University of Virginia Library

As I thought thus, a neighbouring wood of elms
Was moved, and stirred and whispered loftily,
Much like a pomp of warriors with plumed helms,
When some great general whom they long to see
Is heard behind them, coming in swift dignity;
And then there fled by me a rush of air
That stirred up all the other foliage there,
Filling the solitude with panting tongues;
At which the pines woke up into their songs,
Shaking their choral locks; and on the place
There fell a shade as on an awe-struck face;
And overhead, like a portentous rim
Pulled over the wide world, to make all dim,
A grave gigantic cloud came hugely uplifting him.

It passed with it's slow shadow; and I saw
Where it went down beyond me on a plain,
Sloping it's dusky ladders of thick rain;
And on the mist it made, and blinding awe,
The sun, re-issuing in the opposite sky,
Struck the all-coloured arch of his great eye:
And up, the rest o' the country laughed again:
The leaves were amber; the sunshine
Scored on the ground it's conquering line;
And the quick birds, for scorn of the great cloud,
Like children after fear, were merry and loud.

I turned me tow'rd the west, and felt the air
Thinner and soft, yet nimble on my face;
The sun was shadowed by the elms; and made
A little golden ferment in one place,
A strawy fire;—as when within the shade
He used to get of old, and harbour him
Beside a fountain's brim
To wait for some sweet-eyed and shapely maid,
Who often looking round, came winding there,
Led by the lustre of his beautiful hair.

And lo, there issued from beside the trees,
Through the blue air, a most delicious sight;
A troop of clouds, rich, separate, three parts white,
As beautiful, as pigeons that one sees
Round a glad homestead reeling at their ease,
But large, and slowly; and what made the sight
Such as I say, was not that piled white,
Nor their more rosy backs, nor forward press
Like sails, nor yet their surfy massiveness
Light in it's plenitude, like racks of snow
Sent strangely from some Alp to cool the glow
Of a long summer-time,—but with most fit,
And finishing, soul-satisfying show,
That every cloud had a bright Nymph to it,—
Each for a guide; and so those bodies fair
Obeyed a nobler impulse than the air,
A bright-eyed, visible thought,—beneath whose sway
They went, straight stemming on their far-seen way.

Most exquisite it was indeed to see
How those blithe damsels guided variously,
Before, behind, beside. Some forward stood
As in well-managed chariots, or pursued
Their trusting way as in self-moving ones;
And some sat up, or as in tilted chair
With silver back seemed slumbering through the air,
Or leaned their cheek against a pillowy place
As if upon their smiling, sleepy face
They felt the air, or heard aërial tunes.
Some were like maids who sit to wash their feet
On rounded banks beside a rivulet;
Some sat in shade beneath a curving jut
As at a small hill's foot;
And some behind upon a sunny mound
With twinkling eyes. Another only shewed
On the far side a foot and leg, that glowed
Under the cloud; a sweeping back another,
Turning her from us like a suckling mother;
She next, a side, lifting her arms to tie
Her locks into a flowing knot; and she
That followed her, a smooth down-arching thigh
Tapering with tremulous mass internally.
Others lay partly sunk, as if in bed,
Shewing a white raised bosom and dark head,
And dropping out an arm. Some who appeared
To railly these fair idlers, stoutly steered
Their clouds and passed them; some kept bustling round,
Moving their shifting racks, as men in boats
To summer winds alter the sail's white coats;
And some pushed gently at the back, and went
On with the launching influence which they lent;
And some drew sideways so. Now you might see
One with grave settled look, as with sweet vaunt,
Riding in front with an upgathered knee,
Like the dusk Indian on his elephant:
Another on a middle heap was raised
As on a camel, who for days has gazed
Along the desart's tawny atmosphere
With sheep-like mouth and patient step sincere,
Hoarding at heart his little watery treasure;
And a third rode upon a rounded rack
As on the eye-retorting dolphin's back,
That let Arion ride him for the pleasure
Of his touched harp. The rest had got at play
Together, passing to each other's cloud,
Or drove them in a crowd,
Till, it would seem, some sweet reminding ray
Came sparkling 'twixt their talk, and then they broke away.

And now there was another wond'rous thing;
For this fair troop, instead of holding on
Till they were far and gone,
Began descending in a growing ring
Tow'rds that green standing place of mine, the hill;
And then I found a lovelier wonder still;
For as they stooped them near,
Lo, I could hear
How the smooth silver clouds, lapsing with care,
Make a bland music to the fawning air,
Filling with such a roundly-slipping tune
The hollow of the great attentive noon,
That the tall sky seemed touched; and all the trees
Thrilled with the coming harmonies;
And the fair waters looked as if they lay
Their cheek against the sound, and so went kissed away.

And more remains; (such things are in Heaven's ears
Besides the grander spheres):
For as the racks came sleeking on, one fell
With rain into a dell,
Breaking with scatter of a thousand notes
Like twangling pearl; and I perceived how she
Who loosed it with her hands, pressed kneadingly,
As though it had been wine in grapy coats;
And out it gushed, with that enchanting sound,
In a wet shadow to the ground.
But they came on; and I must tell you now
How they looked at me smilingly; and how
They circled the green mount in a white ring,
Making a crown to it, like large, unspread,
White, dabbled roses upon Flora's head:
For so they did; and thus did they all sing:—

Ho! We are the Nepheliads, we,
Who bring the clouds from the great sea,
And have within our happy care
All the love 'twixt earth and air.
We it is with soft new showers
Wash the eyes of the young flowers;
And with many a silvery comer
In the sky, delight the summer;
And our bubbling freshness bringing,
Set the thirsty brooks a singing,
Till they run for joy, and turn
Every mill-wheel down the burn.

We too tread the mightier mass
Of clouds that take whole days to pass;
And are sometimes forced to pick
With fiery arrows through the thick,
Till the cracking racks asunder
Roll, and awe the world with thunder.
Then the seeming freshness shoots,
And clears the air, and cleans the fruits,
And runs, heart-cooling, to the roots.

Sometimes on the shelves of mountains
Do we rest our burly fountains;
Sometimes for a rainbow run
Right before the laughing sun;
And if we slip down to earth
With the rain for change of mirth,
Worn-out winds and pattering leaves
Are what we love; and dripping eaves
Dotting on the sleepy stone;
And a leafy nook and lone,
Where the bark on the small treen
Is with moisture always green;
And lime-tree bowers, and grass-edged lanes
With little ponds that hold the rains,
Where the nice-eyed wagtails glance,
Sipping 'twixt their jerking dance.

But at night in heaven we sleep,
Halting our scattered clouds like sheep;
Or are passed with sovereign eye
By the Moon, who rideth by
With her sidelong face serene,
Like a most benignant queen.

Then on the lofty-striking state
Of the up-coming Sun we wait,
Shewing to the world yet dim
The colours that we catch from him,
Ere he reaches to his height,
And lets abroad his leaping light.
And then we part on either hand
For the day; but take our stand
Again with him at eventide,
Where we stretch on either side
Our lengthened heaps, and split in shows
Of sharp-drawn isles in sable rows,
With some more faint, or flowery red;
And some, like bands of hair that spread
Across a brow with parted tress
In a crisp auburn waviness;
And mellow fervency between
Of fiery orange, gold, and green,
And inward pulpiness intense,
As if great Nature's affluence
Had opened it's rich heart, and there
The ripeness of the world was bare.
And lastly, after that blest pause,
The Sun, down stepping, half withdraws
His head from heaven; and then do we
Break the mute pomp, and ardently
Sing him in glory to the sea.

Thus chaunted to me that fair blooming throng
Leaning about the hill on silvery beds,
And said to me at last,—Go tell our song
To such as hang their pale home-withered heads
For winter-time, and do our kindness wrong:
And say, that they might bear,
The more they know us, the moist weight of air,
Which stamps upon their fields so fine a green,
So glad, so lasting, yet so little seen.
Bethink thee oftener too. Yet add, for all
The obstinate love and natural,
Which thou hast borne us in despite
Of all thy sunny dreams of southern places,
That thou hast been the first that has had sight
Of what is on the clouds, and the kind faces
Basking on t'other side: and so we take
Our journey up through heaven; and for the sake
Of all thy patient looks into the skies,
We circuit thee, and kiss thy feverish eyes.

So saying, the white clouds a little stirred,
Like palfreys after rest; and every cloud
Passed close to me; and every lady bowed
A little from it's side without a word;
And swept my lids with breathless lips serene,
As Alan's mouth was stooped to by a queen.