 | The Demon of Destiny |  |
73
IRVINE WATER.
How beautiful!—not childhood's glad blue eyes
Are half so beautiful as shines the skies,
Mirror'd in yonder calm and summer flow—
A radiant vista of a noon below:
As if the Universe—the Infinite—
Were one bright vast of sunshine and delight;
And the great globe, with all that it inherits,
Hung in a halo form'd of glorious spirits.
Are half so beautiful as shines the skies,
Mirror'd in yonder calm and summer flow—
A radiant vista of a noon below:
As if the Universe—the Infinite—
Were one bright vast of sunshine and delight;
And the great globe, with all that it inherits,
Hung in a halo form'd of glorious spirits.
Why hymns sad Fancy thus on solemn wing?
And Mem'ry back to me would boyhood bring,
Ere care I knew, when I might freely rove
The green Goffields, or sylvan Howmills grove—
The skyey vision in the witches' linn?
I then had visions too—alas! as thin.
And Mem'ry back to me would boyhood bring,
Ere care I knew, when I might freely rove
The green Goffields, or sylvan Howmills grove—
The skyey vision in the witches' linn?
I then had visions too—alas! as thin.
But wayward, pensive, more I lov'd to muse—
Tranc'd in the churchyard, and the tombs peruse:—
At one I sadden'd, half inclin'd to flee,
Which spectral said, “Prepare to follow me!”
For I had heard that none in life may know,
To where, with Death, the dead hereafter go,
And often wonder'd, in the grim of night,
To what dread land the dead-man did invite.
Tranc'd in the churchyard, and the tombs peruse:—
At one I sadden'd, half inclin'd to flee,
Which spectral said, “Prepare to follow me!”
For I had heard that none in life may know,
To where, with Death, the dead hereafter go,
And often wonder'd, in the grim of night,
To what dread land the dead-man did invite.
The green oblivious grave was then a mound—
Nor kind nor dear had the mute beckon own'd
Of Him that's ever far, yet ever nigh,
Shadow of life, the dumb, black Deity.
And rife around me comrade boys were gay,
Our business pleasure, and our labour play—
Then but to be I thought sufficient bliss,
But now I long for Heaven's unknown abyss.
Nor kind nor dear had the mute beckon own'd
Of Him that's ever far, yet ever nigh,
Shadow of life, the dumb, black Deity.
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Our business pleasure, and our labour play—
Then but to be I thought sufficient bliss,
But now I long for Heaven's unknown abyss.
Well I remember all the golden prime,
When sleep and joy were night and day in time,
That to be drowsy on my mother's knee,
Was almost sweeter than blest liberty—
Oh! how my heart enjoy'd the lov'd caress,
The patted cheek, the fond maternalness;
And that soft blessing, Heaven could not but hear,
While on my neck fell the delightful tear.
When sleep and joy were night and day in time,
That to be drowsy on my mother's knee,
Was almost sweeter than blest liberty—
Oh! how my heart enjoy'd the lov'd caress,
The patted cheek, the fond maternalness;
And that soft blessing, Heaven could not but hear,
While on my neck fell the delightful tear.
Stern Fortitude, proud self-commanding power!
That calmly sat around misfortunes lower,
And ever wears the smiling masque of ease,
As if Affliction could have aught to please,—
Is thine the strength that's rosy, firm, and fair,
Or but the grasp of consciousless Despair?
Canst thou to him, that's begging at thy door,
The glowing hopes of bounding youth restore—
Restore the associates of the sunny scene,
Unseal the tomb, and wake the who hath been?—
Poor ineffectual hypocrite, begone!
And take life with thee—now an anguish'd moan.
That calmly sat around misfortunes lower,
And ever wears the smiling masque of ease,
As if Affliction could have aught to please,—
Is thine the strength that's rosy, firm, and fair,
Or but the grasp of consciousless Despair?
Canst thou to him, that's begging at thy door,
The glowing hopes of bounding youth restore—
Restore the associates of the sunny scene,
Unseal the tomb, and wake the who hath been?—
Poor ineffectual hypocrite, begone!
And take life with thee—now an anguish'd moan.
Yet Heaven I thank for making me still see
The good and beauty of His mystery.
The world of terrors, for I have ever found,
But prompts to equanimity around,
Though Hope be dead; and by Thy laws I know
My ails and cares are cureless now below.
The good and beauty of His mystery.
The world of terrors, for I have ever found,
But prompts to equanimity around,
Though Hope be dead; and by Thy laws I know
My ails and cares are cureless now below.
They think not wisely, and turn Truth awry,
Who deem that life's as an infectious sigh:—
From me and mine be far that murky thought,
Which Grief for guilt hath to the wretched brought,
And ever shine that blest benignant plan,
Which helps to mitigate all ills to man.
Who deem that life's as an infectious sigh:—
From me and mine be far that murky thought,
Which Grief for guilt hath to the wretched brought,
And ever shine that blest benignant plan,
Which helps to mitigate all ills to man.
Oft in the trances of my wond'ring youth,
When life was light, and hope believ'd as truth,
On the green hill I lov'd to muse alone,
Where gold-ey'd daisies bright around me shone,
And think, in innocence of boyhood, then,
How all was lovely that was made for men.
When life was light, and hope believ'd as truth,
On the green hill I lov'd to muse alone,
Where gold-ey'd daisies bright around me shone,
And think, in innocence of boyhood, then,
How all was lovely that was made for men.
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That young conceit, in Fortune's darkest hour,
Has been the candle of my midnight bower;
And still, while ails on wrongs increasing come,
It is the torch that lights me on to home.
Has been the candle of my midnight bower;
And still, while ails on wrongs increasing come,
It is the torch that lights me on to home.
Well do I mind the thrilling gush of bliss
With which the energy of cheerfulness
First came upon me in those simple days,
When discontent could but the boy amaze.
With which the energy of cheerfulness
First came upon me in those simple days,
When discontent could but the boy amaze.
A Sabbath stillness sweeten'd all the air;
The fragrant sunshine of the summer glare,
Visible blessedness, felicity,
Was as if Goodness could partake of glee.
Boundless afar the shining ocean spread,
The azure infinite was over head,
And in her robes maternal Nature smil'd,
As if the world and Heav'n were reconcil'd.
The fragrant sunshine of the summer glare,
Visible blessedness, felicity,
Was as if Goodness could partake of glee.
Boundless afar the shining ocean spread,
The azure infinite was over head,
And in her robes maternal Nature smil'd,
As if the world and Heav'n were reconcil'd.
In that calm noon, as on the grass I lay,
Methought I heard some gentle spirit say:
“Man cag'd in finitude can never know
The happiness of full perfection's glow;
But he may taste, and ever more and more,
Something of what the future has in store:”
Ever since then, by compensating Heav'n,
For all of suffering, recompense was given.
Methought I heard some gentle spirit say:
“Man cag'd in finitude can never know
The happiness of full perfection's glow;
But he may taste, and ever more and more,
Something of what the future has in store:”
Ever since then, by compensating Heav'n,
For all of suffering, recompense was given.
'Twas then I fancied that if hopeful power
Make youth in life, Aurora's orient hour,
Age, the dim vesper, by experience taught,
Hath strength in slights that ne'er by power are wrought.
Make youth in life, Aurora's orient hour,
Age, the dim vesper, by experience taught,
Hath strength in slights that ne'er by power are wrought.
But not alone the feeble or the frail
Gain bright equivalents, by lore, for ail;
All, all in life the mystic blessing share,—
The boon of being,—Heaven's spontaneous care;
And since, my pilgrimage has serv'd to prove
The gracious tendence of that unsought love.
Yes, though the finite, ever less or more,
Must own some lack,—a craving or a sore,—
Still each and all that is, or that shall be,
May taste the bliss of my blest reverie;
Ev'n those who feel but misery in breath,
Know there is shelter—they may fly to death.
Gain bright equivalents, by lore, for ail;
All, all in life the mystic blessing share,—
The boon of being,—Heaven's spontaneous care;
And since, my pilgrimage has serv'd to prove
The gracious tendence of that unsought love.
Yes, though the finite, ever less or more,
Must own some lack,—a craving or a sore,—
Still each and all that is, or that shall be,
May taste the bliss of my blest reverie;
Ev'n those who feel but misery in breath,
Know there is shelter—they may fly to death.
But tho' the thought, as boyhood's thoughts, was crude,
I glow'd with it, as if the sense of good
Was first experienc'd then. Oh! many a time,
Amidst dismay, has it appear'd sublime,
Serene and clear, beyond the hurrying strife
Of storms and clouds that aw'd the scene of life;
Oft it has seem'd, o'er streamers glaring red,
The morning's harbinger, forbidding dread.
E'en yet, thank Heav'n, though all be dark and drear,
Around again, and Reason beckon Fear,
The cheerful dream that visited my youth
Smiles beautiful. Oh! beautiful as Truth.
I glow'd with it, as if the sense of good
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Amidst dismay, has it appear'd sublime,
Serene and clear, beyond the hurrying strife
Of storms and clouds that aw'd the scene of life;
Oft it has seem'd, o'er streamers glaring red,
The morning's harbinger, forbidding dread.
E'en yet, thank Heav'n, though all be dark and drear,
Around again, and Reason beckon Fear,
The cheerful dream that visited my youth
Smiles beautiful. Oh! beautiful as Truth.
What though no more I ever shall enjoy
The radiant fancies of the musing boy,
No more partake what Health and Hope impart
To youth unwitting, ere in life we start,—
Still all that come might yet be worse, I say,
And thus the sternest pass as almost gay.
The radiant fancies of the musing boy,
No more partake what Health and Hope impart
To youth unwitting, ere in life we start,—
Still all that come might yet be worse, I say,
And thus the sternest pass as almost gay.
But why is it that in this solemn hour
I can but think of boyhood's nest and bower?—
Around but scenes of love I see. Alas!
All that I see is but in mem'ry's glass.
I can but think of boyhood's nest and bower?—
Around but scenes of love I see. Alas!
All that I see is but in mem'ry's glass.
Oh! never more must I again behold
Such sunny days as were so bright of old,
When she that's dust embrac'd her wayward own,
And all the claims upon me were unknown.
Such sunny days as were so bright of old,
When she that's dust embrac'd her wayward own,
And all the claims upon me were unknown.
My native burgh, its window-eyes so bright,
Basks in the noon, and purrs as with delight—
Sweet is the thought, as in that hour of ease,
When all of life was but to play or please.
Mysterious Nature! why should he complain,
Who plays a child in memory's hall again,
Who sees around him, ever bright and fair,
The hopes of life, though but a picture's there;
And with the past, when griefs and cares annoy,
May be again a happy-hearted boy.
Basks in the noon, and purrs as with delight—
Sweet is the thought, as in that hour of ease,
When all of life was but to play or please.
Mysterious Nature! why should he complain,
Who plays a child in memory's hall again,
Who sees around him, ever bright and fair,
The hopes of life, though but a picture's there;
And with the past, when griefs and cares annoy,
May be again a happy-hearted boy.
| The Demon of Destiny | |