Poems :: :: University of Virginia Library

Tell me, ye Winds and Waves! what power compels
Souls far apart to be together brought,
That they may love each other,—spirits taught
To stoop and listen by Truth's ancient wells;
Guiding their lives with the calm motion caught
From their pure earthborn murmurings, the swells
Of whose soft falling streams go chiming on,
Heard best by hearts that travel there alone!
One have I met, so meek a soul, that dwells
In his own lowly spirit's cloistered cells:
Him by that ancient mountain-rill I found,
Touched mid the heedless throng with holiest spells,
Striving to catch the stream's low thrilling sound,
Where in a savage place it runneth underground.

2.THE LESSON.

Listen—another strain!—I long had thought
The scourge austere and stern self-punishment
To school impatient spirits had been sent,
And hoped their task would long ere this be wrought.
Man works in haste, for speed with him is might:
In depth and silence God's great works are laid,
As in foundation-stones, all dimly bright.
The world well knows it hath but one brief hour,
And hurries by while judgment is delayed;
And it is gifted with a fearful power
Of holding back its own dark day of doom:
But God keeps shrouded in His ancient gloom,
Watching things travel to His own vast will;
So He works on, and man keeps thwarting still.

3.THE VISION.

That healthy wisdom did I late unfold
Out of a precious type to me endeared.
I saw an altar to the Graces reared,
Of chaste proportions, by a green way-side.
Trees of all sorts stood round it, gray and old,
Blending their various leaves with solemn pride.
A venerable shade it seemed to me,
Where neither gloom nor garish light could be.
Daily from off the shrine to azure heaven
The quiet incense of soft thought was given;
And ever rose, as if on angel's wings,
The breezelike scent of high imaginings,
Fragrant of glory I had never dreamed,
So modest and so low that little altar seemed.

4.THE TEACHER.

This was thy heart where I did fondly trace
The way that God had gone: in little things
And childish growths I found the hidden springs
Where He had put His virtue. Thy short race
In holy calm and evenness hath past.
Oh! how unlike those gay and wayward hearts
That might in Athens rise to bear their parts
In the Greek torch-race: and with giddy haste
Wave their bright pine about, and quench its blaze,
Types of their own wild course in after days!
Thy soul's most secret growings I have seen,
Ordered by God so quietly and slow,
That thou thyself, dear friend, dost scarcely know
Or what thou art or what thou mightst have been.

5.THE TWO RIVERS.

Come with me through these mountain-vales, and see!
Two bravely-flowing streams this way have gone;
Most musical their flowing is to me,
So I will moralize awhile thereon.
One decks the eastern vale—the loveliest;
The other dashes onward from the west.
They join in quiet fields: you scarce can know
Which was the first to join. So, as is meet,
The gentler nature doth the sterner greet,
Because its name is softer and more sweet:
And he, the elder, loves to have it so.
Then in a lake they blend their kindred flow,
And it is said, and so it ought to be,
That they in one bright stream pass onward to the sea.

6.THE YOUNGER RIVER.

[THE ROTHAY.]

Come now and see yon orient vale outspread,
And mark the windings of my favourite rill;
For the wan olive-lights are on the hill,
Dear autumn's choicest boon: and there is shed
A most surpassing glory on the stream,
Kindled just now by evening's purple gleam.
Yon lake with shady islands gave it birth,
To it yon English village doth belong,
And many a night the joyousness and mirth
Of its dear flow hath been my vesper song.
See how it peeps in meadows fringed with flowers,
Or nestles jealously mid leafy bowers,
As if it almost felt, and shunned to show
The gracefulness that makes men love it so.

7.THE ELDER RIVER.

[THE BRATHAY.]

Now follow me to yonder gloomy hills
That to the westward rise: a thousand rills
Gush wildly from their rifted sides to form
That dark, romantic river's early course.
It is the nursling of the cloudy storm,
And carries somewhat of its mother's force
Along with it: leaping with one mad bound
Over a rocky fall. Yet are there found
Pools of most silent beauty, calm and deep;
Though there, too, glittering foam-bells tell a tale
Of things before it reached that placid vale,
Where the new church o'erhangs its woodland sweep.
Oh! how these brooks with hidden meanings teem,
Which no one in the world but you and I would dream!

8.THE PREPARATION.

The clouds lay folded on the mountain's brow,
A huge and restless curtain drooping low.
This way and that it waved with solemn swell,
And from behind it flakes of sunlight fell
On many a patch of redly withering fern,
Melting away upon them: far above
Vast shapes were seen, uncouth and horrible,
Masses of jagged rock that seemed to move,
Turning where'er the rolls of cloud did turn,
Piled up on high, a grim and desolate Throne:
But no one was there that might sit thereon.
All preparation had been made for One
Who had not come. Ah! surely we must say,
They looked for God being out on some great work that day!

9.THE WHEELS.

There are strange solemn times when serious men
Sink out of depth in their own spirit, caught
All unawares, and held by some strong thought
That comes to them, they know not how or when,
And bears them down through many a winding cell
Where the soul's busy agents darkly dwell;
Each watching by his wheel that, bright and bare,
Revolveth day and night to do its part
In building up for Heaven one single heart.
And moulds of curious form are scattered there,
As yet unused,—the shapes of after deeds;
And veilèd growths and thickly sprouting seeds
Are strewn, in which our future life doth lie
Sketched out in dim and wondrous prophecy.

10.THE GLIMPSE.

Our many deeds, the thoughts that we have thought—
They go out from us thronging every hour;
And in them all is folded up a power
That on the earth doth move them to and fro:
And mighty are the marvels they have wrought
In hearts we know not, and may never know.
Our actions travel and are veiled: and yet
We sometimes catch a fearful glimpse of one
When out of sight its march hath well-nigh gone,
An unveiled thing which we can ne'er forget!
All sins it gathers up into its course,
And then they grow with it, and are its force:
One day with dizzy speed that thing shall come,
Recoiling on the heart that was its home.

11.THE PERPLEXITY.

And therefore when I look into my heart,
And see how full it is of mighty schemes,
Some that shall ripen, some be ever dreams,
And yet, though dreams, shall act a real part,—
When I behold of what and how great things
I am the cause,—how quick the living springs
That vibrate in me, and how far they go,—
Thought doth but seem another name for fear;
And I would fain sit still, and never rise
To meddle with myself, God feels so near.
And all the time He moveth, calm and slow
And unperplexed, though naked to His eyes,
A thousand thousand spirits pictured are,
Kenned through the shroud that wraps the Heaven of heavens afar!

12.THE COMPLAINT.

I heard thee say that thou wert slow of speech;
Thou didst complain thy words could never reach
The height of thy conceptions. Ah! dear friend,
Envy thou not the eloquent their gift.
Fierce reckless acts and thoughts' unbridled range
And cherished passion that at times hath rocked
Their soul to its foundations,—these do lift
Them into eloquence: 'tis sad to spend
So great a price, to win so poor a dower.
Thine is a deep clear mind: nor inward change
Nor outward visitation yet hath shocked
Thy heart into a consciousness of power.
So calm and beautiful thou art within,
Thou scarce canst see how like power is to sin.

13.THE VOICE.

“The multitude, therefore, that stood and heard, said that it thundered: others said, An angel spoke to Him.”— St. John, xii. 29.

A Voice from ancient times comes up this way;
Dost thou not hear it—like a trumpet call?
O with what startling accents doth it fall
On ears that love a softer siren sound!
To them like muttering thunder still it seems,
Though all the sky is open, free and gay.
Month follows month, and year doth grow to year,
And the strong voice keeps waxing yet more clear.
The world is full of symptoms of decay,
Feverish and intermittent, struck with fear,
Starting unconsciously in savage dreams,
Like aged men with sickly opiates bound.
—It spake again: surely it cometh near,
Let us go out upon the tower, and hear!

14.THE TEMPLE.

“Know you not that your members are the Temple of the Holy Ghost?” I Cor. vi. 19.

Come, I have found a Temple where to dwell:
Sealed up and watched by Spirits day and night
Behind the Veil there is a crystal Well.
The glorious cedar pillars sparkle bright,
All gemmed with big and glistening drops of dew,
That work their way from out yon hidden flood
By mystic virtue through the fragrant wood,
Making it shed a faint unearthly smell.
And from beneath the curtain, that doth lie
In rich and glossy folds of various hue,
Soft showers of pearly light run streamingly
Over the chequered floor and pavement blue.
Oh! that our eyes might see that Font of Grace,
But none hath entered yet his own heart's Holy Place.

15.THE PRIEST.

“And the people was waiting for Zachary.”— St. Luke, i. 21.

As morning breaks or evening shadows steal,
Duties and thoughts throng round the marble stair,
Waiting for Him who burneth incense there,
Till He shall send to bless them as they kneel.
Greater than Aaron is the mighty Priest
Who in that radiant shrine for ever dwells,
Brighter the stones that stud His glowing vest,
And ravishing the music of His bells,
That tinkle as He moves. The golden air
Is filled with motes of joy that dance and run
Through every court, and make the temple one.
—The lamps are lit; 'tis past the hour of prayer,
And through the windows is their lustre thrown,—
Deep in the Holy Place the Priest doth watch alone.

16.THE HUMILIATION.

Yes, Lord! 'tis well my suffering should be deep;
So with unsparing hand fill Thou the cup
Of bitter thought, and I will drink it up,
And then lie calmly down, yet not to sleep:
But like a guilty child in penitence
When some unruly act hath first destroyed
Within his little soul the quiet sense
Of filial love and careless innocence;
And, as he feels his bliss with fear alloyed,
He wakes, he knows not why, all night to weep.
All human feeling grown to be intense
Comes nigh to sin; yet ah! my greedy heart
Cannot without a thankless murmur part
From that pure dream it hath so long enjoyed.

17.THE HAUNTED PLACE REVISITED.

I came again fair Esthwaite lake to view—
The place thy spirit haunts; while sun and shower
In light and shade contended every hour,
And both were beautiful. The lake was still:
Rich autumn lights were grouped upon the hill
Mid purple heather and bright orange fern.
Oh what a scene was there! The scarlet hue
Of the wild cherry-tree did strangely turn
To mockery the alder's solemn gray:
And, as I wept outright, it seemed to say—
“What art thou he that was so proud and stern?
“Look at that silly furze all new and gay,
“Poor plant! 'tis budding forth and blossoming
“As if one year could have a second spring.”

18.A DREAM.

A Spirit came upon me in the night,
And led me gently down a rocky stair
Unto a peopled garden, green and fair,
Where all the day there was an evening light.
Trees out of every nation blended there.
The citron shrub its golden fruit did train
Against an English elm: 'twas like a dream
Because there was no wind; and things did seem
All near and big, like mountains before rain.
Far in those twilight bowers beside a stream
The soul of one who had but lately died
Hung listening, with a brother at his side;
And no one spoke in all that haunted place,
But lookèd quietly into each other's face.