University of Virginia Library

A glorious vision burst upon their sight,
As on the topmost peak they took their stand,
To gaze from that clear centre on the world,
And measure with their proud delighted eyes
The vast circumference, whose radius stretched,
Seaward and landward, each for fifty miles.
Beneath their feet a burnished ocean lay,
Glittering in sunshine. Far adown, like snow,
Shook from the bosom of a wintry cloud,
And drifting on the wind in feathery flakes
The sea-gulls sailed betwixt the earth and sky,
Or, floating on the bosom of the deep,
Pursued the herring shoal with dexterous aim.
Far, far away on the horizon's edge,
The white sails of the homeward scudding ships
Gleamed like the lilies in a garden plot,
Or like the scattered shreds of fleecy cloud
Left by the Evening at the gate of Night,
To shimmer in the leaden-coloured sky,
And drink the splendour of the harvest moon,
Their glancing breasts reflected from afar
The noonday sunlight.—Landward when they looked,
The earth beneath them seemed as it had boiled,
And tossed, and heaved, in some great agony;
Till suddenly, at fiat of the Lord,
The foaming waves had hardened into hills,
And mountains, multitudinous and huge,
Of jagged outline, piled and overpiled,
One o'er the other. Calmly the grey heads
Of these earth-fathers pointed up to heaven;—
Titanic sentinels, who all the night
Look at their kindred sentinels, the stars,
To hear the march and tramp of distant worlds,
And measure by millenniums, not by years,
The awful growth and progress of the time!
Between the bases of the lesser hills,
Green valleys, musical with lowing kine,
And watered by the upland overflow,
Stretched in their beauty. In the hollows slept
Clear lakes, which from those azure heights appeared
Small as the basins where the Oreads
Might bathe, at morning-burst, their tender limbs.
Most beautiful the nearer landscape lay;
The distant panorama, more confused,
Melted away in purple haziness.

“I am so happy in such scenes as these,
And yet so sad, and so dissatisfied,”
Said Julian, gazing on the quiet sea,
“I feel one moment I could leap for joy,
And in the next, that I could lie me down
And weep that my enjoyment is so small,
And that such beauty and sublimity,
Such glory and such wonder, should not be
Part of myself for ever. Oh, thou Deep!
Rolling beneath me thine eternal waves,
I feel myself thine equal, as I stand
And look upon thee from a height like this,
With thronging thoughts no tongue may ever speak!
Thou blue sky! circling all in thine embrace;
Oh, how I envy the air-cleaving wings
Of Alpine eagles, and the liberty
Of motion, unrestrained by clogs of Earth!
Ye hills, I love ye! Oh, ye mountain tops!
Lifting serenely your transcendent brows
To catch the earliest glimpses of the dawn,
And hold the latest radiance of the West,
To gild you with its glory, while the world
Hastens to slumber in the glooms below;
It is a pain to know ye, and to feel,
That nothing can express the deep delight
With which your beauty and magnificence
Fill to o'erflowing the ecstatic mind.
Spirit of Nature! Nymph Egeria!
Here is thy home;—appear, and lend me words
To hymn my reverence and gratitude!
I feel thy presence in my brain and heart;
'T is with thine eyes I see; 't is with thine ears
I hear the murmurs of that mighty deep,
Where float the planets and the galaxies.
Oh, give me words; give me still keener sight,
And let me understand the hidden things,
The holy mysteries, thou must have heard
In thy communion with the Universe.
Spirit of Nature! Holiest!—I am thine!”

His rapture overcame him as he spoke;
And, on the mountain top, he fell supine,
In a half slumber, filled with blessedness.

'T was but few minutes.—Montague knelt down,
And gathered from a crevice of the rock
A little handful of the virgin snow,
That in the shadows of this lonely place
Had lain all Summer, sheltered from the heat.
With this he rubbed his forehead and his hands,
And called him by his name. The consciousness,
Entranced and wandering, but not destroyed,
Blazed o'er his spirit with a sudden flash.
“Didst thou not see her, Montague?” he said.
“I think, like Máhomet, I've been in Heaven,
Caught in a rapture to the firmament!
How long upon this awful mountain-top
Hast thou been with me?” “Not one little hour,”
His friend replied; “and, not ten minutes since,
Thou stood'st apostrophizing Earth and Heaven,
Maddened and reeling in an ecstacy.”

“'T is strange, dear Montague?—yet must be so!
But in those minutes I have trod the floors
Of heavenly places; heard angelic things;
And, guided by Egeria, have seen
A vision of the world, that was, that is,
And shall be in the fulness of the time.”

“Tell me the vision. I remember well,”
Said Montague, “when I was in my teens,
I rode a fiery charger to the chase,
And the beast stumbled, though I know not how,
And threw me to the ground. I felt no pain—
But in a quiet and delicious sleep
Lay with a bleeding forehead in the mire,
One minute only—or, it might be, less.
In that one minute I became a child,
And, going back a dozen years of time,
Wandered upon the margin of the sea,
And gathered shells and tangle on the beach;—
Culled garlands by the verdant meadow paths,
And plaited rushes for a rural crown
Begemmed with poppies and convolvulus.
I swam in rivers, proud of growing strength,
And moped in colleges my teens away.
And then I wandered in a moonlight night,
Breathing sweet folly to a willing maid,
And clasped her soft and unretiring hand,
With pleasure which no waking could afford,
Looking for answers in her eloquent eyes
To thoughts, unspoken still, but understood.
A groom, officious, roused me from my trance,
And raised me on the sward to bathe my brow.
It seemed an age since I had dropped asleep,
But there, beside me, stood the panting horse.
I vaulted on his back, unhurt—though bruised,
And since that day have clung to the belief
That time is but the creature of our thought,
And that the ages passed by Máhomet
Ere his descending pitcher reached the ground,
Were palpable realities to him,
And ran in actual cycles through his brain.
But I detain thee. Let me hear thy dream.”

“Scarce had I called upon Egeria's name,
When to my sight upon this mountain top
In beauty and in glory she appeared.
I saw thee not. The crimson-coloured sun
Had sought his bright pavilion in the west,
And left the world in darkness. Earth and sea
Lay in the shadow of gloom, invisible.
I was alone with Nature and the stars,
Alone, alone, and humbled in the sight
Of worlds, and galaxies, and firmaments,
And nebulæ upon the verge of space,
Whose light, far reaching to our little globe,
Struck on mine eyes, not as it shines to-day,
But as it shone when those swift travelling beams
Seventy millenniums down the abyss of Time
Sped to this juvenile and petty orb.

Egeria's face was radiant as she turned
Her eyes upon me in that lonely place.
Her right hand pointed to the sparkling sky,
As on the crag she stood, white-robed and pure,
And clear defined against the dark-blue heaven.
The northern streamers, t'wards the polar star,
Shot their electric threads of throbbing light,—
The banners of Eternity, that wave
Over the worlds and systems in their march
Accordant with the music of the spheres.
Egeria spake not; and my lips refused
To utter all the wild and billowy thoughts
That overpowered their faculty of speech,
And made them dumb—but I observed with awe,
And listened with intensity, to catch
The lightest whispers of her heavenly tongue.
Upon a sudden all the mountain-slope
Grew luminous, and I could hear the sound
Of sweet sad voices singing mournful songs.
‘Thou calledst—I have come:’ Egeria said.
‘List what my sister spirits ever sing
To those who have the privilege to hear;—
A privilege for ever earned in pain,
And purchased by affliction, and deep thought.
By doubts, and fears, and silent agonies.”

“I listened as she bade, and soft and clear,
I heard the angelic voices, whisper words
Of mild expostulation with my soul.
These were their accents, if my sense can frame.
In human speech, such high and holy song:—