 | Poems |  |
128
THE FIRWOOD.
This is the firwood: once again,
With muffled step and voice subdued,
I wander through its wide domain
Of cool, dark, silent solitude;
And hear once more that sound I love,
The treetops whispering above.
With muffled step and voice subdued,
I wander through its wide domain
Of cool, dark, silent solitude;
And hear once more that sound I love,
The treetops whispering above.
There are the fir-stems bare and red,—
The tapering crests of dusky green,
With branches blending overhead—
The little plots of light between,
Where sapling fir-trees court the view
Clad in a fresher, tenderer hue.
The tapering crests of dusky green,
With branches blending overhead—
The little plots of light between,
Where sapling fir-trees court the view
Clad in a fresher, tenderer hue.
And still the bladeless ground beneath
Is dry and dusty, saving where
Patches of green unwrinkled heath
Make all around more parched and bare:
The hollows—each in winter-tide
A dark brown pool—are now half dried.
Is dry and dusty, saving where
Patches of green unwrinkled heath
Make all around more parched and bare:
The hollows—each in winter-tide
A dark brown pool—are now half dried.
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There is the little open glade
The sunny lawn—the cottage bright—
The fruit-trees smilingly arrayed
In clouds of mingling pink and white,
Whene'er, as now, May breezes bring
Their happy wealth of blossoming.
The sunny lawn—the cottage bright—
The fruit-trees smilingly arrayed
In clouds of mingling pink and white,
Whene'er, as now, May breezes bring
Their happy wealth of blossoming.
Aye—as of old—yon little isle
Of lawn and fruit-trees has its place,
Sweet as a momentary smile
Upon a sadly thoughtful face:
So seems it 'mid the gloom profound
Of sombre wood that laps it round.
Of lawn and fruit-trees has its place,
Sweet as a momentary smile
Upon a sadly thoughtful face:
So seems it 'mid the gloom profound
Of sombre wood that laps it round.
How little change has here been wrought
By lapse of time or hand of man,
Since, when in bygone days I sought
These solemn haunts, and first began
To learn, what I have learnt so well,
The strength of their mysterious spell.
By lapse of time or hand of man,
Since, when in bygone days I sought
These solemn haunts, and first began
To learn, what I have learnt so well,
The strength of their mysterious spell.
And yet when first through heath and fern
I wandered free, I had not come
To listen to that voice and learn,—
For me the solitudes were dumb,—
I only came to be away
From all the life and light of day.
I wandered free, I had not come
To listen to that voice and learn,—
For me the solitudes were dumb,—
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From all the life and light of day.
I knew the meadows near the mill,
I knew the little stream that wound
Under its bushes dark and still,
I knew the rushing mill-weir's sound;
I knew the common and its trees
That rustled crisply in the breeze.
I knew the little stream that wound
Under its bushes dark and still,
I knew the rushing mill-weir's sound;
I knew the common and its trees
That rustled crisply in the breeze.
I knew what flowers were oftenest seen
In spring time near the brooklet's edge;
I knew the many shades of green
That smiled on tree and bush and hedge;
I knew the summer evening glow,
When showers were past, the sun sunk low.
In spring time near the brooklet's edge;
I knew the many shades of green
That smiled on tree and bush and hedge;
I knew the summer evening glow,
When showers were past, the sun sunk low.
I knew the many mingled notes
On dewy morns and scented eves,
That came from happy feathered throats
Deep-hidden in their world of leaves;—
Wood, stream, and meadow all were known,
And oft I wandered there alone.
On dewy morns and scented eves,
That came from happy feathered throats
Deep-hidden in their world of leaves;—
Wood, stream, and meadow all were known,
And oft I wandered there alone.
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I came companionless to solve
Deep problems that possessed my brain,
Ambitious projects to revolve,
To disentwine thought's tangled skein;—
But harmonies of sound and hue
Enchained my ear and charmed my view.
Deep problems that possessed my brain,
Ambitious projects to revolve,
To disentwine thought's tangled skein;—
But harmonies of sound and hue
Enchained my ear and charmed my view.
They spoke to me, and I replied,
They wrung responses from my soul;
They made new channels for the tide,
That I had laboured to control;
They drew it downwards from its springs
In mazy trackless wandering.
They wrung responses from my soul;
They made new channels for the tide,
That I had laboured to control;
They drew it downwards from its springs
In mazy trackless wandering.
They ruled the motions of my thought
In strange and evershifting mood,
And then I fled from them and sought
The shelter of this lonely wood.
Where all was dark and same and still,
And I could guide my thoughts at will.
In strange and evershifting mood,
And then I fled from them and sought
The shelter of this lonely wood.
Where all was dark and same and still,
And I could guide my thoughts at will.
With head bowed low and aimless feet
Folded in thought I wandered on:
The varied influences sweet
That had distracted me were gone;
But in their stead some mightier force
Had seized my mind and shaped its course.
Folded in thought I wandered on:
The varied influences sweet
That had distracted me were gone;
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Had seized my mind and shaped its course.
All differences of changing form,
All interplay of shade and light,
Sunshine and darkness, calm and storm,
Were overpowered and lost to sight;
My baffling problems, daring schemes,
Were idle as forgotten dreams.
All interplay of shade and light,
Sunshine and darkness, calm and storm,
Were overpowered and lost to sight;
My baffling problems, daring schemes,
Were idle as forgotten dreams.
I paused awhile, and ceased to think,
I heard the murmur overhead;
Deep, deep its subtle power did sink
Into my inner depths, and fed
My vision, and enlarged its scope
Beyond all range of fear or hope.
I heard the murmur overhead;
Deep, deep its subtle power did sink
Into my inner depths, and fed
My vision, and enlarged its scope
Beyond all range of fear or hope.
The world had faded far away;
I had no need to laugh or weep;
Damp on my cheek I felt the spray,
I heard the moaning of the deep;
I stood alone upon life's shore
And caught a voice unheard before.
I had no need to laugh or weep;
Damp on my cheek I felt the spray,
I heard the moaning of the deep;
I stood alone upon life's shore
And caught a voice unheard before.
133
No clouds were dark, no sunlight gleamed,—
I only saw the wide grey sea;
And gazing over it, I seemed
To face my own eternity;
Deep in my soul I seemed to hear
A whisper from another sphere.
I only saw the wide grey sea;
And gazing over it, I seemed
To face my own eternity;
Deep in my soul I seemed to hear
A whisper from another sphere.
Oh! thou, whose heart is scarred and worn,
Whom plans bewilder, cares oppress,—
By disappointment overborne,
Or overjoyed at earth's success,—
The fir woods call to thee to come,
Their lonely depths are never dumb.
Whom plans bewilder, cares oppress,—
By disappointment overborne,
Or overjoyed at earth's success,—
The fir woods call to thee to come,
Their lonely depths are never dumb.
For there is never day so still,
So lulled to sleep, but some light breeze,
Unnoticed else, doth faintly fill
The topmost foliage of the trees,
And those tall tapering crests are stirred,
And the eternal whisper heard.
So lulled to sleep, but some light breeze,
Unnoticed else, doth faintly fill
The topmost foliage of the trees,
And those tall tapering crests are stirred,
And the eternal whisper heard.
And there is never day so rude,
So vexed with blasts that howl and drive,
But in this dark and silent wood
The winds are hushed, or only give—
Howe'er the tree tops rock and swing—
Depth to their solemn murmuring.
So vexed with blasts that howl and drive,
But in this dark and silent wood
The winds are hushed, or only give—
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Depth to their solemn murmuring.
And in that murmur hushed and deep,
To thee who hearest it will seem
That thou art strangely wrapped in sleep,
Even as one who in a dream
Knows that he dreams, yet cannot break
The fetters of his sleep and wake.
To thee who hearest it will seem
That thou art strangely wrapped in sleep,
Even as one who in a dream
Knows that he dreams, yet cannot break
The fetters of his sleep and wake.
And all wherewith the years are rife,—
The varied play of broken thought,
This painted world, this chequered life,—
Will seem to thee a thing of nought,
A drop in the unmeasured sea,
An atom in Eternity.
The varied play of broken thought,
This painted world, this chequered life,—
Will seem to thee a thing of nought,
A drop in the unmeasured sea,
An atom in Eternity.
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