The Burdens of Belief and Other Poems By The Duke of Argyll [i.e. G. D. Campbell] |
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| SONGS OF NATURE AND
THE BIRDS |
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 | The Burdens of Belief and Other Poems |  |
65
SONGS OF NATURE AND THE BIRDS
ON FIRST OBSERVING THE WILLOW WREN IN MIDWINTER ON THE PINCIAN HILL, IN ROME, DECEMBER 1842
Fair summer bird whose very name
Was ever charm to me,
And is it that this sunny land
Is winter home to thee?
Was ever charm to me,
And is it that this sunny land
Is winter home to thee?
Then will I feel it nearer home
And love its beauty more;
Then will I tread more joyously
Upon its golden shore;
And love its beauty more;
Then will I tread more joyously
Upon its golden shore;
66
For thou hast been, thou loved one,
The joy of early hours,
The first proclaimer, soft one,
Of spring's returning powers.
The joy of early hours,
The first proclaimer, soft one,
Of spring's returning powers.
Scarce has the yellow primrose seen
The virgin snowdrop fade,
The wild bee has not 'gun to taste
The hawthorn's scented shade.
The virgin snowdrop fade,
The wild bee has not 'gun to taste
The hawthorn's scented shade.
Ere yet the swallow well has reached
The land with weary wing,
Thrice welcome is thy gentle voice,
And all its whispers bring.
The land with weary wing,
Thrice welcome is thy gentle voice,
And all its whispers bring.
It is a soft and gentle voice
That cometh from above,
A song that ever seemed to me
The very voice of love.
That cometh from above,
A song that ever seemed to me
The very voice of love.
But few do know thee, gentle bird;
Few, few have ever seen
The soft-lined mansion thou dost build
Low in the tufted green.
Few, few have ever seen
The soft-lined mansion thou dost build
Low in the tufted green.
67
'Tis there, thy home, that shy retreat,
And there the livelong day
Thou pourest forth unceasingly
Thine oft-repeated lay.
And there the livelong day
Thou pourest forth unceasingly
Thine oft-repeated lay.
'Tis there, and in that stillest nook
Of some light, budding bower,
How often have I, musing, felt
Thy most mysterious power.
Of some light, budding bower,
How often have I, musing, felt
Thy most mysterious power.
With others I may gladly hear
The Blackbird's music float,
Or pouring forth, the Missel Thrush,
His loud, melodious note.
The Blackbird's music float,
Or pouring forth, the Missel Thrush,
His loud, melodious note.
With brothers and with friends I'll go
Where many a varied voice
Calls from each bush, and tree, and field,
‘Rejoice with me, rejoice!’
Where many a varied voice
Calls from each bush, and tree, and field,
‘Rejoice with me, rejoice!’
Yes, other warblers I can love
With love that's all their own,
But when to thee, dear bird, I list,
I must be quite alone.
With love that's all their own,
But when to thee, dear bird, I list,
I must be quite alone.
68
It is not that the softest sound,—
The rustling of a leaf,—
Will break the whisp'rings of a song
Already all too brief.
The rustling of a leaf,—
Will break the whisp'rings of a song
Already all too brief.
It is that if we'd truly feel
The music of the heart,
Or have dim mem'ries softly touched
We must be far apart
The music of the heart,
Or have dim mem'ries softly touched
We must be far apart
From every thought, or sound, or sight,
Save that and that alone
Which hath some mystic power to raise
Dreams of a world unknown.
Save that and that alone
Which hath some mystic power to raise
Dreams of a world unknown.
If ever there's a moment when
All trouble quits my breast,
And leaves it to the sacred balm
Of calmness, love, and rest;
All trouble quits my breast,
And leaves it to the sacred balm
Of calmness, love, and rest;
If e'er association's power,
That wondrous fount of joy,
Almost beguileth me to think
I am again a boy,
That wondrous fount of joy,
Almost beguileth me to think
I am again a boy,
69
If ever to my inmost soul
I feel I can be glad
With gladness all more deep, because
It is a little sad,
I feel I can be glad
With gladness all more deep, because
It is a little sad,
It is, dear bird, that April day,
That golden hour of spring,
When first in some quick budding bower
I hear thee, charmer, sing.
That golden hour of spring,
When first in some quick budding bower
I hear thee, charmer, sing.
For 'tis the gentlest strain that floats
Upon the summer air,
There is no room for ruffled thoughts,
No place for anger there.
Upon the summer air,
There is no room for ruffled thoughts,
No place for anger there.
It is a soft and gentle voice
That cometh from above,
A song that ever seemed to me
The very voice of love.
That cometh from above,
A song that ever seemed to me
The very voice of love.
Then joy, that I have met thee, bird,
Thrice joy, where'er we roam,
To think, these wintry months away,
We'll meet again at home,
Thrice joy, where'er we roam,
To think, these wintry months away,
We'll meet again at home,
70
When the green earth, in every germ,
Feels a reviving power;
When the yellow primrose gently opes
Its softly scented flower;
Feels a reviving power;
When the yellow primrose gently opes
Its softly scented flower;
Then joy, that I have met thee, bird,
Thrice joy, where'er we roam,
To think, these wintry months away,
We'll meet again at home.
Thrice joy, where'er we roam,
To think, these wintry months away,
We'll meet again at home.
Now, ask not, stranger, for the name
Of this dear bird of mine,
'Tis one that seldom meets the ear
And 'twould be strange to thine.
Of this dear bird of mine,
'Tis one that seldom meets the ear
And 'twould be strange to thine.
It is a small and gentle bird
That shuns the haunts of men;
And few, who do not seek, have heard
The Lesser Willow Wren.
That shuns the haunts of men;
And few, who do not seek, have heard
The Lesser Willow Wren.
Rome, 1843
71
ON A RING-PLOVER
FOUND DEAD IN THE ISLAND OF TIREE, AUGUST, 1884
In a hollow of the dunes
Its wings were closed in rest,
And the florets of the eyebright
Stood guard around its breast.
Its wings were closed in rest,
And the florets of the eyebright
Stood guard around its breast.
The glorious light and sun
Were on it where it lay;
And the sound of ocean murmurs
Passed o'er it from the bay.
Were on it where it lay;
And the sound of ocean murmurs
Passed o'er it from the bay.
No more its easy pinions
Would gleam along the sand,
No more, in glancing courses,
Sweep all the pleasant land.
Would gleam along the sand,
No more, in glancing courses,
Sweep all the pleasant land.
No more its tuneful whistle
Would mingle with the surf:
Its busy feet were idle—
Once nimble on the turf.
Would mingle with the surf:
Its busy feet were idle—
Once nimble on the turf.
72
No ruffle marred its plumage,
No struggle stretched its head,
It lay in perfect slumber—
The happiest of the dead.
No struggle stretched its head,
It lay in perfect slumber—
The happiest of the dead.
So could I wish that Death
Would make his lair for me
Among the list'ning pastures
And margins of the Sea.
Would make his lair for me
Among the list'ning pastures
And margins of the Sea.
TO THE SAND GROUSE
The Sand Grouse (Syrrhaptes paradoxus) inhabits the deserts of Central Asia from the Caspian to the Wall of China. It is a bird of immense powers of flight, ranging for thousands of miles in vast flocks over the great spaces which afford it food and water. In 1863 some strange migratory impulse brought numerous coveys to Western Europe, and to the British Isles. In a more recent year a similar impulse brought them here again in much greater numbers, and they attracted such attention that an Act of Parliament was passed for their protection, in the somewhat hopeless expectation that they might settle permanently in the British Isles. The plumage is very beautiful, closely resembling the colours of the desert. The feet are very peculiar, having only three toes, and these small, and glued together close up to the claws.
Why come ye from the tawny waste
Of the Mongolian plains,
To seek through leagues of stranger air
Our western storms and rains?
Of the Mongolian plains,
To seek through leagues of stranger air
Our western storms and rains?
Deep in the hollows of that land
Where some rare water gleams,
Ye bask among the flowers and seeds
Of oleandered streams.
Where some rare water gleams,
Ye bask among the flowers and seeds
Of oleandered streams.
73
These warm and pebbly colours show
Your native home to be
In lands that since the raging flood
Have never seen the sea.
Your native home to be
In lands that since the raging flood
Have never seen the sea.
What thought ye of that vaster plain
Rippling its thousand waves,
Its ships, its freight of living men,
And all its ‘wandering graves’?
Rippling its thousand waves,
Its ships, its freight of living men,
And all its ‘wandering graves’?
As wide horizons may have lain
Under your ranging flight,
Where the great Oxus rolls her sands
Through quivering fields of light.
Under your ranging flight,
Where the great Oxus rolls her sands
Through quivering fields of light.
Or when from Afghan hills and rocks
Your arrowy course was hurled
To Ganges from the Pamir steppe,—
The roof-tree of the world.
Your arrowy course was hurled
To Ganges from the Pamir steppe,—
The roof-tree of the world.
But never since your little feet
Pattered among the stones,
Have ye e'er heard the ocean roar
Or sing its undertones.
Pattered among the stones,
Have ye e'er heard the ocean roar
Or sing its undertones.
74
What mystic impulse, then, has brought
Your pinions to our West?
Why thought ye on our scraps of sand
To find a home or rest?
Your pinions to our West?
Why thought ye on our scraps of sand
To find a home or rest?
Did ye but follow on the march
That changed the world's rude face,
First scattering broadcast the seeds
Of our great Aryan race?
That changed the world's rude face,
First scattering broadcast the seeds
Of our great Aryan race?
Or was it that ye longed to see,
Far down the setting flame,
The mighty fountains whence Aral
And your own Caspian came?
Far down the setting flame,
The mighty fountains whence Aral
And your own Caspian came?
So we may wing our searching course,
And guide our lines of flight,
To the great deeps which still have left
Some little pools of light.
And guide our lines of flight,
To the great deeps which still have left
Some little pools of light.
75
THE DANBURY SWALLOW
Where Essex lifts her greenest bower
And shrines an old chief Pastor's love,
Where every leaf on ivied tower
Hears all day long the brooding dove;
And shrines an old chief Pastor's love,
Where every leaf on ivied tower
Hears all day long the brooding dove;
From out the crowded haunts of life
Now youth, now age comes seeking there
Peace from the battle and the strife,
As in some fane of restful prayer.
Now youth, now age comes seeking there
Peace from the battle and the strife,
As in some fane of restful prayer.
Uncounted leagues of land and sea
Bring every summer bird that sings.
Each domesday oak, each clovered lea
Sees all the glancing of their wings.
Bring every summer bird that sings.
Each domesday oak, each clovered lea
Sees all the glancing of their wings.
The tangled brakes of flowering May
Pass into garlands rosy red;
And pools of water hold the day,
Redoubling glories overhead.
Pass into garlands rosy red;
And pools of water hold the day,
Redoubling glories overhead.
76
The gleaming fisher of the lake
Sits watching on her shadowed bough:
Rich turquoise worn for some dear sake
Set on a dark and lovely brow,
Sits watching on her shadowed bough:
Rich turquoise worn for some dear sake
Set on a dark and lovely brow,
Would pale before the fulgent ray
That marks the Halcyon's gliding track;
No mirrored pool beneath her way
Can throw one half her glories back.
That marks the Halcyon's gliding track;
No mirrored pool beneath her way
Can throw one half her glories back.
And when she darts upon her prey
She darts as with a meteor's flight,
Halo'd in showers of diamond spray,
Blue-flashing in her jewelled light.
She darts as with a meteor's flight,
Halo'd in showers of diamond spray,
Blue-flashing in her jewelled light.
And one familiar bird there came,
That ever sounds her twittering note
By cottage eave and latticed frame,
From creamy breast, and russet throat.
That ever sounds her twittering note
By cottage eave and latticed frame,
From creamy breast, and russet throat.
O'er half the world she finds her way
To skim each year this English lawn:
Her flight is part of summer day,
Her wings are busy with the dawn.
To skim each year this English lawn:
Her flight is part of summer day,
Her wings are busy with the dawn.
77
She loves no solitary place,
Nor forest lands, nor moor, nor fen,
She moveth ever in the face
And round the meadowed homes of men.
Nor forest lands, nor moor, nor fen,
She moveth ever in the face
And round the meadowed homes of men.
One year, for nest, she chose instead
Of barn, or eave, or raftered door,
The lowly vestibule that led
Unto a little chapel floor.
Of barn, or eave, or raftered door,
The lowly vestibule that led
Unto a little chapel floor.
All that fair week she carried straws
And built her fragile house with clay:
No hand enforced the household laws
That would have stopped her happy way.
And built her fragile house with clay:
No hand enforced the household laws
That would have stopped her happy way.
Next year she came, and flew around,—
On one bright morn of perfect calm
Her place was echoing to the sound
Of children's chanting of a psalm.
On one bright morn of perfect calm
Her place was echoing to the sound
Of children's chanting of a psalm.
She sat entranced, and heard the praise
That David sang of homing bird;
She heard her name from ancient days,
And wondered at the gracious word;
That David sang of homing bird;
She heard her name from ancient days,
And wondered at the gracious word;
78
Then, waiting till the parting few
Had passed into the blossomed air,
On to God's altar straight she flew
And laid her young ones there.
Had passed into the blossomed air,
On to God's altar straight she flew
And laid her young ones there.
SONG OF THE WATER OUSEL
My home is on the rivers
That run among the hills,
Through all the sloping valleys,
Down all the moorland rills.
That run among the hills,
Through all the sloping valleys,
Down all the moorland rills.
But clear must be the waters
As they glide and rush along,
And the woodlands must be lonely
That hearken to my song.
As they glide and rush along,
And the woodlands must be lonely
That hearken to my song.
For there my rhythmic numbers
Are spread among the stones;
And the listening water answereth
In its own low murmuring tones.
Are spread among the stones;
And the listening water answereth
In its own low murmuring tones.
79
And thus we keep such melody
As the world has never known:
For the river never ceaseth
To love me as its own.
As the world has never known:
For the river never ceaseth
To love me as its own.
I love it for the gladness
It speaketh in my ear,
In all its wayward windings
Through the cycle of the year.
It speaketh in my ear,
In all its wayward windings
Through the cycle of the year.
For in the months of summer,
When its gentlest currents run
In streams of liquid amber
All golden in the sun;
When its gentlest currents run
In streams of liquid amber
All golden in the sun;
And in the months of winter,
When every stone is set
In fretted sheets of silver
That have not melted yet,
When every stone is set
In fretted sheets of silver
That have not melted yet,
We keep our music sounding,
When other birds are still,
Singing, singing, evermore,
At our own sweet will.
When other birds are still,
Singing, singing, evermore,
At our own sweet will.
80
And when the primrose opens
Its soft and steady eye,
We then begin our nesting,
My merry wife and I.
Its soft and steady eye,
We then begin our nesting,
My merry wife and I.
We choose some bank o'erhanging,
And weave a wondrous dome,
Where she can hear the waters
And watch the specks of foam.
And weave a wondrous dome,
Where she can hear the waters
And watch the specks of foam.
That come from all the breakings,
Tho' they be miles away,
Yet never miss the eddies
That bring them by her way.
Tho' they be miles away,
Yet never miss the eddies
That bring them by her way.
And all the days of summer
We dive into its breast;
And we rout among the pebbles,
And feed the teeming nest.
We dive into its breast;
And we rout among the pebbles,
And feed the teeming nest.
And we love to see the shimmer,
As it rushes overhead,
And we flutter in the noises
That gurgle from its bed;
As it rushes overhead,
And we flutter in the noises
That gurgle from its bed;
81
And we scatter little cataracts
That tumble through our wings,
When we shake the drops from off us
In a shower of silver rings.
That tumble through our wings,
When we shake the drops from off us
In a shower of silver rings.
And when we see the movings
Of little wings that strive,
We never need to teach them
Or how to swim or dive.
Of little wings that strive,
We never need to teach them
Or how to swim or dive.
For the music of the river
Has taught them ere we know,
As came their glossy feathers,
As came their breasts of snow.
Has taught them ere we know,
As came their glossy feathers,
As came their breasts of snow.
For the pleasant river loved them
Before they left the nest;
It laves them in its ripples,
It bears them on its breast.
Before they left the nest;
It laves them in its ripples,
It bears them on its breast.
And from its banks of blaeberry
The tall, white stalks of grass
Bend down their plumes to watch us
And cheer us as we pass.
The tall, white stalks of grass
Bend down their plumes to watch us
And cheer us as we pass.
82
Then we hunt the golden shallows,
We sound the crystal deeps,
And rest where round some boulder stone
The languid current sleeps.
We sound the crystal deeps,
And rest where round some boulder stone
The languid current sleeps.
At last, a merry family,
We face the autumn weather,
And spread all up the mountain rills,
By banks of fern and heather.
We face the autumn weather,
And spread all up the mountain rills,
By banks of fern and heather.
SELBORNE
I
How oft in sickness when the languid brainLonged for the freshness of a summer wood,
And the tired reason could not bear the strain
Of ordered thinking which before it stood,
Have I, so longing, just re-read the page
Of him who wrote of Selborne and its birds,
To whom through years of slow and peaceful age
Did kindly Nature whisper all her words,
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Of strange soft days in winter out of place,
When wakened swallows flew without the leaves,
And stranger wings had lit in Wolmer chace.
II
Then saw I once again with dreamy eyesThe great broad shadows close the evening light,
Waking the Dor-hawk to his dewy skies
And those strange sounds that he doth make at night.
I heard from high and fleecy midnight cloud
How piping cry of ‘Great Grey Plover’ told
Faint, and more faint, though first it sounded loud,
Of his quick flight to some far distant Wold.
Then the sweet odours from the ‘Hanger’ came
As beechen leaves unfolded tender green,
Till fancy breathed through all my wearied frame
The air of spring, and all its flowers were seen.
III
And from the tall tree tops one rapid noteWas shaken out with quivering wings of joy
From upward bill, and from a silver throat,
As once it rained upon me when a boy.
84
Whose sunlit foliage seemed with life on fire;
And whence I heard, new floating on the breeze,
The song that he first added to the choir
Of warbler birds that now we call our own,—
Familiar birds that make our woodland ways
So rich in song, so sweet in varied tone,
And charm the morning of our summer days.
But this shy bird had ever lived on high,
So far removed from common sight of men,
So like the light and shimmers of the sky,
They did not know the ‘Larger Willow Wren’—
Of three fair sister-birds the fairest one,
Pale primrose yellows touched its slender form;
Yet o'er its breast the purest silver won,
Most fairy bird that fronts the vernal storm.
Gilbert White was the first discoverer of the larger Willow Wren—now more commonly known as the ‘Wood Wren,’ or (more locally) as the ‘Beech Wren’ (Sylvia sylvicola, Yarrell). This discovery was communicated to Thomas Pennant in a letter dated August 17, 1768, in which he says that he had then before him all the three species of Willow Wren, and describes them severally, both as to plumage and as to song. ‘Shivering a little with its wings when it sings,’ are the words in which he refers to the Wood Wren—a peculiarity to which I have alluded in these verses. The ‘Harvest Mouse’ was another discovery of this eminent naturalist.
IV
And so I turned and turned again the leavesOf that old record of a charmèd house,
Saw the weird bats fast dropping from the eaves,
Or climbed the wheat-stalks with the ‘Harvest Mouse.’
85
And woke refreshed as when the night is done,
Saw with fresh health the morning sunbeams sweep,
And heard at dusk the Portsmouth evening gun.
And so in every English-speaking land
The name of this dear Selborne stands in light.
For Nature's voice and all her bounteous hand
Still sings and plays to men through Gilbert White.
KINTYRE
The greenness of the mountain-side
Was purpled with the heather bloom,
And clouds fast flying far and wide
Gave happy change of light and gloom.
Was purpled with the heather bloom,
And clouds fast flying far and wide
Gave happy change of light and gloom.
The shining fields of ocean lay
With tracts of shadow and of flame,
Whilst lines of surf on sandy bay
In broken flashes went and came.
With tracts of shadow and of flame,
Whilst lines of surf on sandy bay
In broken flashes went and came.
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The silver-breasted birds that fly
Along the margins of the sea
With rapid wings and piping cry
Sang loud their well-known song to me.
Along the margins of the sea
With rapid wings and piping cry
Sang loud their well-known song to me.
With sudden folding of their wings
On shoreward ripples of the strand,
They gathered quick the pearly things
That ocean sendeth to the land.
On shoreward ripples of the strand,
They gathered quick the pearly things
That ocean sendeth to the land.
In clear green streams of racing tide
The snowy Gannet plunged from high,
Dashing the foam on every side,—
An arrow sent by piercing eye.
The snowy Gannet plunged from high,
Dashing the foam on every side,—
An arrow sent by piercing eye.
Then sheering out of middle blue
The wand'ring bird that looks for spoil,
In wheeling circles searched the view
Ranging from crags of windy Moil.
The wand'ring bird that looks for spoil,
In wheeling circles searched the view
Ranging from crags of windy Moil.
It is the bird whose gallant flight
Was pastime of the Middle Age,
Perched on the arm of mounted knight,
Or held awhile by gentle page.
Was pastime of the Middle Age,
Perched on the arm of mounted knight,
Or held awhile by gentle page.
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And when she hovers overhead,
No wing dare move across the sky;
All lying close in sign of dread,
They watch her flight with fearful eye.
No wing dare move across the sky;
All lying close in sign of dread,
They watch her flight with fearful eye.
But when she moves away again
And her proud form dissolves in cloud,
The Peewit flaps from moor and glen,
And joyous Curlew whistles loud.
And her proud form dissolves in cloud,
The Peewit flaps from moor and glen,
And joyous Curlew whistles loud.
Then when the sun begins to fall
Into the great Atlantic bed,
Twin gleams of glory strike on all
From sea and sky, on harvests led.
Into the great Atlantic bed,
Twin gleams of glory strike on all
From sea and sky, on harvests led.
It is an open breezy land,
Well kissed by all the winds that blow,
From east and west, on every hand,
Fresh seaward clouds drift to and fro.
Well kissed by all the winds that blow,
From east and west, on every hand,
Fresh seaward clouds drift to and fro.
In ancient days the Viking fleets
Swept round its shores from hiving north,
Or hauling down their dreadful sheets,
Ravaged, and bore their plunder forth.
Swept round its shores from hiving north,
Or hauling down their dreadful sheets,
Ravaged, and bore their plunder forth.
88
In days more ancient still than those
When savage intertribal strife
Broke up all lands 'twixt brother foes,
And cursed them with a murderous life,
When savage intertribal strife
Broke up all lands 'twixt brother foes,
And cursed them with a murderous life,
The same great sea from Scotia's coast,
Through rolling waves with breakers curled
Brought to these bays what blesseth most,
Christ's peaceful message to the world.
Through rolling waves with breakers curled
Brought to these bays what blesseth most,
Christ's peaceful message to the world.
For brothers of Columba came
To ‘Alba’ in their boats of hide,
And chief of these was Kiaran's name,
Still whispered round on every tide.
To ‘Alba’ in their boats of hide,
And chief of these was Kiaran's name,
Still whispered round on every tide.
The cave he lived in for retreat,
The harbour where he sheltered first,
Holding e'er since full many a fleet
For refuge when the tempests burst,—
The harbour where he sheltered first,
Holding e'er since full many a fleet
For refuge when the tempests burst,—
All keep his name: twelve hundred years
Have silenced not its saintly sound,
For still our mourners bear in tears
Their lost ones to his holy ground.
Have silenced not its saintly sound,
For still our mourners bear in tears
Their lost ones to his holy ground.
89
The altar that he built for prayer,
Beside Ben Ghuilean's slender rill,
Has left no stone on other there,
Yet his loved name remaineth still.
Beside Ben Ghuilean's slender rill,
Has left no stone on other there,
Yet his loved name remaineth still.
For round the spot whereon of yore
First Christian songs he raised and led,
Slow borne beside St. Kiaran's shore,
We lay the ashes of our Dead.
First Christian songs he raised and led,
Slow borne beside St. Kiaran's shore,
We lay the ashes of our Dead.
Hail, lightsome land! whose hills and slopes
Front all the suns that rise and set,
Whence distant skies give morning hopes,
And clouds are seen whilst cloudless yet;
Front all the suns that rise and set,
Whence distant skies give morning hopes,
And clouds are seen whilst cloudless yet;
In this fair world, no fairer fields
Lie quickening to the soul of man:
The smiles and frowns great nature yields
Are ever round it in the van.
Lie quickening to the soul of man:
The smiles and frowns great nature yields
Are ever round it in the van.
90
OCTOBER
Come burnished autumn with thy wealth of flame,And lofty clouds that float in tender blue;
Come leaves with tints too blended for a name,
And lakes resoftening lights that come from you;
Come gentle shadows on the mountains thrown,
High slopes all roseate at the close of day;
Come harvest fields by golden stubbles known,
And garnered sheaves that have been borne away;
Come perfect stillness, as of sorrow born,
The passing year as if resigned to die,
Holding reversed her sad and empty horn,
But loving yet her garlands where they lie.
Come northern wings that fly the icy seas
Whose crash and roar break down the Polar lands,
Come, fold your pinions where ye meet the breeze
From southern tides, that bathe our warmer sands.
Come lengthened shadows, and the shortened day,
And night slow-passing on the ways of space,
With earlier gold that flames itself away
Into the splendours of her starry face.
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But wheels returning from the fount of day;
Hail Nature's kindly sleep and colder breath
That holds the promise of her distant May.
JANUARY
Stern winter's cold had settled down
On all the mountains round;
And snow and ice for long had lain,
Holding the lifeless ground.
On all the mountains round;
And snow and ice for long had lain,
Holding the lifeless ground.
The spotless hills threw back by day
The sun's low rays of light:
Behind their clear, sharp edges rose
The stars that gemmed the night.
The sun's low rays of light:
Behind their clear, sharp edges rose
The stars that gemmed the night.
No river ran: in every glen,
On every channelled hill,
The muffled streamlets trickled down,
The waterfalls were still.
On every channelled hill,
The muffled streamlets trickled down,
The waterfalls were still.
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The splendour of each morning fell
On every knoll and brae:
Soft shadows traced each least ravine
In tender blues and gray.
On every knoll and brae:
Soft shadows traced each least ravine
In tender blues and gray.
In ocean tides, whose rise and fall
Could scarce one pebble fret,
Each gleam of light, each pearly shade
With blended colours met.
Could scarce one pebble fret,
Each gleam of light, each pearly shade
With blended colours met.
The radiance of each daily sun
Died down in after-glow:
Eastward on deep empurpled skies
Flamed the red peaks of snow.
Died down in after-glow:
Eastward on deep empurpled skies
Flamed the red peaks of snow.
The nights were calm: yet through the air
An arctic breath was felt,
As round the pole-star slowly wheeled
The great Orion's belt.
An arctic breath was felt,
As round the pole-star slowly wheeled
The great Orion's belt.
With startling silence, now and then,
Athwart the skies were hurled,
In fierce combustion-streaks of light,
Some fragments of a world.
Athwart the skies were hurled,
In fierce combustion-streaks of light,
Some fragments of a world.
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Day after day the pageant passed:
The dawn, the glare, the snow:
Eve after eve the sun went down,
Columned in lake below.
The dawn, the glare, the snow:
Eve after eve the sun went down,
Columned in lake below.
At last one darker morning broke,
And softly fell the rain;
Quickly the wind of western seas
Breathed a green earth again.
And softly fell the rain;
Quickly the wind of western seas
Breathed a green earth again.
I passed the roots of one old tree
Where birds had pecked in vain;
Some spots of white still lingered there,
Why did they thus remain?
Where birds had pecked in vain;
Some spots of white still lingered there,
Why did they thus remain?
Nearer I went, and then I saw
No relics of the frost,
But snowdrop buds that rose to speak
Of all we love the most,—
No relics of the frost,
But snowdrop buds that rose to speak
Of all we love the most,—
Returning life:—the coming year,
That one great promise kept,—
Remembered in the depths of earth
Even when Nature slept.
That one great promise kept,—
Remembered in the depths of earth
Even when Nature slept.
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The vast but inorganic world
That recks not years or space,
With cold mechanic roll of suns,
Shines with no living face.
That recks not years or space,
With cold mechanic roll of suns,
Shines with no living face.
Dread and oppressive is the sweep
Of orbs that rule our clime:
Sweet as the voice of heaven to me,
Pale flower that knew her time.
Of orbs that rule our clime:
Sweet as the voice of heaven to me,
Pale flower that knew her time.
THE LONELY MOOR
'Twas on a lonely moor
Where grass and heather grew;
And distant hills on hills arose,
In fading tints of blue.
Where grass and heather grew;
And distant hills on hills arose,
In fading tints of blue.
The Ocean, too, was seen
To far horizon spread;
And beauteous ships lay silently
Upon its gleaming bed.
To far horizon spread;
And beauteous ships lay silently
Upon its gleaming bed.
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No sound, save that of bird
Or insect in the air,
Or faint-heard bleat of browsing sheep,
Broke the soft stillness there.
Or insect in the air,
Or faint-heard bleat of browsing sheep,
Broke the soft stillness there.
The wild bee passing by
From bells of rich perfume
Left fading on the vacant ear
Its deep-toned, happy boom.
From bells of rich perfume
Left fading on the vacant ear
Its deep-toned, happy boom.
I thought upon the haunts—
The crowded haunts of care—
The breathing load of sin and woe
This beauteous world doth bear.
The crowded haunts of care—
The breathing load of sin and woe
This beauteous world doth bear.
Then wondered how the sky
Could breathe such breath of balm,
And how that vast expanse of sea
Could look so bright and calm.
Could breathe such breath of balm,
And how that vast expanse of sea
Could look so bright and calm.
No voice arose to speak
The festering ills of earth:
All nature lay as restingly
As 'twere her second birth.
The festering ills of earth:
All nature lay as restingly
As 'twere her second birth.
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Yet'mongst those soft, blue hills,
And on that shining sea,
I knew that sickness, pain and death
Were working constantly.
And on that shining sea,
I knew that sickness, pain and death
Were working constantly.
And far beyond my sight
In lands I could not see,
I thought how thus fair Nature smiles
On human misery.
In lands I could not see,
I thought how thus fair Nature smiles
On human misery.
I thought how richly breathes
Many a scented bower,
Where ruby-birds in sunbeams suck
The large magnolia flower.
Many a scented bower,
Where ruby-birds in sunbeams suck
The large magnolia flower.
While Afric's scourgèd race
In fetters bear their toil,
And turn with horrid patience o'er
The gorgeous-tinted soil.
In fetters bear their toil,
And turn with horrid patience o'er
The gorgeous-tinted soil.
I thought of that vast land
Which stretches far and wide,
From where the great South ocean rolls,
To Egypt's mystic tide.
Which stretches far and wide,
From where the great South ocean rolls,
To Egypt's mystic tide.
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I thought how large a part
Of this world's wondrous plan
Lies trodden under naked foot
Of most degraded man.
Of this world's wondrous plan
Lies trodden under naked foot
Of most degraded man.
A gentle wind arose,
Which o'er that moor did pass,
It bowed the hare and heather bells,
It waved the yellow grass;
Which o'er that moor did pass,
It bowed the hare and heather bells,
It waved the yellow grass;
And far along the moor
I marked that softest gale,
Until, methought, it struck the sea
And filled the joyous sail.
I marked that softest gale,
Until, methought, it struck the sea
And filled the joyous sail.
I know not whence it came,
Nor how its accents fell;
But the blessed words it spake to me,—
These, I remember well.
Nor how its accents fell;
But the blessed words it spake to me,—
These, I remember well.
It told me that this sense
Of beauty and of love,
So thirsty and so grieved on earth,
Must have its home above;
Of beauty and of love,
So thirsty and so grieved on earth,
Must have its home above;
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Where the glorious works of God
Retain His blessing still,
And that most glorious of all,
The human heart and will.
Retain His blessing still,
And that most glorious of all,
The human heart and will.
PARAPHRASE FROM METASTASIO
Waters from the Ocean torn,The valleys and the mountains lave,
Down rapid rivers calling,
From prisoned fountains falling,
They murmur, and they rave
With passion for the Main,
From whence they came in cloud and rain:
The mighty Sea where they were born,
Far from the hills their drops have worn,
Wherein, when all their wand'rings past,
They long to lose themselves at last.
This passage is taken from the ‘Artaserse’ (Act iii. sc. I) of Metastasio—lines to which my attention was called by my friend Canon Knox Little. But the beauty, point, and delicacy of the Italian is unapproachable in English.
L' onda dal mar divisa
Bagna la valle e'l monte;
Va passaggiera
In fiume,
Va prigioniera
In fonte,
Mormora sempre, e geme
Fin che non torna al mare,
Al mar, dove ella nacque,
Dove acquistò gli umori,
Dove da lunghi errori
Spera di riposar.
Bagna la valle e'l monte;
Va passaggiera
In fiume,
Va prigioniera
In fonte,
Mormora sempre, e geme
Fin che non torna al mare,
Al mar, dove ella nacque,
Dove acquistò gli umori,
Dove da lunghi errori
Spera di riposar.
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