 | St. Augustine's Holiday and Other Poems |  |
95
HINTS OF THE DIVINE.
A SEA GLEAM.
'Twas a sullen summer day;
Skies were neither dark nor clear,
Heaven in the distance sheer
Over sharp cliffs sloped away—
Ocean did not yet appear.
Skies were neither dark nor clear,
Heaven in the distance sheer
Over sharp cliffs sloped away—
Ocean did not yet appear.
Not as yet a white sail shimmer'd,
Not with full expanse divine
Did the great Atlantic shine;
Only very far there glimmer'd
Dimly one long tremulous line.
Not with full expanse divine
Did the great Atlantic shine;
Only very far there glimmer'd
Dimly one long tremulous line.
In the hedge were roses snow'd
Or blush'd o'er by summer morn,
Right and left grew fields of corn,
Stretching greenly from the road—
From the hay a breath was borne.
Or blush'd o'er by summer morn,
Right and left grew fields of corn,
Stretching greenly from the road—
From the hay a breath was borne.
Not of small sweet wild rose twine,
Not of young corn waving free,
Not of clover fields thought we;
Only to that dim bright line
Looking, cried we, “'Tis the sea.”
Not of young corn waving free,
Not of clover fields thought we;
Only to that dim bright line
Looking, cried we, “'Tis the sea.”
98
In life's sullen summer day
Lo! before us dull hills rise,
And above, unlovely skies,
Slope off with their bluish grey
Into some far mysteries.
Lo! before us dull hills rise,
And above, unlovely skies,
Slope off with their bluish grey
Into some far mysteries.
Love's sweet roses, hope's young corn,
Green fields whisper'd round and round
By the breezes landward bound
(Yet, ah! scalded too and torn
By the sea winds), there are found.
Green fields whisper'd round and round
By the breezes landward bound
(Yet, ah! scalded too and torn
By the sea winds), there are found.
And at times in life's dull day,
From the flower, and the sod,
And the hill our feet have trod
To a brightness far away,
Turn we saying, “This is God.”
From the flower, and the sod,
And the hill our feet have trod
To a brightness far away,
Turn we saying, “This is God.”
AMONG THE SAND-HILLS.
From the ocean half a rood
To the sand-hills long and low
Ever and anon I go;
Hide from me the gleaming flood,
Only listen to its flow.
To the sand-hills long and low
Ever and anon I go;
Hide from me the gleaming flood,
Only listen to its flow.
99
To those billowy curls of sand
Little of delight is lent—
As it were a yellow tent,
Here and there by some wild hand
Pitch'd, and overgrown with bent.
Little of delight is lent—
As it were a yellow tent,
Here and there by some wild hand
Pitch'd, and overgrown with bent.
Some few buds like golden beads
Cut in stars on leaves that shine
Greenly, and a fragrance fine
Of the ocean's delicate weeds,
Of his fresh and foamy wine.
Cut in stars on leaves that shine
Greenly, and a fragrance fine
Of the ocean's delicate weeds,
Of his fresh and foamy wine.
But the place is music haunted.
Let there blow what wind soever;—
Now as by a stately river,
A monotonous requiem's chanted;
Now you hear great pine woods shiver.
Let there blow what wind soever;—
Now as by a stately river,
A monotonous requiem's chanted;
Now you hear great pine woods shiver.
Frequent when the tides are low
Creep for hours sweet sleepy hums.
But when in the spring tide comes,
Then the silver trumpets blow
And the waters beat like drums.
Creep for hours sweet sleepy hums.
But when in the spring tide comes,
Then the silver trumpets blow
And the waters beat like drums.
And the Atlantic's roll full often,
Muffled by the sand-hills round,
Seems a mighty city's sound,
Which the night-wind serves to soften
By the waker's pillow drown'd:
Muffled by the sand-hills round,
Seems a mighty city's sound,
Which the night-wind serves to soften
By the waker's pillow drown'd:
Seems a salvo—state or battles—
Through the purple mountain gaps
Heard by peasants; or perhaps
Seems a wheel that rolls or rattles;
Seems an eagle's wing that flaps;
Through the purple mountain gaps
Heard by peasants; or perhaps
Seems a wheel that rolls or rattles;
Seems an eagle's wing that flaps;
100
Seems a peal of thunder, caught
By the mountain pines and tuned
To a marvellous gentle sound;
Wailings where despair is not,—
Hearts self-hushing some heart wound.
By the mountain pines and tuned
To a marvellous gentle sound;
Wailings where despair is not,—
Hearts self-hushing some heart wound.
Still what winds there blow soever,
Wet or shine, by sun or star,
When white horses plunge afar,
When the palsied forth-lines shiver,
When the waters quiet are;
Wet or shine, by sun or star,
When white horses plunge afar,
When the palsied forth-lines shiver,
When the waters quiet are;
On the sand-hills where waves boom,
Or with ripples scarce at all
Tumble not so much as crawl,
Ever do we know of whom
Cometh up the rise and fall.
Or with ripples scarce at all
Tumble not so much as crawl,
Ever do we know of whom
Cometh up the rise and fall.
Need is none to see the ships,
None to mark the mid-sea jet
Softening into violet,
While those old pre-Adamite lips
To those boundary heaps are set.
None to mark the mid-sea jet
Softening into violet,
While those old pre-Adamite lips
To those boundary heaps are set.
Ah! we see not the great foam
That beyond us strangely rolls,
Whose white-wingèd ships are souls
Sailing from the port called Home,
When the signal bell, Death, tolls.
That beyond us strangely rolls,
Whose white-wingèd ships are souls
Sailing from the port called Home,
When the signal bell, Death, tolls.
And we catch not the broad shimmer,
Catch not yet the hue divine,
Of the purpling hyaline;
Of the heaving and the glimmer
Life's sands cheat our straining eyne.
Catch not yet the hue divine,
Of the purpling hyaline;
Of the heaving and the glimmer
Life's sands cheat our straining eyne.
101
But by wondrous sounds not shut
From those sand-hills, we may be
Sure that a diviner sea
Than earth's keels have ever cut
Floweth from eternity.
From those sand-hills, we may be
Sure that a diviner sea
Than earth's keels have ever cut
Floweth from eternity.
| St. Augustine's Holiday and Other Poems | |