grow lovely as our place of birth;
Oh happy Mortal, to whose wondering Eyes
Such sight is given; what a blest surprize
Is thine when toilforespent, on some bold height
That makes thee seem a dweller of the Skies,
Turning, thou seest the realms of lingering night,
Farstretching 'neath thy feet, hills bathed in golden Light,
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And mountainpeaks, cloudsevered from their baseLike airborne Isles, that float amid the sky:
Some woodcrowned, others crag, with many a trace
Of lightning firefurrowed; momently
They change their shapes and hues, as mists float by:
While in the Lake, halfvisible below,
(Placed like a fairyglass to cheat the eye,
Whether in Earth or Air we scarcely know),
Allforms of cloud, wood, cliff are blent in wondrous Show!
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Oh happy Mortal! whom this blessed hourHath chosen as its witness, who can see
And feel within his inmost soul the power
Of its deep, calm, heartreaching harmony;
And who by perfect blessedness, setfree
From life's dull load, enjoys in spite of thought
That moment, as it were Eternity,
To him the vision with real life is fraught,
And its high meaning from beyond all time is brought!
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'Tis gone! too beautiful to last, but longEnough for blessedness, for him who knows
To unload the golden moment's wing: the throng
Of mists are all uprolled, the Landscape grows
Clear and distinct; beneath the bright sunbow's
O'erarching span yon' waterfall foams down
The woodgirt cliff, and high its spray it throws
Into the sunny air, then allunknown,
Save by a fresher growth, its modest path is shown,
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Like that of charity; the world awakes!The flowerhaunting bee is on the wing,
The voice of man is heard, and all the brakes
Are musical with song; the mountains ring,
As peak with peak in Joy were communing;
The blithewinged Lark, sunbeam of minstrelsy,
High up at heaven's gate, unseen, doth fling
His sparklike notes abroad, and ear and eye
Reciprocate their Joy: one sense is aided by
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Another and perfected; thus the hueAnd sweet breath of the flower is made more
Sweet by the air's soft music, and the dew
So beautiful to sight, is trodden o'er
Like a crushed perfume; on all sides the power
Of Him, who made the Earth in Love, is known
And felt, and from all living things the hour
Unfailing proofs calls forth; one mighty tone
Of Joy: a thousandvoicëd hymn from Gladness won!
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Life's thousandpulsing heart, unwearied,Beats with one throb of blessedness; ask ye,
Who wove the Beautygarment which is spread
Over Earth's nakedness? 'twas even He
Who at Creation's dawn bade all things be;
Who spake, and from the waste of Chaos rose
Colour and Form, in perfect Harmony,
To clothe all things; who most his power shows,
Not in the Earthquake, but in Nature's calm repose!
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The Sun is up! most glorious orb! the EarthChanges her garments with the changing year,
The seasons weave them; thou, as at thy birth,
The selfsame aspect allunchanged dost bear;
Ocean himself of this our nether sphere
Partakes the instability, his brow
With wrath is stirred, and man in awe and fear
Approaches him; but, like thy Maker, thou,
In undisturbëd Calm seest all things change below;
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Therefore of Him a worthier type, for HeIs subject not to Passion, nor doth know
Change or Disturbance; from all error free,
Therefore from all Mutation; and as thou
With overlight dost darken when we throw
Our rash glance on thee, so upon the mind
When thinking of thy Maker there doth flow
A flood of Glory, groping like the blind,
In that vast, boundless Void some beaten track to find!
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On Empire's cradles thou hast shed thy LightAnd on their Graves: they from thy changeless beam,
Like motes, have passed away; at Power's height
Thou shon'st awhile on them, then as a dream,
Or Shadow thrown upon Time's fleeting Stream,
They vanished into Nothingness; all save
High Truths and Virtues, which alone redeem
A Nation's memory from Oblivion's wave;
These, in eternal Forms, still triomph o'er the Grave!
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The Poetspen, the Page of History,Have raised for them a shrine, built up by Thought,
Whose ayeenduring Elements defy
All Chance and Change; for what thereof is wrought,
With Marble from the living quarry brought,
Is based fullsurely; even with that same
Wherewith the blind Mœonides erst sought
To rear the mighty Temple of his Fame,
Which Earthquakes shake not, nor consumes the wasteful Flame!
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Stronger and fairer than of Parian stone;Upon whose walls we read the History
Of an whole People, which were else long gone
From Earth with scarce a record, of whose high
And towering Dome the keystone was placed by
The mighty hand of Truth, and whose broad base
On Human Nature rests eternally;
There hangs the wondrous mirror where we trace
The image of a Nation's manyfeatured face.
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Where placed beyond the reach of Time, we seeThe Past made Present, and as we look on
That Glass, like Dupes of some strange Jugglery,
We step into another world; anon,
We see Troy's towers glittering in the Sun,
And snowcrowned Ida: with the inner ear,
We catch th'Egean 's manymurmuring tone,
That breaks in Homer's verse, so full and clear,
On the sandmargined beach, and Hector's warshout hear,
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As from the citygates, flung openwide,The battlestream pours forth upon the plain,
With plumes that toss like foam, and all the pride
Of neighing steeds that whirl the car amain,
'Mid dustclouds halfdiscerned: and there a Fane
Rears its sungleaming Dome, thro' whose high Gate
The whiterobed Priests, an incensebearing train,
Are disappearing, met to supplicate:
And hark! a solemn hymn uprises for the State!
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But thou, Oh Sun, allbright tho' thou mayst be,Shin'st not on these things, they are scenes from days
Which bask'd once in thy Light, but which we see
By it no more; another Glory plays
Upon that Landscape, and with brighter rays
Than Thou canst give, those scenes are clothed for aye!
Morn sheds not such a Light e'en on the ways
Of Youth and Hope, when hand in hand they stray,
Nor e'en to Love's own Eyes can Earth such hues display!
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Those Scenes are steeped in a celestial Light,Transferred into an ampler atmosphere
From dull Reality; the radiance bright
Which falls on Hector's casque, as by his dear
Andromache he stands, undimm'd and clear,
From Truth's own Sun descends; Time hath no Power
To change that Landscape, or to render sere;
From sensual Sight, e'en as a passing flower,
He mowed its Glory down, and after its brief hour
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Of palpable Existence, he destroy'd,As was his Priviledge, that which He gave;
But now it lives, for aye to be enjoyed,
A glorious vision risen from the Grave,
Of dull mortality no more the slave,
To charm the inner eye; then triomph thou,
My Soul, for this high Priviledge to save
From Time's sere touch all that thou lov'st below,
And learn from hence thine Immortality to know!
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Shout, shout, and let the Universal HeartOf Nature echo back thy joy: let Sea,
Let Mountains, Air, and Earth, from every part
Make answer, as with human sympathy,
Exulting in a common Victory;
The Mirror in our Souls preserves still bright,
Unfading, all that round us here doth lie;
Still bygone scenes rise up to cheer our sight,
And faces whence hath passed the touch of Sorrow's blight!
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Then bloom, ye Groves, bloom on forever green,And fling your scents upon the Summerair
As in past times: ye cannot lose your sheen,
No Winter's chill breath ever shall lay bare
Your leafy branches, but as tho' ye were
The trees of Eden, shall ye live for aye;
From you I'll pluck a garland fresh and fair
For my grey locks, for sacred from decay,
I see proud Ilium's walls defying still Time's sway!
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Sweet Moon! companioned by thy chosen star,Cresting some silveredgëd cloud that lies
Athwart thine azure path, yet not to bar
Thy Course, or rob thee from the Lover's eyes,
Gazing now on eachother, now the skies,
But only to thy charms to yield the more
Of Homage, when, as o'er thee soft it flies,
Thy halfveiled face a holier light doth pour,
Like to a peaceful Nun's whose breathless lips adore!
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Sweet Moon, be thou not unforgot, but shineIn this poor verse, as erst in bygone days
Upon my youthful sight, when I would twine
'Neath thy soft beams for my own brow the bays,
The Museswreath; which Fancy, who still plays
Her pranks upon us ere we know her well,
Deceiving Elf, and how her presents craze,
Binds on our temples, like a potent spell!
Alas! how many thorns Time in that Wreath shall tell!
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Shine forth, sweet Moon! on that bright waterfall,'Mid whose unresting din I dreamt away
Youth's happy moments, till they past recall
Were fled and I then woke to Life's broadday,
Jostling like others on its dusty way,
And taught to set a value upon things,
Which, tho' I cast as dross aside, men gray
In cunning and worldwisdom, and whose wings
Were clipped by Time, regarded as Life's only springs;
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Oh! well do I remember what I felt,The sickness of the soul, the sinking heart,
When 'neath the Eveningsky in prayer I knelt
With boyish rapture, ere cold Form and Art
With aught I did or thought claimed yet a part,
And caught the sneer, the laugh of mockery,
Of some cold worldlings near me; 'twas a smart
That brought the indignant tear into my eye,
And made me for a moment sad, I knew not why.
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But now, alas, too well, too well I know;Time on Life's most perplexëd page can make
Sage comment, and a surer light will throw
Than the dim midnightlamp, by which, for sake
Of misnamed Wisdom, Pedants doze awake,
When they had better sleep outright, like those
Plain unsuspecting fools, who all things take
For what they seem; He holds Truth's torch and shows
What many a wise Philosopher would sadly pose!
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And many a lesson has he taught me tooSince then, and cleared up many a doubt, and made
My heart a comment on itself; and thro'
Selfknowledge Wisdom comes: else 'tis a trade
Of words and phrases, sounding fine, but dead,
Dead as the wormeat books where one good grain
Amid a bushel of vile chaff is laid
Up, and so choked with rubbish that in vain
'Twould germinate, 'till sown in real Life's soil again!
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He taught me 'mong the rest this Truth, which weIn youth are slow to learn, that men will sneer
At what they understand not, tho' it be
The noblest in its kind; that we must ne'er
Bare to the vulgar gaze our hearts, or wear
Our thoughts upon our lips; that Life's indeed
A masquerade, where we a mask must bear
Like to the rest, for if we would succeed,
We must fall down and worship by the vulgar creed!
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Yea! e'en a Milton's ample brow must beCramped in the mask of Form: what sensual Eye
Could bear unscathed, the naked majesty
Of its sublime contempt, its calm and high,
And serene Indignation: hallowed by
The Truth, as whose Highpriest He watchëd o'er
Her Altarfire, lest its Light should die
Out in this Land; that heart from heart and Shore
From Shore, th' inspiring heat, might catch forevermore!
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But Fancy, wave thy wand, for busy ThoughtWill ever be intruding; even here
Within the magiccircle thou hast wrought
Round trancëd Youth, whom, when upon his bier
We weep as lost, thou, stealing softly near,
Touchest and breathest on, and then He wakes
As fresh, as tho' year treading fast on year
Had not rolled o'er him; thus thy sweet Spell makes
His dream eterne; from thee a new Lifelease he takes!
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Call up the wellknown scene: the playground, whereThou sportedst thro' the long, glad summerdays,
As tho' Reality and thyself were
Borntwins, not parting straight on different ways;
Let the Moonshine lie soft: and Lo! it plays
On each remembered spot, each rock and wood
Rise steeped with beauty in the calm clear rays;
See, with what glassy lustre on the flood
The wavering flakelight falls, just where a boy I stood,
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Gazing on it with neverwearied eyes,As still in silvereddys it shot by,
And marked the waterbubbles gleaming rise,
Or manyscalëd fish; nought of the why
Or wherefore of my pleasure then knew I;
I saw the bright wave at my feet, not where
Sombre and dark, towards Futurity,
The altered stream swept on; I had from Care
Not learnt that troubled Wisdom's curse which now I bear.
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Appear once more thou manyshaded nookIn the old wood, so leafy, cool and still,
With thy sweet flowerbank, which downward took
Its sloping course from that embowered hill,
Kept ever fresh by one clear gurgling rill
That in the river poured its little stream,
A traveller from the mountains; still, oh still,
I view the scene, on which, as in a dream,
I gaz'd sweet hours, which sweeter in remembrance seem!
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And there, softsleeping in the moonbeam's Light,I see the gray stoneshafted window rise,
Of the old Abbey, dimly on my sight,
With Ivy overgrown; half of it lies
In strong clear outline backed by the blue skies,
And the soft moon just rising into view
Above the stonework, flying Buttresses,
And spiral flights of the high roof, and thro'
Each gap and chink: and on the long grass moist with dew
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And motionless, the shadows fall, so clear,Distinct and sharp; and hark! borne on the air,
Whose stillness makes the sound seem yet more near,
The waterfall's long steady dash, from where
It tumbles, like Ambition fallën ne'er
To rise again, floats by me: and once more
'Mid the old Rocks and Caves the echoes are
Ringing as they were wont to do of yore,
Shouts of wild glee, as Earth rejoiced unto her core!
| Madmoments: or First Verseattempts | |