The Poetical Works of Robert Montgomery Collected and Revised by the Author |
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GENIUS, SOLITUDE, AND SYMPATHY. |
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 | The Poetical Works of Robert Montgomery |  |
GENIUS, SOLITUDE, AND SYMPATHY.
Genius was thine, thou heaven-commission'd Boy!
But surely, Sorrow was thy guerdon too;
Since ne'er doth greatness in a bosom lodge,
But Sadness thither, like a shade, attends,
Its true companion. In this faded world
Our graves and tears are almost equal, now;
And, e'en at best, light-hearted youth must bear
A burden voiceless, and the pang unbreathed
Of many a dark and undevelop'd mood.
The earth is exile; and for Home we pine
How often! when high visitations come
From whence we know not, and the mind o'erwhelm.
As if some Angel by the flesh immured
Our Spirit were, within whose conscious powers
The sounds and splendours of ethereal life,
In dim remembrance, were at times renew'd.—
And did not he, whose pure vocation was
The Infinite with finite things to join,
Wrestle with thoughts, his yearning boyhood strove
In vain to answer? Felt he oft no thirst,
Like a young Tantalus, by mocking bliss
Encompass'd, melting from the parchèd mind?
And did not Dreams, and Solitude, and Night
Profoundly move him, till prophetic thoughts
Imaged the future? Rapt in speechless awe,
Ponder'd he not on that behind the Veil,
When round him, like a belting zone which binds
All time, all scene, all circumstance, all change,
Divine Eternity in shadow came?
But surely, Sorrow was thy guerdon too;
Since ne'er doth greatness in a bosom lodge,
But Sadness thither, like a shade, attends,
Its true companion. In this faded world
Our graves and tears are almost equal, now;
And, e'en at best, light-hearted youth must bear
A burden voiceless, and the pang unbreathed
Of many a dark and undevelop'd mood.
The earth is exile; and for Home we pine
How often! when high visitations come
From whence we know not, and the mind o'erwhelm.
As if some Angel by the flesh immured
Our Spirit were, within whose conscious powers
The sounds and splendours of ethereal life,
In dim remembrance, were at times renew'd.—
And did not he, whose pure vocation was
The Infinite with finite things to join,
Wrestle with thoughts, his yearning boyhood strove
In vain to answer? Felt he oft no thirst,
Like a young Tantalus, by mocking bliss
Encompass'd, melting from the parchèd mind?
And did not Dreams, and Solitude, and Night
Profoundly move him, till prophetic thoughts
Imaged the future? Rapt in speechless awe,
Ponder'd he not on that behind the Veil,
When round him, like a belting zone which binds
All time, all scene, all circumstance, all change,
Divine Eternity in shadow came?
We know not this; but, e'en as eagles soar
And sky-ward through the rending storm-cloud mount
With plumes unbaffled, Luther's wingèd soul
Against the blast of Circumstance did beat,
And struggle upward to a destined sphere.
From want and woe his educated will
The glory of its resolution caught;
E'en from the cradle, tears his teachers made,
And suff'ring, hard as adamant, engraved
Lessons which left throughout all time their trace
Instructive. Thus, amid the true and stern,
And keen realities of testing life,
The Boy was rounded into full-orb'd Man
And fitted for his function. Thus, a Soul
Predestined, for its prophet-work was train'd,
And grew heroic: till at length, the world
In full apocalypse of all its powers
Emerging shall behold it act, and speak.
And like the hammer of a christian Thor
Down on the Curse of christendom and man
Descend, with most annihilating crash,
His tones of thunder and his truths of life!
And sky-ward through the rending storm-cloud mount
With plumes unbaffled, Luther's wingèd soul
Against the blast of Circumstance did beat,
And struggle upward to a destined sphere.
From want and woe his educated will
The glory of its resolution caught;
E'en from the cradle, tears his teachers made,
And suff'ring, hard as adamant, engraved
Lessons which left throughout all time their trace
Instructive. Thus, amid the true and stern,
And keen realities of testing life,
The Boy was rounded into full-orb'd Man
And fitted for his function. Thus, a Soul
Predestined, for its prophet-work was train'd,
And grew heroic: till at length, the world
In full apocalypse of all its powers
Emerging shall behold it act, and speak.
And like the hammer of a christian Thor
Down on the Curse of christendom and man
Descend, with most annihilating crash,
His tones of thunder and his truths of life!
But, in those powers auxiliar, which expand
The young Reformer, feeling play'd its part;
And that, perchance, beyond all others, pure.
His was a mother, from whose heart of love
Sacred and deep, with fine devotion full,
As from a shrine, his lisping boyhood took
Counsels of grace, oracular and fond.
And who can say, how much that Luther show'd
In his high work of majesty and mind,
Which grateful Empires with their homage crown,
Sprang from a look, a warning, or a word,
A mother wielded, when she taught him God?
And ever thus, from love maternal spring
Feelings and powers, which o'er progressive life
Reign with a subtile, secret, holy spell:
And deeds, and darings which have moved the world
A cent'ry forward, from a mother's lip
Caught the first glow whence inspiration came.
The young Reformer, feeling play'd its part;
And that, perchance, beyond all others, pure.
His was a mother, from whose heart of love
Sacred and deep, with fine devotion full,
As from a shrine, his lisping boyhood took
Counsels of grace, oracular and fond.
And who can say, how much that Luther show'd
In his high work of majesty and mind,
Which grateful Empires with their homage crown,
Sprang from a look, a warning, or a word,
A mother wielded, when she taught him God?
And ever thus, from love maternal spring
Feelings and powers, which o'er progressive life
196
And deeds, and darings which have moved the world
A cent'ry forward, from a mother's lip
Caught the first glow whence inspiration came.
Yet, bleak the lot his boyish prime endured!
And sad, indeed, and merciless as dark
The shades of circumstance around him fell;
While yet, no precious dawn of grace appear'd
His soul to lighten through domestic gloom.
But, on his cheek a blanching terror came
When He was named, within Whose wreathing arms
Of mercy, once, a folded infant smiled!
Foodless, and friendless, oft the fainting boy
Far from his home, with none, save God, his guide,
In Magdeburgh from house to house was doom'd
A meal to beg; and thus, by Heaven was school'd
To hard experience, when Hereafter came.
“Bread for the love of God!” hark! Luther chants
From door to door, through Eisenach's winding street,
Mix'd with a group, as wan and worn as he
Of students poor. But lo! as once he lay
Beneath the umbrage of a cottage-tree,
Alone and pensive, while the leaf-shades fell
Like soft expressions on his speaking face
Of suff'ring, sad and sweet the hymn he sung;
The very echo of his soul was there,
And, like the fragments of a broken heart,
His shatter'd feelings trembled into song.
But not in vain that plaintive scholar mourn'd;
For on the ear of Ursula they sunk,
Those tones of truth, like tears upon some heart
O'erburden'd, dropt from Friendship's genial eye.
Never again shall that pale youth despond
In Famine's grasp, through days of pining gloom!
At once, both heart and home their shelter ope,
And, like the Shunammite, her all she shares
With him, the homeless boy of sorrow, now.
And sad, indeed, and merciless as dark
The shades of circumstance around him fell;
While yet, no precious dawn of grace appear'd
His soul to lighten through domestic gloom.
But, on his cheek a blanching terror came
When He was named, within Whose wreathing arms
Of mercy, once, a folded infant smiled!
Foodless, and friendless, oft the fainting boy
Far from his home, with none, save God, his guide,
In Magdeburgh from house to house was doom'd
A meal to beg; and thus, by Heaven was school'd
To hard experience, when Hereafter came.
“Bread for the love of God!” hark! Luther chants
From door to door, through Eisenach's winding street,
Mix'd with a group, as wan and worn as he
Of students poor. But lo! as once he lay
Beneath the umbrage of a cottage-tree,
Alone and pensive, while the leaf-shades fell
Like soft expressions on his speaking face
Of suff'ring, sad and sweet the hymn he sung;
The very echo of his soul was there,
And, like the fragments of a broken heart,
His shatter'd feelings trembled into song.
But not in vain that plaintive scholar mourn'd;
For on the ear of Ursula they sunk,
Those tones of truth, like tears upon some heart
O'erburden'd, dropt from Friendship's genial eye.
Never again shall that pale youth despond
In Famine's grasp, through days of pining gloom!
At once, both heart and home their shelter ope,
And, like the Shunammite, her all she shares
With him, the homeless boy of sorrow, now.
Blessings be on thee! Cotta's lowly bride,
And praise immortal, for the feeling hand
Which dealt thy substance; and the angel-voice
That, rich as dew-fall on a summer eve
Descending, when the fev'rish earth-sod pines,
Besoothed the world's great benefactor, then!
For here, by want unchill'd, by care unworn,
Bosom'd in calm domestic, Luther builds
By soft degrees, his mental being up.
Science, and Art, and Lore, that lovely trine!
Around him throng, and with their blended smiles
The budding energies of mind attract
Forth into blossoms of expanding force,
And freshness; e'en as sunshine tempts
The hue of flowers, and harmonies of spring
To full expression. Home of halcyon ease!
When the loud roar of his hereafter-life
Deafen'd the heart, how oft did Luther love
That sabbath-haven of the soul to haunt
With mem'ry's eye: and once again recal
The bliss of tranquil being, when the noise
Of man's great world with no disturbing sound
The soul distracted: like the far-off waves
To one who, pensive at his window, dreams,
When twilight o'er the palpitating breast
Of Ocean melts in rosy calm away,—
The soften'd echoes of a distant world
But served to make the hush of home more dear.
And praise immortal, for the feeling hand
Which dealt thy substance; and the angel-voice
That, rich as dew-fall on a summer eve
Descending, when the fev'rish earth-sod pines,
Besoothed the world's great benefactor, then!
For here, by want unchill'd, by care unworn,
Bosom'd in calm domestic, Luther builds
By soft degrees, his mental being up.
Science, and Art, and Lore, that lovely trine!
Around him throng, and with their blended smiles
The budding energies of mind attract
Forth into blossoms of expanding force,
And freshness; e'en as sunshine tempts
The hue of flowers, and harmonies of spring
To full expression. Home of halcyon ease!
When the loud roar of his hereafter-life
Deafen'd the heart, how oft did Luther love
That sabbath-haven of the soul to haunt
With mem'ry's eye: and once again recal
The bliss of tranquil being, when the noise
Of man's great world with no disturbing sound
The soul distracted: like the far-off waves
To one who, pensive at his window, dreams,
When twilight o'er the palpitating breast
Of Ocean melts in rosy calm away,—
The soften'd echoes of a distant world
But served to make the hush of home more dear.
And Music, too, her poetry of sound
Evoked: for oft, when Evening's pallid veil
Curtain'd the clouds with beauty; or, the Moon
A mild entrancement from her beam inspired,
Did Luther hymn the golden hours to rest
With deep-toned chants, and melodies divine;
Where voice and lute each other's echo seem'd,
So richly one their combination grew.—
When years had flown, and Europe's grateful hand
Round Luther's name a wreath of glory twined,
And at his feet the heart of Empires bow'd
Admiring, Cotta's home, still unforgot,
Was outlined in his mindful heart of love
Serene as ever; while his voice proclaim'd,
By gallantry and grace at once inspired,
There's nothing sweeter than a woman's soul
When Truth divine erects her temple there!
Evoked: for oft, when Evening's pallid veil
Curtain'd the clouds with beauty; or, the Moon
A mild entrancement from her beam inspired,
Did Luther hymn the golden hours to rest
With deep-toned chants, and melodies divine;
Where voice and lute each other's echo seem'd,
So richly one their combination grew.—
When years had flown, and Europe's grateful hand
Round Luther's name a wreath of glory twined,
And at his feet the heart of Empires bow'd
Admiring, Cotta's home, still unforgot,
Was outlined in his mindful heart of love
Serene as ever; while his voice proclaim'd,
By gallantry and grace at once inspired,
There's nothing sweeter than a woman's soul
When Truth divine erects her temple there!
| The Poetical Works of Robert Montgomery | |