 | The poetical works of James Montgomery |  |
A LUCID INTERVAL.
Oh! light is pleasant to the eye,
And health comes rustling on the gale;
Clouds are careering through the sky,
Whose shadows mock them down the dale;
Nature as fresh and fragrant seems
As I have met her in my dreams.
And health comes rustling on the gale;
Clouds are careering through the sky,
Whose shadows mock them down the dale;
Nature as fresh and fragrant seems
As I have met her in my dreams.
For I have been a prisoner long
In gloom and loneliness of mind;
Deaf to the melody of song,
To every form of beauty blind;
Nor morning dew, nor evening balm,
Might cool my cheek, my bosom calm.
In gloom and loneliness of mind;
Deaf to the melody of song,
To every form of beauty blind;
Nor morning dew, nor evening balm,
Might cool my cheek, my bosom calm.
But now the blood, the blood returns
With rapturous pulses through my veins;
My heart from out its ashes burns;
My limbs break loose, they cast their chains;
New kindled at the sun, my sight
Tracks to a point the eagle's flight.
With rapturous pulses through my veins;
My heart from out its ashes burns;
My limbs break loose, they cast their chains;
New kindled at the sun, my sight
Tracks to a point the eagle's flight.
I long to climb those old grey rocks,
Glide with yon river to the deep,
Range the green hills with herds and flocks,
Free as the roebuck run and leap;
Or mount the lark's victorious wing,
And from the depth of ether sing.
Glide with yon river to the deep,
Range the green hills with herds and flocks,
Free as the roebuck run and leap;
Or mount the lark's victorious wing,
And from the depth of ether sing.
331
O earth! in maiden innocence,
Too early fled thy golden time;
O earth! earth! earth! for man's offence,
Doom'd to dishonour in thy prime;
Of how much glory then bereft!
Yet what a world of bliss is left!
Too early fled thy golden time;
O earth! earth! earth! for man's offence,
Doom'd to dishonour in thy prime;
Of how much glory then bereft!
Yet what a world of bliss is left!
The thorn, harsh emblem of the curse,
Puts forth a paradise of flowers;
Labour, man's punishment, is nurse
To home-born joys at sunset hours;
Plague, earthquake, famine, want, disease,
Give birth to holiest charities.
Puts forth a paradise of flowers;
Labour, man's punishment, is nurse
To home-born joys at sunset hours;
Plague, earthquake, famine, want, disease,
Give birth to holiest charities.
And death himself, with all the woes
That hasten yet prolong his stroke,
Death brings with every pang repose,
With every sigh he solves a yoke;
Yea, his cold sweats and moaning strife
Wring out the bitterness of life.
That hasten yet prolong his stroke,
Death brings with every pang repose,
With every sigh he solves a yoke;
Yea, his cold sweats and moaning strife
Wring out the bitterness of life.
Life, life with all its burdens dear!
Friendship is sweet, love sweeter still;
Who would forego a smile, a tear,
One generous hope, one chastening ill?
Home, kindred, country,—these are ties
Might keep an angel from the skies.
Friendship is sweet, love sweeter still;
Who would forego a smile, a tear,
One generous hope, one chastening ill?
Home, kindred, country,—these are ties
Might keep an angel from the skies.
But these have angels never known;
Unvex'd felicity their lot;
The sea of glass before the throne,
Storm, lightning, shipwreck, visit not;
Our tides, beneath the changing moon,
Are soon appeased, are troubled soon.
Unvex'd felicity their lot;
The sea of glass before the throne,
Storm, lightning, shipwreck, visit not;
Our tides, beneath the changing moon,
Are soon appeased, are troubled soon.
Well, I would bear what all have borne,
Live my few years, and fill my place;
O'er old and young affections mourn,
Rent one by one from my embrace,
Till suffering ends, and I have done
With every thing beneath the sun.
Live my few years, and fill my place;
O'er old and young affections mourn,
Rent one by one from my embrace,
Till suffering ends, and I have done
With every thing beneath the sun.
Whence came I?—Memory cannot say;
What am I?—Knowledge will not show;
Bound whither?—Ah! away, away,
Far as eternity can go:—
Thy love to win, thy wrath to flee,
O God! thyself my teacher be.
What am I?—Knowledge will not show;
Bound whither?—Ah! away, away,
Far as eternity can go:—
Thy love to win, thy wrath to flee,
O God! thyself my teacher be.
1823.
| The poetical works of James Montgomery | |