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 | The select poems of Dr. Thomas Dunn English (exclusive of the "Battle lyrics") |  |
THE ISLAND OF THE SOUL.
Far in a distant ocean,
Hid from all mortal eyes,
Where the sea has no sound nor motion
And there are always azure skies,
An island lies.
Hid from all mortal eyes,
Where the sea has no sound nor motion
And there are always azure skies,
An island lies.
There rise the lilac mountains;
There palms their leaves unfold;
There bubble life-renewing fountains,
Pellucid, crystalline, and cold,
Through sands of gold.
There palms their leaves unfold;
There bubble life-renewing fountains,
Pellucid, crystalline, and cold,
Through sands of gold.
There show their hues the rarest
Blossoms of fragrance sweet;
There fruits are grown, the very fairest,
So rich and luscious, of their meat
A king might eat.
Blossoms of fragrance sweet;
There fruits are grown, the very fairest,
So rich and luscious, of their meat
A king might eat.
In cold grey ether swimming
The ruling stars at night,
The yellow crescent moon bedimming,
Throw o'er that isle a faintly bright,
Uncertain light.
The ruling stars at night,
The yellow crescent moon bedimming,
Throw o'er that isle a faintly bright,
Uncertain light.
548
The sun at dawn arising,
Through orange-golden skies
A flood of glory sheds, surprising,
That in its many colors vies
With rainbow dyes.
Through orange-golden skies
A flood of glory sheds, surprising,
That in its many colors vies
With rainbow dyes.
Ah! dazzling past all telling,
In all its wondrous sheen,
Fit for a king's or poet's dwelling,
This island, which no man has seen,
Is, and has been.
In all its wondrous sheen,
Fit for a king's or poet's dwelling,
This island, which no man has seen,
Is, and has been.
But on that marvellous island
Nothing that breathes is found,
Neither on lowland nor on highland,
Nor in the air, nor on the ground,
Moving around.
Nothing that breathes is found,
Neither on lowland nor on highland,
Nor in the air, nor on the ground,
Moving around.
No bird, at spring-time coming,
Flits there on tireless wing;
No leaping brutes nor insects humming
Leap there nor hum—no frolicking
Of living thing.
Flits there on tireless wing;
No leaping brutes nor insects humming
Leap there nor hum—no frolicking
Of living thing.
Yet through its valleys fertile
Go forms of vapor pale;
Phantoms in hosts each other hurtle;
Yet wherefore, or to what avail,
To find we fail.
Go forms of vapor pale;
Phantoms in hosts each other hurtle;
Yet wherefore, or to what avail,
To find we fail.
And there are voices heard there,
And whispers, sobs, and sighs,
And its recesses often stirred there
By sounds from forms no mortal eyes
May recognize.
And whispers, sobs, and sighs,
And its recesses often stirred there
By sounds from forms no mortal eyes
May recognize.
549
At times a peal of laughter,
As from a joyous throng;
Then low and anguished wailing after,
As though some weakling from the strong
Were suffering wrong.
As from a joyous throng;
Then low and anguished wailing after,
As though some weakling from the strong
Were suffering wrong.
And now and then there passes
O'er all a dark brown shade,
Deepening the green of trees and grasses,
And darkening, ere its presence fade,
Meadow and glade.
O'er all a dark brown shade,
Deepening the green of trees and grasses,
And darkening, ere its presence fade,
Meadow and glade.
One instant; then new brightness
Burst forth, the gloom to chase,
And rainbow-tints and golden lightness,
In which no shade the senses trace,
Illume the place.
Burst forth, the gloom to chase,
And rainbow-tints and golden lightness,
In which no shade the senses trace,
Illume the place.
Soon, though we may not know it,
That isle shall be no more;
'Twill sink, forgot, save by the poet,
And the waves swallow up its shore,
Closing all o'er.
That isle shall be no more;
'Twill sink, forgot, save by the poet,
And the waves swallow up its shore,
Closing all o'er.
Then voyagers shall wonder,
Sailing past dreamily,
Where and how many fathoms under
The surface of the silent sea
That isle may be.
Sailing past dreamily,
Where and how many fathoms under
The surface of the silent sea
That isle may be.
| The select poems of Dr. Thomas Dunn English (exclusive of the "Battle lyrics") | |