The bard, and minor poems By John Walker Ord ... Collected and edited by John Lodge |
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 | The bard, and minor poems |  |
II.
“Mine own beloved, my beautiful,” I said,
“Here must we part, my beautiful, my own:
Still bear aloft to heaven this radiant head,
These tresses hang their golden treasures down.
The loveliest forms of earth to thee will cling,
And angels gaze upon thee from the sky:
Within thy sleep all sounds divinest ring,
And win to sights of joy thy dreaming eye.
No evil thing dare touch thy hallow'd feet—
No savage creature venture in thy sight;
Virtue by God's own footstool hath her seat,
Throned in the splendour of the central light.
And I will tell thee of the wondrous things
That guide the passions of the many men;
And every scroll, borne forth on love's swift wings,
Shall also bear my heart into this glen.”
Then claspt I her unto my breaking heart,
Whilst she, in floods of tears, dissolved lay:
Alas, we must not, shall not, cannot part,
Nor ever over-live this mournful day!”
I heard her not—I kiss'd her more and more;
And breathing in her ear—my last farewell!
All breathless, hurried to the distant shore—
Then, pure this bosom as a mountain well.
“Here must we part, my beautiful, my own:
Still bear aloft to heaven this radiant head,
These tresses hang their golden treasures down.
The loveliest forms of earth to thee will cling,
And angels gaze upon thee from the sky:
Within thy sleep all sounds divinest ring,
And win to sights of joy thy dreaming eye.
No evil thing dare touch thy hallow'd feet—
No savage creature venture in thy sight;
Virtue by God's own footstool hath her seat,
Throned in the splendour of the central light.
And I will tell thee of the wondrous things
That guide the passions of the many men;
And every scroll, borne forth on love's swift wings,
Shall also bear my heart into this glen.”
20
Whilst she, in floods of tears, dissolved lay:
Alas, we must not, shall not, cannot part,
Nor ever over-live this mournful day!”
I heard her not—I kiss'd her more and more;
And breathing in her ear—my last farewell!
All breathless, hurried to the distant shore—
Then, pure this bosom as a mountain well.
“We parted, as at last all love must part:
To the accursed city I did go;
I hear the heaving of her breaking heart,
The utterance of her agony of woe.
Why, thou remorseless Heaven, not let me die?
Why all these worlds of misery in vain?
Why that avenging sorrow in her eye?
Why her sweet spirit bear such bitter pain?
The cataract rolls down the cliff unbound,
The stars dart headlong from the heaven's brow,
Storms soon will roar where softest breezes flow,—
I am a madman now!”
To the accursed city I did go;
I hear the heaving of her breaking heart,
The utterance of her agony of woe.
Why, thou remorseless Heaven, not let me die?
Why all these worlds of misery in vain?
Why that avenging sorrow in her eye?
Why her sweet spirit bear such bitter pain?
The cataract rolls down the cliff unbound,
The stars dart headlong from the heaven's brow,
Storms soon will roar where softest breezes flow,—
I am a madman now!”
“We parted: still I linger'd o'er the name,
Heard from her mountain-dwelling far away;
Like honey-dew, that music calm'd the flame
That on my heart's fierce altar ever lay.
And still my love's unceasing fire remained,
Subduing, conquering every alien thought;
But sure some cruel fiend within me wrought,
And planted in my breast Doubt's poisonous spot.
Ay, doubt of her—the angel, the supreme
Spirit of innocence,—my own true love;
Doubt for the perfect spirit of a dream,
Pure as an infant's sleep, or seraph from above!
Heard from her mountain-dwelling far away;
Like honey-dew, that music calm'd the flame
That on my heart's fierce altar ever lay.
And still my love's unceasing fire remained,
Subduing, conquering every alien thought;
But sure some cruel fiend within me wrought,
And planted in my breast Doubt's poisonous spot.
21
Spirit of innocence,—my own true love;
Doubt for the perfect spirit of a dream,
Pure as an infant's sleep, or seraph from above!
“Oh, doubt most poisonous! all my glories low!
My high-wrought dreams far lifted as a cloud;
All these fine streams of feeling dried up now,
These yearnings far wrapt in Oblivion's shroud.
Thee not the tramp of armed men can fright,
The neighing steed, the clarion's sound of fear,
The frown of kingly warriors in the fight,
The cannon's thunder in thy stony ear.
Thou, 'mid the star-light of the eloquent men,
In the state's councils like a serpent lies,
Watching, as doth a tiger in his den,
All voice of tongue, all language of the eyes.
No tie so close but thy rude hand can break,
No love so strong but thou can'st weave a spell;
Beauty for thee, no glories can awake,
To drive thee back unto thy native hell.
Bear witness, witness bear, this way-worn breast,
These languid steps, dim eyes—oh, witness bear!
This burning brow that knows not where to rest,
This spirit blinded to all aspects fair—
Bear witness to the wreck that has been done:
Two broken hearts, a green grave worn away—
Worn all away the monumental stone,
Whereon I kneel lamenting night and day.
“Amid the madd'ning Bacchanalian rout,
'Mid the ferocious stir of drunken glee,
'Mid the tumultuous song's delirious shout,
Came the accursed doubt—Oh! how could she,
Pure as the eternal star-light, false become?
Had she not made this beating heart her home?
Had she not in that sacred parting night,
Beneath the approving moon's endearing light,
Deign'd her great love to tell!
What base unworthy monster then were I
To madly deem that this all-golden hair,
That cheek like waking morn, that star-light eye,
Those winged footsteps, and that bosom fair,
Should from my yearning go—
Should to another bosom true become!
Sooner might Ocean's thunder cease to flow,
The ever faithful shore become their constant home!
My high-wrought dreams far lifted as a cloud;
All these fine streams of feeling dried up now,
These yearnings far wrapt in Oblivion's shroud.
Thee not the tramp of armed men can fright,
The neighing steed, the clarion's sound of fear,
The frown of kingly warriors in the fight,
The cannon's thunder in thy stony ear.
Thou, 'mid the star-light of the eloquent men,
In the state's councils like a serpent lies,
Watching, as doth a tiger in his den,
All voice of tongue, all language of the eyes.
No tie so close but thy rude hand can break,
No love so strong but thou can'st weave a spell;
Beauty for thee, no glories can awake,
To drive thee back unto thy native hell.
Bear witness, witness bear, this way-worn breast,
These languid steps, dim eyes—oh, witness bear!
This burning brow that knows not where to rest,
This spirit blinded to all aspects fair—
Bear witness to the wreck that has been done:
Two broken hearts, a green grave worn away—
Worn all away the monumental stone,
Whereon I kneel lamenting night and day.
22
'Mid the ferocious stir of drunken glee,
'Mid the tumultuous song's delirious shout,
Came the accursed doubt—Oh! how could she,
Pure as the eternal star-light, false become?
Had she not made this beating heart her home?
Had she not in that sacred parting night,
Beneath the approving moon's endearing light,
Deign'd her great love to tell!
What base unworthy monster then were I
To madly deem that this all-golden hair,
That cheek like waking morn, that star-light eye,
Those winged footsteps, and that bosom fair,
Should from my yearning go—
Should to another bosom true become!
Sooner might Ocean's thunder cease to flow,
The ever faithful shore become their constant home!
“But sure some demon's madness drove me on.
All on my heart the distant days had died!
The hills, the streams, the wood's rejoicing song,
The hopes and musings of the ocean side.
My father's house was as a tale forgot;
The Bible, ever read at even and morn;
The field, the garden, every pleasant spot;
The sycamore, that sigh'd for my return.
As a strange vision swept the midnight past,
The beauteous memories of sweet childhood's days—
The glorious dreams of youth all run to waste,
All constant springs of love—all old familiar ways.”
“'Tis past, 'tis past; but still the burning pain
Gnaws angrily into my seared heart;
A serpent gnaws for ever in my brain,
And never for a moment will depart.
O sainted form that dwells in heaven above!
O look in pity on my utter woe!
Sound through my heart again that strain of love;
All round me let thy soul's enchantment flow.
Lean down that fairest forehead of the skies,
And let me view again that angel face—
The starry radiance of those gentle eyes,
Each soft persuasion, each retiring grace.
Celestial winds shall wave thy garments white,
And lift the flowing of thy golden hair;
All round about shall stream effulgent light,
And scents immortal crowd the burthen'd air.
All on my heart the distant days had died!
The hills, the streams, the wood's rejoicing song,
The hopes and musings of the ocean side.
My father's house was as a tale forgot;
The Bible, ever read at even and morn;
The field, the garden, every pleasant spot;
The sycamore, that sigh'd for my return.
As a strange vision swept the midnight past,
The beauteous memories of sweet childhood's days—
The glorious dreams of youth all run to waste,
All constant springs of love—all old familiar ways.”
23
Gnaws angrily into my seared heart;
A serpent gnaws for ever in my brain,
And never for a moment will depart.
O sainted form that dwells in heaven above!
O look in pity on my utter woe!
Sound through my heart again that strain of love;
All round me let thy soul's enchantment flow.
Lean down that fairest forehead of the skies,
And let me view again that angel face—
The starry radiance of those gentle eyes,
Each soft persuasion, each retiring grace.
Celestial winds shall wave thy garments white,
And lift the flowing of thy golden hair;
All round about shall stream effulgent light,
And scents immortal crowd the burthen'd air.
“Then come, mine own beloved,—in beauty come;
Breathe forth thy pardon in mine own still ear;
O hither wend, from far, thy spirit home,
And dwell with me beyond or pain, or fear.
The earth is wide, my love, for thee and me;
Spots of eternal verdure still bloom on;
Still sings his hymns of glory the old sea;
Still soar the joyous mountains on their throne:
We will ascend them, love,—we will rejoice,
Glad, as yon stars, whose harmonies we know;
The bird of morn shall hear our happy voice;
Our hymns shall join the mountain brooklet's flow;
Glory, and power, and joy, shall greet us where we go.”
Breathe forth thy pardon in mine own still ear;
O hither wend, from far, thy spirit home,
And dwell with me beyond or pain, or fear.
The earth is wide, my love, for thee and me;
Spots of eternal verdure still bloom on;
Still sings his hymns of glory the old sea;
Still soar the joyous mountains on their throne:
We will ascend them, love,—we will rejoice,
Glad, as yon stars, whose harmonies we know;
The bird of morn shall hear our happy voice;
Our hymns shall join the mountain brooklet's flow;
Glory, and power, and joy, shall greet us where we go.”
| The bard, and minor poems | |