Lyrics of the heart With other poems. By Alaric A. Watts. With forty-one engravings on steel |
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THE POET'S HOME. |
 | Lyrics of the heart |  |
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THE POET'S HOME.
Thus in this calm retreat so richly fraught
With mental light and luxury of thought,
His life steals on.
ROGERS.
With mental light and luxury of thought,
His life steals on.
ROGERS.
'Tis the “leafy month of June,”
And the faintly glimmering moon,
In the East her cresset rearing,
Shows that summer's eve is wearing;
But the Sun is lingering still
O'er the old accustomed hill;
Twilight's shadows hovering 'round him,
Like a king, when foes surround him,
Gathering, since he scorns to fly,
Life's last energies to die!
See, the parting god of day
Leaves a trail upon his way,
Like the memory of the dead
When the sainted soul hath fled;
And it chequers all the skies
With its bright, innumerous dyes!
And the faintly glimmering moon,
In the East her cresset rearing,
Shows that summer's eve is wearing;
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O'er the old accustomed hill;
Twilight's shadows hovering 'round him,
Like a king, when foes surround him,
Gathering, since he scorns to fly,
Life's last energies to die!
See, the parting god of day
Leaves a trail upon his way,
Like the memory of the dead
When the sainted soul hath fled;
And it chequers all the skies
With its bright, innumerous dyes!
Not a sound disturbs the hush,
Save the silver streamlet's gush,
As it leaps, with many a bound,
From the depth of shades profound;
Now through tangled brushwood straying,
Now o'er velvet moss delaying,
But, while seeming most to stay,
Gliding fast as bliss away:
Cooling zephyrs bathe the brow,
With delicious fragrance now;
Incense sweet from many a bower,
Odours from each closing flower,
Breathed from yon sequestered vale,
O'er the charmed sense prevail,
Till the pulse forgets to move,
And the heart is drunk with love!
Save the silver streamlet's gush,
As it leaps, with many a bound,
From the depth of shades profound;
Now through tangled brushwood straying,
Now o'er velvet moss delaying,
But, while seeming most to stay,
Gliding fast as bliss away:
Cooling zephyrs bathe the brow,
With delicious fragrance now;
Incense sweet from many a bower,
Odours from each closing flower,
Breathed from yon sequestered vale,
O'er the charmed sense prevail,
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And the heart is drunk with love!
Where yon white clematis flings
Far and wide its starry rings,
Where the graceful jasmine's braid
Makes a green, eye-soothing shade,
And their shoots united rove
High the trellised porch above,
Deep embowered from vulgar ken,
Seek we now a Poet's Den!
Knock; no pampered menial there,
Rising from his cushioned chair,
With a supercilious eye,
Will measure your gentility;
And, if strange to rank and state,
Entrance bar, or bid you wait;
For the gentlest tap may win
Him you seek to let you in,
If for gentle deeds your name
Homage of his heart may claim:
Though Ambition's gorgeous train,
Welcome there may seek in vain;
And full-blown Pride, whate'er her store,
There, never finds an open door;
Though Fortune seldom roams that way,
And ne'er can be beguiled to stay,
And Wisdom, and her sister Reason,
Are visitors but once a season;
Yet Genius, with his laurel crown,
Not seldom quits the madding town,
Sick of its tumult, dust, and glare,
To breathe a little country air;
And there, with Taste his guide, alights
To set his ruffled wings to rights;—
Content, until he soars anew,
There to find “audience meet though few.”
Far and wide its starry rings,
Where the graceful jasmine's braid
Makes a green, eye-soothing shade,
And their shoots united rove
High the trellised porch above,
Deep embowered from vulgar ken,
Seek we now a Poet's Den!
Knock; no pampered menial there,
Rising from his cushioned chair,
With a supercilious eye,
Will measure your gentility;
And, if strange to rank and state,
Entrance bar, or bid you wait;
For the gentlest tap may win
Him you seek to let you in,
If for gentle deeds your name
Homage of his heart may claim:
Though Ambition's gorgeous train,
Welcome there may seek in vain;
And full-blown Pride, whate'er her store,
There, never finds an open door;
Though Fortune seldom roams that way,
And ne'er can be beguiled to stay,
72
Are visitors but once a season;
Yet Genius, with his laurel crown,
Not seldom quits the madding town,
Sick of its tumult, dust, and glare,
To breathe a little country air;
And there, with Taste his guide, alights
To set his ruffled wings to rights;—
Content, until he soars anew,
There to find “audience meet though few.”
Yes, it is sweet, from care and toil,
The busy Babel's wild turmoil,
The hollow and obstreperous crowd,
Its Io Pæans long and loud,
Its worthless idols, worshipped, 'till
Deposed by idols baser still,—
To steal away, and taste the bliss
Of quiet, in a nook like this!
With all that can to earth endear one,
And only kindred spirits near one;
All that to life enjoyment lends,
Books, leisure, health, and cherished friends:
With nothing in the world to do,
But range yon ample garden through,
Or loiter in the chequered shade,
By these wide-spreading branches made;
Suspend the dripping oar, and dream,
Hour after hour, on yonder stream,
That winds its flowery meads among,
Radiant as Hope, when Hope was young,
With all the rainbow colours rife
That sometimes make a heaven of life.
But bend your head, and pass between
Yon climbing jasmine's tendrils green;
Put thoughts of grandeur and of pride,
With its intrusive boughs aside,
And, each sublimer fancy quelling,
Enter a Poet's humble dwelling;
Nor start, if 'neath that roof you find
Some tokens of his heart and mind!
The busy Babel's wild turmoil,
The hollow and obstreperous crowd,
Its Io Pæans long and loud,
Its worthless idols, worshipped, 'till
Deposed by idols baser still,—
To steal away, and taste the bliss
Of quiet, in a nook like this!
With all that can to earth endear one,
And only kindred spirits near one;
All that to life enjoyment lends,
Books, leisure, health, and cherished friends:
With nothing in the world to do,
But range yon ample garden through,
Or loiter in the chequered shade,
By these wide-spreading branches made;
73
Hour after hour, on yonder stream,
That winds its flowery meads among,
Radiant as Hope, when Hope was young,
With all the rainbow colours rife
That sometimes make a heaven of life.
But bend your head, and pass between
Yon climbing jasmine's tendrils green;
Put thoughts of grandeur and of pride,
With its intrusive boughs aside,
And, each sublimer fancy quelling,
Enter a Poet's humble dwelling;
Nor start, if 'neath that roof you find
Some tokens of his heart and mind!
Bright confusion revels there,
And seldom had a realm more fair:
'Tis a wilderness of mind,
Redolent of tastes refined;
Tomes of wild, romantic lore,
Culled from Fancy's richest store;
(Caskets full of gems sublime
From the teeming sea of Time;)
Poets, Fame herself hath crowned,
People all the walls around:
Homer's Tale of Troy divine;
Rough old Chaucer's racy line;
Sweetest Spenser's honied rhymes;
Shakspere's “mirror for all times;”
Stately Milton's lofty hymn
Of embattled Seraphim;
Dryden's flood, that sweeps along
Like a river broad and strong;
Polished Pope's melodious wit,
As summer lightning keen and bright;
Records of “sweet Auburn's” fate,
Her primal bliss and ruined state,
That 'round her blighted bowers have thrown
A halo courts have never known,
And made her name the cherished theme,
Of many an exiled wanderer's dream;
Pensive Collins' silvery lay;
Thoughts that breathe of forceful Gray;
Ayr's proud peasant's words of flame,
(Scotland's glory and her shame!)
He who sang the fireside bright,
Of the cotter's winter night,
And the suppliant group that raise
To heaven their notes of prayer and praise,
With that deep and fervent zeal,
Lowly hearts alone can feel.
And seldom had a realm more fair:
'Tis a wilderness of mind,
Redolent of tastes refined;
Tomes of wild, romantic lore,
Culled from Fancy's richest store;
(Caskets full of gems sublime
From the teeming sea of Time;)
Poets, Fame herself hath crowned,
People all the walls around:
Homer's Tale of Troy divine;
Rough old Chaucer's racy line;
74
Shakspere's “mirror for all times;”
Stately Milton's lofty hymn
Of embattled Seraphim;
Dryden's flood, that sweeps along
Like a river broad and strong;
Polished Pope's melodious wit,
As summer lightning keen and bright;
Records of “sweet Auburn's” fate,
Her primal bliss and ruined state,
That 'round her blighted bowers have thrown
A halo courts have never known,
And made her name the cherished theme,
Of many an exiled wanderer's dream;
Pensive Collins' silvery lay;
Thoughts that breathe of forceful Gray;
Ayr's proud peasant's words of flame,
(Scotland's glory and her shame!)
He who sang the fireside bright,
Of the cotter's winter night,
And the suppliant group that raise
To heaven their notes of prayer and praise,
With that deep and fervent zeal,
Lowly hearts alone can feel.
Mystic fragments strew the ground,
Like the oracles profound
Of the Delphic prophetess,
And as difficult to guess!
Crystal vases filled with flowers
Fresh from evening's dewy bowers;
Knots of ribbon, locks of hair,
Love-gifts from his lady fair;
Violets, blue as are the eyes
That awake his softest sighs,
And reward his love-sick lays
With their smiles of more than praise;
Here, a broken, stringless lute;
There, a masquer's antic suit;
Fencing foils, a Moorish brand,
Trophies strange from many a land,
Memory's lights to many a scene
Where his roving steps have been:
Armour bright of one who bore
Chivalry's tried lance of yore;
Breast-plate rich, and shield of price,
Veined with many a quaint device,
Sword of proof, and mailed glove,
With the crested helm above;
And many a pictured form of grace,
Many a sweet but pensive face,
Stamped in Beauty's richest bloom,
Sheds its halo through the room;
Like the smile of primal Light,
Making even Chaos bright!
Raffaelle's more than mortal grace;
Guido's sad, imploring face;
Dolce's Man of many woes;
Claude's surpassing bright Repose;
Stothard's woodland groups that seem
Emanations of a dream;
Such as sweetest Una, when
“Compassed 'round by savage men;”
Or the “Lady” pure as fair,
Who left unharmed the “enchanted Chair;”
Howard's elfin forms that rise
With the rainbow to the skies,
In the “plighted clouds that play”
Through the livelong summer day;
Or with fair Sabrina, come
From her coral palace home,
'Neath the “cool translucent wave,”
Innocence from guile to save;
Or with printless, flying feet,
When, by moonlight, fairies meet,
Tripping o'er the ribbed sea sand
At the elfin queen's command,
As the swift waves ebb and flow,
Dancing, glancing, to and fro.
Like the oracles profound
75
And as difficult to guess!
Crystal vases filled with flowers
Fresh from evening's dewy bowers;
Knots of ribbon, locks of hair,
Love-gifts from his lady fair;
Violets, blue as are the eyes
That awake his softest sighs,
And reward his love-sick lays
With their smiles of more than praise;
Here, a broken, stringless lute;
There, a masquer's antic suit;
Fencing foils, a Moorish brand,
Trophies strange from many a land,
Memory's lights to many a scene
Where his roving steps have been:
Armour bright of one who bore
Chivalry's tried lance of yore;
Breast-plate rich, and shield of price,
Veined with many a quaint device,
Sword of proof, and mailed glove,
With the crested helm above;
And many a pictured form of grace,
Many a sweet but pensive face,
Stamped in Beauty's richest bloom,
Sheds its halo through the room;
76
Making even Chaos bright!
Raffaelle's more than mortal grace;
Guido's sad, imploring face;
Dolce's Man of many woes;
Claude's surpassing bright Repose;
Stothard's woodland groups that seem
Emanations of a dream;
Such as sweetest Una, when
“Compassed 'round by savage men;”
Or the “Lady” pure as fair,
Who left unharmed the “enchanted Chair;”
Howard's elfin forms that rise
With the rainbow to the skies,
In the “plighted clouds that play”
Through the livelong summer day;
Or with fair Sabrina, come
From her coral palace home,
'Neath the “cool translucent wave,”
Innocence from guile to save;
Or with printless, flying feet,
When, by moonlight, fairies meet,
Tripping o'er the ribbed sea sand
At the elfin queen's command,
As the swift waves ebb and flow,
Dancing, glancing, to and fro.
77
Mark those infant twins that kneel,
Side by side, in joint appeal
To their Father, throned on high,
And with song would glorify
His exceeding Grace, that they
Have been spared another day!
Who can look on them, nor deem
Heaven the fittest home for them!
Purest of created things,
Wanting only angel-wings,
To put off earth's coil and rise
Into worlds beyond the skies,
Hallelujahs there to sing
Worthy Heaven's eternal King!
Hark! the Saviour seems to say,
Suffer, nor forbid that they
Come where I have led the way!
Peril not their lasting bliss,
For of such my kingdom is!
Oh! if innocence so young,
Heart unschooled, and simple tongue,
To the bliss may thus attain
Which so many seek in vain;
What, with all their learned lore,
Can earth's wise ones hope for more!
Side by side, in joint appeal
To their Father, throned on high,
And with song would glorify
His exceeding Grace, that they
Have been spared another day!
78
Heaven the fittest home for them!
Purest of created things,
Wanting only angel-wings,
To put off earth's coil and rise
Into worlds beyond the skies,
Hallelujahs there to sing
Worthy Heaven's eternal King!
Hark! the Saviour seems to say,
Suffer, nor forbid that they
Come where I have led the way!
Peril not their lasting bliss,
For of such my kingdom is!
Oh! if innocence so young,
Heart unschooled, and simple tongue,
To the bliss may thus attain
Which so many seek in vain;
What, with all their learned lore,
Can earth's wise ones hope for more!
Lo! where yon uplifted eyes
Seem to commune with the skies,
And rebuke all human passion
With their silent adoration;
Penitential tears revealing
All the bruised heart is feeling!
Not in vain that heart is riven,
She repents, and is forgiven!
See that Virgin Mother mild,
Bending o'er her radiant child,
With affection so intense
It absorbs each other sense;
And, half unmindful of his birth,
She loves him like a thing of earth;
Till the light around him streaming,
Straight dispels her low-born dreaming!
Would you learn to suffer? Bow
To yon thorn-encircled brow!
Can earth's common griefs compare
With the woe depicted there;
Or its keenest tortures vie
With that mortal agony?
Bow the head, and bend the knee,
Such the anguish borne for thee!
Look upon that sunset ocean,
With its undulating motion,
'Neath the flood of radiance glowing,
And with scarce a murmur flowing:
Not a ripple but grows bright,
In its own peculiar light;
Not a tree or ruin hoary,
But puts on its garb of glory;
Not a ship or headland bold,
But is steeped in burnished gold!
Seem to commune with the skies,
And rebuke all human passion
With their silent adoration;
Penitential tears revealing
All the bruised heart is feeling!
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She repents, and is forgiven!
See that Virgin Mother mild,
Bending o'er her radiant child,
With affection so intense
It absorbs each other sense;
And, half unmindful of his birth,
She loves him like a thing of earth;
Till the light around him streaming,
Straight dispels her low-born dreaming!
Would you learn to suffer? Bow
To yon thorn-encircled brow!
Can earth's common griefs compare
With the woe depicted there;
Or its keenest tortures vie
With that mortal agony?
Bow the head, and bend the knee,
Such the anguish borne for thee!
Look upon that sunset ocean,
With its undulating motion,
'Neath the flood of radiance glowing,
And with scarce a murmur flowing:
Not a ripple but grows bright,
In its own peculiar light;
Not a tree or ruin hoary,
But puts on its garb of glory;
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But is steeped in burnished gold!
Look! A garden trim, and fair,
Exuding on the pearly air,
Subtle odours that dispense
Vigour to each drooping sense,
And can bid the soul uprise
Like the lark into the skies!
There, no dreadful Dragon keeps
Watch and ward, and never sleeps;
Nor are yon luxuriant trees,
Guarded by the Hesperides:
But a band, perchance as fair,
Pleasure-bound, are loitering there,
Plucking now a flower, or fruit,
Training now some vagrant shoot;
Here o'er dew-charged roses bending,
There a broken lily tending;
And, on tip-toe, striving now
To bring down the richest bough;
Which, as old-world sages teach,
Always grows beyond the reach.
Exuding on the pearly air,
Subtle odours that dispense
Vigour to each drooping sense,
And can bid the soul uprise
Like the lark into the skies!
There, no dreadful Dragon keeps
Watch and ward, and never sleeps;
Nor are yon luxuriant trees,
Guarded by the Hesperides:
But a band, perchance as fair,
Pleasure-bound, are loitering there,
Plucking now a flower, or fruit,
Training now some vagrant shoot;
Here o'er dew-charged roses bending,
There a broken lily tending;
And, on tip-toe, striving now
To bring down the richest bough;
Which, as old-world sages teach,
Always grows beyond the reach.
Look again! A woodland scene,
And 'neath its umbrageous screen,
Where the sun's leaf-mellowed light
Falls attempered on the sight,
Like wind-troubled flowers that bend
Wheresoe'er the breeze may tend,
Swaying here, or stooping there,
To each impulse of the air,
Gay and graceful forms advance,
Mingling in the mazy dance!
All as light of heart as though
Death could never lay them low!
And 'neath its umbrageous screen,
Where the sun's leaf-mellowed light
Falls attempered on the sight,
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Wheresoe'er the breeze may tend,
Swaying here, or stooping there,
To each impulse of the air,
Gay and graceful forms advance,
Mingling in the mazy dance!
All as light of heart as though
Death could never lay them low!
By the open lattice sitting,
Fevered dreams of beauty flitting
O'er his heart and o'er his brain,
In one bright, unbroken chain;
Drinking deep, through every sense,
Draughts of pleasure too intense;
Mark the Poet's glistening eye,
Wandering now o'er earth and sky!
'Tis a blissful hour to him,
Slave of feeling, child of whim,
Builder of the lofty rhyme,
Bard, Musician, Painter, Mime;
Ever swayed by impulse strong,
Each by turns, but nothing long!
Still in search of idle toys,
Pining after fancied joys;
All that charmed his heart and eye,
Sought—possessed—and then thrown by!
Doomed on shadows thus to brood,
Whilst life's more substantial good,
All that wiser bosoms prize,
Fades like day from yonder skies.
Fevered dreams of beauty flitting
O'er his heart and o'er his brain,
In one bright, unbroken chain;
Drinking deep, through every sense,
Draughts of pleasure too intense;
Mark the Poet's glistening eye,
Wandering now o'er earth and sky!
'Tis a blissful hour to him,
Slave of feeling, child of whim,
Builder of the lofty rhyme,
Bard, Musician, Painter, Mime;
Ever swayed by impulse strong,
Each by turns, but nothing long!
Still in search of idle toys,
Pining after fancied joys;
All that charmed his heart and eye,
Sought—possessed—and then thrown by!
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Whilst life's more substantial good,
All that wiser bosoms prize,
Fades like day from yonder skies.
| Lyrics of the heart | |