The Poetical Works of Robert Montgomery :: :: University of Virginia Library

“------ To range
Where silver Isis leads the stripling feet;
Pace the long Avenue, or glide adown
The stream-like windings of that glorious street!”
Wordsworth.

ANALYSIS OF PART II.

The proud feelings arising from a Survey of the Past —Commencement of College Life—Entrance into Oxford—First Morning in the University—Chapel Service—A Walk through the Town—The New Clarendon—Circulation of the Scriptures—Sublime Hopes—Picture of the Indian reading his Bible— Return to Oxford Life—The Freshman—Acquaintances —Characters—Difficulty and danger of Selection — Importance of the First Step in College Life—The Pure Associations of Home—Advancement and Triumph—The Reprobate Tutors—Fellowships—Collegiate Retirement considered in reference to Happiness—Reflections on the same—Chime of Evening Bells—The Student—Fascinations of Midnight Study—Mental and Physical Effects—Nigh Scene—Moonlight—Its Splendours—Reflective con clusion—Time—Youth—Retrospections and Anticipations—Thirst for Fame and Struggles for renown —The Evanescent Nature of Human Glory—A Farewell View, and Apostrophe to Heaven.

And thus, o'er visions of thy matchless few
Hath Fancy revell'd in her fleet review;
And, oh my country, glorious, brave, and free,
Heart of the world! what spirits hallow thee!
There is a magic in thy mighty name,
A swell of glory, and a sound of fame;
And myriads feel upon thy hills and plains
The patriot-blood rush warmer to their veins,
As all thou wert, and art, the mind surveys
With glowing wonder and enchanted gaze!

To this proud scene of architect'ral pride,
To all but Her, the ocean-famed, denied,
A parent sends, with many a voiceless fear,
His child, to arm him for the world's career.
Nor deem unawful that remember'd hour
When Fate and Fortune, with seductive power,
To Inexperience urge their blended claim,
And lead to honour, or allure to shame.
At length, young Novice! comes that hush'd farewell
Which words deny, but tears as truly tell;
The distance won, behold! at evening-hour
Thine eye's first wonder fix'd on Maudlin tower;
Then, Gothic Structures, as they swell to view
In steepled vastness, dark with ages' hue;
And on thine ear when first the morn-bells wake
As o'er the wind their wafted echoes break,
Delighted fancy will illume thy brow,
To feel thyself in ancient Oxford now!

406

Collegiate life next opens on thy way,
Begins at morn, and mingles with the day;
The pillar'd-Cloister, in whose twilight gloom
Pale dreams arise, like shadows from the tomb,
Now hears thy step: and well at first I ween,
The stately Chapel, with its sculptured screen;
The windows dim, where Bible-dramas live
For ages in the glow which colours give,
And golden beams of mellow'd radiance pass
Through vested figures on the tinted glass,

407

While Saints and Prophets, Priests and Prelates there,
And mitred Abbots, kneel in blended prayer;
The graven fretwork on the Gothic wall,
And flowery roof, which over-arches all,—

408

These in full action now, combine their charm,
And thrill young feelings, with devotion warm.

409

But, now the walk of wonder through the town
In the stiff foldings of a new-bought Gown!
From cap and robe what awkward shyness steals!
How wild à truth the dazzled Novice feels!
Restless the eye, his voice a nervous sound,
While laughing echoes are evoked around;
Each look he faces seems on him to leer,
And fancied giggles are for ever near!
Through High-street then, the Town's majestic pride,
Array'd with palaces on either side,
He roams: him tradesmen's greedy eyes behold,
Each pocket gaping for a freshman's gold.
The Clarendon may next his look beguile,
Theatric dome, and Ashmoléan pile;
Or Bodley-chambers, where in dusky rows,
The volumed wonders of the Past repose;
Or, some bold thought his wayward fancy rules,
To take a freeze of horror from the Schools,
From lofty benches send a downward gaze,
Hear awful sounds, and dream of future Days!

But lo! in towering pride, with massy gate,
The Clarendon uprears its modern state;
There pause, and think; for then a sense sublime,
How proud a victor over Space and Time
When Mind hath wielded its undaunted power
Is man, both slave and monarch of an hour!—
Comes o'er thy spirit with unutter'd thought,
Life melody with years of feeling fraught.
Yet, not the miracles of England's Press,
(That mighty Oracle to curse or bless!)

410

Alone the worship of high thought demand;
Lo! earth-wide dreams around the soul expand,
As dwells thy gaze on yon enormous piles
Of hallow'd Books, for heathen Lands and Isles;
A godlike present for benighted Man
Far as the soul can read Salvation's plan!

Transcendent thought! when changing Years have flown
Yon Bibles speak to every Clime and Zone!
The hut, the hovel, or the cottage wild
Where Sorrow shudders o'er her weeping child,
Their living words of holiness and love
Like angel-tones, shall warble from Above.
Omnipotence is there!—a power to be
God's voice on earth, inspired with Deity;
Thou Infidel! in tomb-like darkness laid,
By heaven deserted, and by sin betray'd;
And thou, pale mutt'rer in some midnight-cell,
Whose sad to-morrow is a dream of hell;
There is a Voice to wake, a Word to spread
Deep as the thunders which arouse the dead!
That Sound is heard; a Welcome from the skies!
Despair is vanquish'd, and Dejection flies;
Hope fills a heart where agonies have been,
The dungeon brightens, and a God is seen!

Immortal Pages! may your spirit pour
Celestial day, till heathen night be o'er.
In fiery lands, where roving Ganga reigns,
Eternal pilgrim of a thousand plains!
The tawny Indian, (when the Day is done
And basking waters redden in the sun,
Behold him seated, with his babes around,
To fathom mysteries where a God is found!
The Book is oped, some wondrous page began,
Where heaven is offered to forgiven man;
Lo! as he reads, what voiceless wonder steals
On all he fancies, and on all he feels!
Till o'er his mind, by mute devotion wrought,
The gleaming twilight of regen'rate thought
Begins, and heaven-eyed Faith salutes above
The God of glory, and a Lord of love!
“Thou dread Unknown! Thou unimagined Whole!
Thou vast Supreme, and Universal Soul,
Oft in the whirlwind have I shaped Thy form,
Or throned in thunder heard Thee sway the storm!
And when the ocean's heaving vastness grew
Black with Thy curse,—my spirit darken'd too!
But when the world beneath a sun-gaze smiled
And not a cloud the crystal air defiled,
Then I have loved Thee, Thou parental One,
Thy frown a tempest, and Thy smile a sun!
But if there be, as heaven-breathed words relate,
A seraph-home in some hereafter-State,
Almighty Power! thy dark-soul'd Indian see
And grant the Mercy which has bled for me!”

O'er Oxford thus the staring freshman roves
By solemn Temples, or secluded Groves;

411

Then, introduced, the social charms begin
By tongues which flatter, or by hearts that win;
Mien, mind, and manner,—all in varied style
Now woo his fortune, or reflect his smile.
For here, as in the World's unbounded sphere,
The countless traits of character appear.
In some proud youth, of feeling soul, we find
The winning magic of a noble mind;
Truth, taste, and sense whate'er he does pervade,
No virtue lost, no principle betray'd;
Another,—wildness marks his mien and tone!
His hand extends—and honours are his own;
Eternal plaudits in his ear resound;
He rides on wings, while others walk the ground!
A contrast see, whom hearts nor dreams inspire,
The booby offspring of a booby sire,
With leaden visage passionlessly cold
And ev'ry feeling round himself enroll'd.
Then, happy Pertness! how sincerely vain!
And, sour Perfection!—what sublime disdain!
For ever in detraction's art employ'd,
No virtue welcomed, and no look enjoy'd:
Then, pompous Learning! deeply read and skill'd
In pages which profoundest heads have fill'd,
Yet harsh and tasteless, and but rarely fraught
With knowledge sprung from self-excited thought.
But, save me, Heav'n! from what no words can tell,
A human Nothing, made of strut and swell,
Who thinks no University contains
Sufficient wisdom to employ his brains:
Yet, frothy Creature! what a vacant skull!
In all but falsehood villanous and dull;
Big words and oaths in one wild volley roll,
And Nature blushes for so mean a soul!

By these begirt, how oft may heart-warm Youth
Grow blindly fond, and misinterpret Truth,
When feelings in their flush'd dominion lend
To fancied kindness what completes a friend!
Now dawns the moment, doom'd in future years
To waken triumph, or be born in tears;
When Morals sway, Religion lives or dies,
And cited Principles to action rise.
Oh! thou, o'er whom a Mother's eye has wept,
Or round thy cradle frequent vigils kept;
Whose infant-brow a father's love survey'd,
And oft for thee with Heav'n communion made;
Be thine the circle where true Friendship lives
In the pure light exalted spirit gives;
And far from thee the infamous and vile
Who murder feeling with a Stoic smile,
Blaspheme the Innocence of early days,
Make virtue vice, impiety a praise,
Disease the health of unpolluted mind
And call it glory to disgrace mankind!
What though the eye may sparkle o'er the glass,
Or fondling words for fascination pass,
While flowers of friendship oft appear to bloom,
In the false sunshine of a festive room,
A day will come when sterner truths prevail
And friendship dwindles into folly's tale!

But shouldst thou waver, when the awful hour
Of Pleasure tempteth with a demon-power,
And time and circumstance together seem
To dazzle nature with too bright a dream,
Let Home and Virtue, what thou wert and art,
A Mother's feeling, and a Father's heart,
Full on thy mem'ry rise with blended charm
And all the serpent in thy soul disarm!
For who shall say, when first temptations win
A yielded mind to some enchanting sin,
What future crime, that once appear'd too black
For life to wander o'er its hell-ward track,
May lead the heart to that tremendous doom,
Whose midnight hovers round an early tomb?
Let Home be vision'd where thy budding days
Their beauty open'd on parental gaze:
For there, what memories of thee abound!
Your chamber echoes with its wonted sound;

412

The flow'r you reared, a sister's nursing hand
Still fondly guards, and helps each leaf expand;
The page you ponder'd with delighted brow
Was ever dear,—but oh! far dearer now;
The walk you loved with her sweet smile to share
She oft repeats, and paints your image there;
And when bright meanings have adorn'd the sky,
Her fancy revels in your fav'rite dye;
While oft at evening when domestic bloom
Hath flung a freshness round a social room,
When hearts unfold, and Music's wingèd note
Can waft a feeling wheresoe'er it float,
Some chord is touch'd, whose melodies awake
The pang of fondness for a brother's sake;
And Eyes are conscious, as they gaze around,
That looks are falling where a son was found!

Let home begird thee like a guardian dream,
And time will wander an unsullied stream,
Whose wildest motion is the rippled play
Of rapid moments as they roll away!
Meanwhile, delightful studies, deep and strong,
To graduate-honours waft thy soul along;
They come at length! and high in listed fame
A College hails, a Country reads thy name;
And in that List when first thy name appears,
What triumph sparkles in those happy tears!
In after-life, when Oxford's ancient towers
Thy mem'ry visions in creative hours,
Or college-friends a college-scene restore,
Thy heart will banquet on the bliss of yore!

Now mark a contrast, in whose meanness lies
What purer thought should soaringly despise.
From careless boyhood to uncultured man
Indulged to act, ere principle began;
With just enough of spirit for excess,
And heart which nothing save a vice, can bless,
In Oxford see the reprobate appear!
Big with the promise of a mad career.
With cash and consequence to lead the way,
A fool by night, and more than fop by day,
What happy vileness does his lot reveal!
How Folly burns with imitative zeal
Whene'er the shadows of his greatness fall
In festive chamber, or collegiate-Hall!
Romantic lot! to vegetate secure
From all which might to mental paths allure;
To wake each morning with no deeper thought
Than that which yesterday's excess hath brought;
Then, wing'd by impulse, as the day proceeds,
To follow where coxcombic fashion leads.
Hark! Woodstock rattles with eternal wheels,
And hounds are ever barking at his heels,
The Chapel, voted a terrific “bore,”
The “Dons,” head-pieces for the college door!
The Lecture scouted, the Degree reviled,
And Alma Mater all save alma styled!
Thus on; till Night advance, whose reign divine
Is chastely delicate to cards and wine,
Where modest themes amusive tongues excite
And faces redden with the soul's delight;
A Roman banquet! with Athenian flowers
Of festive wit, to charm such graceful hours!

Alas! that Truth must fling a doleful shade
On the bright portrait which her hand hath made:
Few years have fled, and what doth now remain
Of him the haughty, who but smiled disdain

413

On all young Virtue in her meekness dared,
Ambition hoped, or Principle declared?
His friends are dead; his fortune sunk away
In midnight-Hells, where midnight-demons play;
A wither'd Skeleton of sin and shame
With nought but infamy to track his name
The wreck of Fortune, with despairing sighs,
Fades from the world, and like a felon dies!

A nobler Theme! ere yet my strain conclude,—
The learn'd and gifted, dignified and good,
Those tasteful Guides, by whose directing hand
The seeds of learning ripen or expand;

414

And if one task there be the Soul to try,
Whose with'ring toils a due reward defy,
On them it falls whom Merit ranks her own
And Talent seats on Education's throne.
Each mode of mind, the stubborn, wise, or stern,
The headstrong Wit that cannot stoop to learn,
The dunce or drone, the freshman or the fool
'Tis their's to counsel, teach, o'erawe, and rule!
Their daily meed, some execrating word
To blight the hour when first their voice was heard,
From prating coxcombs, whose foul tongues declare
In froth and flippancy, what fools they are!

Yet well may such a doom be nobly faced;
There comes a scene by no dark cloud disgraced,
An hour when Genius, borne aloft to fame,
On Oxford sheds the brightness of her name,
Whence first her wings those eagle-heights explored,
Where now She reigns, adoring and adored!
Then, he who taught her, shares with proud surprise
And dewy gladness of delighted eyes,
That hour triumphant, when a World repays
The toilful dulness of collegiate-days.
Ah! who forgets the Parents of the mind?
What heart so dead, as no deep bliss to find
In thoughts which wander to their school-day scene,
Though years and distance darkly intervene?
The foot-worn mead; the playmate, wood, and walk
So sweetly shared in tenderness and talk;
The feats and pranks of undejected Youth
When Fancy wore the fairy mask of Truth,
Dull, drear, and worldly is the Soul that sees
No smile reflected from such joys as these!

And they who haunt, from year to year content,
That sacred home where studious hours are spent,
Does fancy think their stormless life must be
One still romance of mental liberty?
Yet Mind alone, whate'er the lot or state,
Her true delight must fancy or create;
From her the sunshine and the shadows fall,
Which brighten, tint, and oversway it all.
The daily clockwork of collegiate-life
Where nought is new, but Convocation-strife;
The bigotry which olden Times beget;
A sickly dulness, and a proud regret
For aught which seems of reformation sprung,
To let in light where ancient cobwebs hung,
If such combine, where weaker traits are found,
Who would not mourn that Fellowships abound?
The mighty brothers of the Sun and Moon,
Who tremble, lest a lip should smile too soon;
Nor treat their mouths except with college twang,
Where heavy words in heavy speeches hang;
Who hate the Present, but adore the Past,
And think their world the only one to last,—
How pitiful! should such a race be seen,
Where all the Monarchs of the mind have been.

Retirement, classic love, and studious ease,
A heart which deems it no disgrace to please,

415

With retrospections fond of other Days
When minds were nursed, that now repeat their praise,—
A lot so calm no virtue will destroy,
But season life for solitary joy.
And yet, let shades of accident unite
In happy union for its best delight,
A life of Learning is a life forlorn:—
Be mine the world which social scenes adorn,
Where Woman's heart the central bliss is found,
And happiness, the smile it sheds around!’

But night is throned; and full before me frown
The dusky Steeples which o'ershade the town;
High in the midst, a dark-domed shadow see,—
The Radeliffe, pile of unworn majesty;
Around it, silver'd by some window-ray
Whirls many a smoke-wreath in ascending play:
Beneath, what massy roofs inmingled lie,
Misshaped by fancy, till they awe the eye!
Hush'd are the groves, in leafy dimness veil'd,
The winds unheard, as though they ne'er had rail'd.
But hark! the iron voice of Wolsey's bell
Floats o'er the city like his last farewell,
While answ'ring Temples, with obedient sound,
Peal to the night, and moan sad music round;
But dread o'er all, like thunder heard in dreams,
The warning spirit of that Echo seems!
Now gates are barr'd; and, faithful to his stand,
The crusty Porter, with his key-worn hand.
Yet not with day, the day-born studies end;
Wan cheeks, and weary brows,—I see them bend
O'er haughty pages breathing ancient mind,
For Man and Immortality design'd:
The brain may burn, the martyr'd health may fail,
And sunken eyelids speak a mournful tale
Of days protracted into hideous length,
Till mind is dead, and limbs deny their strength:
Still, Honours woo!—and may they smile on thee,
Prophetic Youth! as bright as visions see;
Hours, days, and years severer far than thine,
In toil, and gloom, and loneliness, are mine.

The Day is earth, but holy Night is heav'n:
To her a solitude of soul is given,
Within whose depth, how beautiful to dream,
And fondly be, what others vainly seem!
Oh! 'tis an hour of consecrated might,
For Earth's Immortals have adored the night;
In song or vision yielding up the soul
To the deep magic of Her still control.
My own loved Hour! there comes no hour like thee,
No world so glorious as thou form'st for me!
The fretful ocean of eventful day
To waveless nothing how it ebbs away!
As oft the chamber, where some haunted Page
Renews a Poet, or revives a Sage
In pensive A thens, or sublimer Rome,
To mental quiet woos the Spirit home.
There Stillness reigns, how eloquently deep!
And soundless air, more beautiful than sleep.
Let Winter sway,—her sounds the scene inspires:
The social murmur of a blazing fire;
The hail-drop, hissing as it melts away
In twinkling gleams of momentary play;
Or wave-like swell of some retreated wind,
In dying sadness echo'd o'er the mind,
But gently ruffle into varied thought
The calm of feeling blissful night has brought.
How eyes the spirit with contented gaze
The chamber mellow'd into social haze,
And smiling walls, where, rank'd in solemn rows,
The wizard Volumes of the Mind repose!
Thus, well may hours like fairy waters glide,
Till morning glimmers o'er their reckless tide;
While dreams, beyond the realm of day to view,
Around us hover in seraphic hue;
Till Nature pines for intellectual rest,
When home awakens, and the heart is blest;
Or, from the window reads our wand'ring eye
The starry language of Chaldèan sky,
And gathers in that one vast gaze above,
A bright eternity of awe and love!

So heav'nly seems the visionary night:
But, ah! the danger in such deep delight.
The Mind, then beautified to fond excess,
With all things dare to brighten, or to bless:
A world of sense more spiritual is made
Than the stern eye of nature hath survey'd;
Some false perfection which hath never been,
By fancy imaged, lives through ev'ry scene;

416

But morn awakes, and lo, the spells unwind,
As daylight melts light darkness o'er the mind!
The worldly coarseness of our common lot
Recals the shadows which the night forgot;
Each dream of loftiness then dies away,
And heav'n-light withers in the frown of Day!
And then, the languor of each parching vein,
And the hot weariness of heart and brain,
That hideous shade of Something dread to be,—
Oh, fatal midnight! these are doom'd for thee.
Each breeze comes o'er us with tormenting wing,
Each pulse of Sound an agony can bring;
Let Chatterton Thy deathful charm reveal,
And mournful White, whose genius loved to steal
A placid sense of some angelic Pow'r
Around prevailing at thine earthless hour.
And oft, methinks, in loneliness of heart
As noons of night in dreaming calm depart,
My room is sadden'd with the mingled gaze
Of Those who martyr'd their ambitious days;
The turf-grass o'er their tombs,—I see it wave
And visions waft me to a kindred grave!

But lo! the yielding Dark hath gently died,
And stars are sprinkled o'er yon azure tide
Of lustrous air, which high and far prevails,
Where now the queen-like moon in glory sails.
City of fame! when Morn's first wings of light
Wave their fresh beauty o'er thy mansions bright,
Have I beheld thee; but a moonrise seems,
Like hues that wander from a heaven of dreams,
To hallow thee, as there thy Temples stand
Sublimely tender, or serenely grand,—
Spire, tower, and pinnacle, a dim array,
Whose spectral features in the moonlight sway:
The stony muteness of thy massive piles
Now silver'd o'er by melancholy smiles,
With more than language, spirit-like appeals
To the high sense impassion'd Nature feels
Of all which gloriously in earth or sky
Exacts the worship of her gazing eye.
There is a magic in the moonlit-hour
Which Day hath never in its deepest pow'r
Of light and bloom, when bird and bee resound,
And new-born flow'rs imparadise the ground!
And ne'er hath City, since a moon began
To hallow nature for the eye of man,
Steep'd in the freshness of her fairy light,
More richly shone, than Oxford shines to-night.
No lines of harshness on her Temples frown,
But all in one soft magic melted down,
Sublimer grown, through mellow air they rise
And seem with vaster swell to awe the skies!
On archèd windows how intensely gleams
The glassy whiteness of reflected beams!
Whose radiant slumber on the marble-tomb
Of mitred Founders, in funereal gloom,
Extends; or else in pallid shyness falls
On Gothic casements, or collegiate-walls.
The groves in silver-leaf'd array repose;
And, Isis! how serene thy current flows
With tinted surface by the meadow'd way,
Without a ripple, or a breeze at play:
Yet, once again shall summer-barks be seen,
And furrow'd waters, where their flight has been;
While sounding Rapture, as her heroes speed
From Iffly locks, flies glorying o'er the mead,
Hails from the bank as up the river ride
In oary swiftness and exulting pride
Her barks triumphal:—let the flag be rear'd,
And thousands echo, when the Colour's cheer'd!

Again upon the wind a wafted swell
Of ebbing sound, proclaims a midnight-bell;
Lo, phantom-clouds come floating by the moon,
Then melt away, like happiness, too soon:
And as they glide, an overshadowing smile
Of moving light is mirror'd on each pile.
Farewell the Scene! Farewell the fleeting song!
Wherein my spirit hath been borne along
In light and gloom through many a lonely hour,
With nought to gladden but its own weak pow'r.
In morning-youth far brighter dreams have play'd
Around a Heart which hope has oft betray'd,
Than those which hover o'er this dying strain;
But, faded once, they never form again?
“Farewell” to Oxford! soon will destined years
That word awaken which is spoke by tears:
When scheming Boyhood plann'd my future lot,
No scene arose by Oxford centred not;
And now, as oft her many-mingled chimes
Swell into birth, like sounds of other times,
Prophetic life a living mystery seems,
Unravell'd oft by consummated dreams!

417

Farewell! if when I cease to haunt her scene
Some gentle heart remember I have been,
As Oxford, with her palaces and spires,
The mind ennobles, or the fancy fires,
No vain reward his chosen theme attends
Howe'er the fate of him who sung it, ends!

Oh! fearful Time, the fathomless of thought,
With what a myst'ry are thine ages fraught!
Whose wings are noiseless in their rush sublime
O'er scenes of glory, as o'er years of crime;
Yet comes a moment when their speed is felt,
Till Past and Future through our being melt,
And boding shadows from a world unknown,
Deepen around us, and bedim our own.

A moment! well may that a moral be,
Whoe'er thou art, 'tis memory to thee:
A tomb it piled, a mother bore to heaven,
Or like a whirlwind o'er the ocean driven
Rush'd on thy fate with desolating sway,
And flung a desert o'er its darken'd way!
A moment!—Midnight wears a wonted hue,
And orbs of beauty speck yon skyward view;
Deep, hush'd, and holy is the world around,
But yet, what energies of Life abound!
In blended action through the realms of space
Where time and nature multiply their race
What crimes enacted, or what hearts awake
Which beat for glory or with anguish break!
And thou, dread spirit-World! to man unknown,
Where reigns Jehovah on His sightless throne,
Sense cannot view, but dreams would fain expand
Their wings ethereal o'er that mystic Land
Where Glory circles from the awful Three,
And Life is Love, and Love is Deity.

Who breathes, in good and ill must bear his part,
And each can tell a history of heart,
How Time hath tinged the moral of his years
Through gloom or glory, triumph, pangs, or tears.
And yet, howe'er Confession prove the right,
To give it voice is deem'd a vain delight;
And far too deeply is my mem'ry fraught
With the cold lesson blighted hours have taught,
To think a life so valueless as mine
With the stern feelings of a world may twine.
But words will rise from out perturbèd mind
As heave the waters to the helmless wind,
In some fond mood, when dreaming thoughts control
Departed years that slumber in the soul!

Life still is young, but not the world, with me;
For where the freshness I was wont to see?
A bloom hath vanish'd from the face of Things;
Nor more the Syren of enchantment sings
In sunny mead, or shady walk, or bower,
Like that which warbled o'er my youthful hour.
Let reason laugh, or elder wisdom smile
On the warm phantasies which youth beguile,
There is a pureness in that glorious prime
Which mingles not with our maturer time.
All earth is brighten'd from a sun within
As yet unshaded by a world of sin,
While mind and nature blendingly array
In light and love, whate'er our dreams survey:
Though perils darken from the distant years
They vanish'd, cloud-like, when a smile appears!
And the light woes that flutter o'er the mind
Are laugh'd away, as foam upon the wind.
Thou witching Spirit of a younger hour!
Did I not feel thee in thy fullest pow'r,
As oft school-free I rambled, lone and still
Through the green twilight of some wooded hill;
Or oped my lattice, when the moonshine lay
In sleep-like beauty on the brow of Day,
To watch the mystery of moving stars
Through ether gliding on melodious cars;
Or musing wander'd, ere the hectic morn,
To see how beautiful the sun was born?

A reign of glory from my soul hath past,
And each Elysium proved mere Earth at last;
Yet mourn I not in mock or puling strain,
For joys are left which never beam in vain:
The voice of friends, the changeless eye of love,
And, oh! that bliss all other bliss above,
To know, if shadow frown, or sunshine fall,
There is One Spirit who pervadeth all!

And has that fame, for which pure feelings pine,
No motive sanction'd by a Creed divine?
To be remember'd,—is the hope for this,
A false ambition for unholy bliss?
Time, Man, and Nature speak a deeper truth
When hope predicts the fancies of our youth!
But, 'tis not fame to form the midnight-show,
Where Vice and Vanity alike may go;

418

It is not fame, to hear the shallow prate
Of busy Fondness, or intriguing Hate,
To feast on sounds of patronising pride
And wring from dulness what the world denied.
A high-soul'd nature is its own renown,
And needs no jewels to begem the crown!
For 'mid the heat, the hurry and the strife,
Or daily nothings of distemper'd life,
Our spirit thirsteth for a purer World:
O'er this the wings of fancy are unfurl'd;
Hence painter's hue and poet's dream are brought,
And the rich paradise of blooming thought:
To quench that thirst, let heaven-born feelings flow,
Let genius wake! let inspiration glow!
Why thus we panted for a world like this
May form a knowledge in our future bliss.

All are not framed alike: Love, Hope, and Truth,
Those three Inspirers which attend on youth,
To various minds a varied tone impart;
What this man freezes,—fires another's heart!
The words that waken melodies of soul,
In tuneless ears monotonously roll;
The Shapes and Shadows which creation forms
And Fancy moulds from seasons and from storms
To living beauty or to lovely hue,
And waves them phantom-like before our view,
Will rouse the life-blood into fresher play
Of him who visions what the words array:
Another, eyeless save to sterner things,
Will frown them back as false Imaginings!
And thus in nature, as her vales reply
To voices wafted where the echoes lie,
Our spirits answer to appeals alone
When tuned accordant with some inward tone.
I've stood entranced beneath as bright a sun
As Poet's dream hath ever gazed upon,
In the warm stillness of that wooing hour
When skies are floating with seraphic power,
The gales expiring in melodious death,
The waters hush'd, the woods without a breath;
But when I look'd where lay immingled forms
Of fairy mountains or refulgent storms,
And cloud-born phantoms, delicately bright,
Laugh'd in the paleness of departing light,
Each fainting into each, a long array,
Like lovely echoes when they glide away,—
Another babbled in that beauteous hour,
Light as the leaf, and mindless as the flower!

Thou young Aspirer! darest thou dream of fame,
And hope another Age will read thy name?
The hidden stirrings of each voiceless pride,
The pangs unutter'd, by the soul supplied,
The ghastly dimness of dejected hope,
By dreams assail'd with which no pride can cope;
Those nameless thoughts of venom'd fierceness, sent
From the dark heavings of our discontent;
And, dreader still,—the clouds of daily life
That welter round us in disease or strife,
And the cold atmosphere of worldly sway
Where Life is self, and Self the life of day,
In mingled power will oft thy soul appal;
Too well I picture, for I felt them all!
Yet bear thou on! and when some breathing page
Of godlike poet, or divinest sage,
And secret energies of soul begin
To feed the passion that is form'd within,
Then let thy Spirit in her power arise
And dare to speak the language of the Skies!
Her voice may fail, in deathlike muteness lost,
Her hopes be visions, and those visions cross'd;
But, pure and noble if thy song began,
And pour'd high meanings through the heart of man,
Not echoless perchance a note hath been
In some lone heart, or unimagined scene.
How many a breeze that wings a noiseless way,
How many a streamlet unbeheld by Day,
How many a sunbeam lights a lonely flower,
Yet works unseen in its creative power!
Then highly soar, whene'er thy spirit feels
The vivid sway impassion'd thought reveals;
Unchill'd by scorn, undarken'd by despair,
So Martyrs lived, and such the Mighty were!

There is a pleasure in a praise denied;
It feeds a folly, or protects a pride,

419

It teaches Dulness what no Wit can say,
“I don't approve, let no one write to-day.”
Thou narrow-minded, petty, pompous Thing!
What lent a feather to the boldest wing
Of soaring Fancy,—but a praise when due?
And wouldst thou hive it for the darling few?
Though Shakspere sang, and Milton's soul aspired,
Must Gray be scorn'd, nor Goldsmith be admired?
As well might Ocean of the Earth demand
To let no river roll, no stream expand;
As well might Mountains which embrace the skies
Entreat the heav'ns to let no hills arise!
Eternal Spirit! while thy day-beams smile
Around my path in many a sunny wile,
Their shining truth, oh, let my gaze deny
Ere merit sickens on mine envious eye:
As ocean kindles to her native sun,
As waters freshen when the wind's begun,
So brightening, quickening—let my spirit feel
Wisdom and genius in their just appeal!

Such dimming shades, thou young Aspirer! wait
On all who seek to glorify their state.

420

But shouldst thou, wafted by a fearless gale,
Ascend a height no vulgar clouds assail;
Should Fame encrown thee, and thy mind suffuse
O'er other minds its vivifying hues;
Wake feeling, passion, and the pow'r sublime
That bids eternity o'ershadow time,
The sunny raptures of renown enjoy,
But deem, oh! deem them not without alloy.
The smile of Nations may illume thy fame,
The good repeat, the glorious love thy name,
Still, tongues of scorn, and words of venom'd pow'r
To be the vipers of a secret hour,
The petty tribute, and unfeeling phrase,
Which nought but iciness of soul betrays,—
Demand forgiveness in thy brightest reign;
On ev'ry pleasure frowns the demon, pain!

But deeper peril is the praise which gives
That very light in which young Genius lives:
A tyrant weakness is the worst to see,
Since men are vain, yet all hate vanity;
When safely felt, most insecurely shown,
For who endures it, save it prove his own?
Yet should that energy, whose quenchless ray
Burns through the blackest and the brightest day,
Intensely pure within thy spirit glow
And colour dreams beyond the world to know;
If, eagle-like, thy Spirit dare to soar
On bolder wing than it had waved before;
If virtue love, and wisdom greet thy strain,
If this be vanity,—then still be vain!

Oh! for a nobler and a deeper sense
Of all which forms our true pre-eminence;
For high-born energies of heav'nly sway,
And flowers of charity to strew the way,
That Sin no longer may the world defile
And Nature glory in a good man's smile,
As on we hasten to that dreamless Shore
Where passion sleeps, and prejudice is o'er.

The days of fever, and the nights of fire
Felt in the blood, till health and hope expire;
An aching slumber, and a spectral tomb
For ever yawning in the spirit's gloom;
And that most agonising waste of soul
Where the deep currents of excitement roll
Morn, noon, and night, in one eternal play,
Are thine, Ambition!—till Thou wear'st away.
And, mix'd with agonies of outward state,
An inward torment which thy dreams create,
Thirsting within for some perfection made
By thought alone, or never yet display'd
Like that pure model which the mind surveys,—
'Tis thine to suffer through uncounted days.
Yet, welcome all! If ever thought of thine
Hath woo'd a spirit into calm divine,
Expanded feelings, purified their flow,
Or shed a sunbeam o'er the hour of wo,
Thy soul may triumph in exhaustless pain
And proudly think it has not lived in vain!

Ye midnight heavens, a Hand celestial hung,
In ev'ry age by ev'ry poet sung,
One parting glance, oh! let my spirit take
Ere dawn-light on your awful beauty break.
With what intensity the eye reveres
Your starry legions, when their pomp appears!
As though the glances Centuries have given
Since dreams first wander'd o'er the vast of heav'n,
Had left a magic where a myst'ry shone,
Enchanting more, the more 'tis gazed upon!
Stars, worlds, or wonders! whatsoe'er ye shine,
The home of Angels, or the haunts divine
Wherein the Bodiless from earth set free
Shine in the blaze of present Deity,
No eyes behold your ever-beaming ray
But think, while earthly visions roll away,
In placid immortality ye glow
Above this chaos of terrestrial wo!

Thy wings, Almighty! let them long o'er-shade
A clime by Thee a matchless empire made;
Here in meek glory may Thy temples stand
While smiles from heav'n fall brightly o'er the land;
And those pure Worlds that have for ages roll'd
O'er Alma Mater, still her towers behold;
Till time be dead, eternity begun,
And darkness blacken round the dying Sun,
The toils of life, the pangs of being o'er,
Our doom completed, and the world no more.

It has been said that Heaven, which gave great qualities only to a small number of its favourites, gave vanity to all, as a full compensation.—Brown's Philosophy.