 | Lays and ballads |  |
60
LINES TO A LITTLE FRIEND.
Thou radiant playmate of the brook,—
The stream and thou are young together;
Far down the flowery fields I look,—
Fields silent as a sabbath book,
And see the water winding thither.
The stream and thou are young together;
Far down the flowery fields I look,—
Fields silent as a sabbath book,
And see the water winding thither.
O'er laughing wheels I see it shed;
Then widening to the freighted river;
Around yon purple headland spread
Lieth the ocean's azure bed,
And there at last it sleeps for ever.
Then widening to the freighted river;
Around yon purple headland spread
Lieth the ocean's azure bed,
And there at last it sleeps for ever.
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The brook near by—the river far
Winged with white sails in peace distended,
All sweeping toward the headland bar,
The prophets of thy future are,
And, prophet-like, uncomprehended.
Winged with white sails in peace distended,
All sweeping toward the headland bar,
The prophets of thy future are,
And, prophet-like, uncomprehended.
Who knows thy future pathway? Who
Discerns through what strange fields it wendeth?
Yet soon to you and such as you,
This glorious world, the old and new,
With all its weight of care descendeth.
Discerns through what strange fields it wendeth?
Yet soon to you and such as you,
This glorious world, the old and new,
With all its weight of care descendeth.
The skies, with all their suns and showers,
And all earth's gladness, and its sorrow,
The mighty forests, fields, and flowers,
The streams and seas, to-day are ours,
But shall be yours to-morrow.
And all earth's gladness, and its sorrow,
The mighty forests, fields, and flowers,
The streams and seas, to-day are ours,
But shall be yours to-morrow.
Endowed with every youthful grace
Art thou; brave, generous, and tender;
Fair be thy future as thy face,
And few upon the earth shall trace
A path so overspread with splendour!
Art thou; brave, generous, and tender;
Fair be thy future as thy face,
And few upon the earth shall trace
A path so overspread with splendour!
62
THE WAY-SIDE.
Who starteth abroad in the shadowy morn,
With pack and with staff for some far-away bourne,
While lieth before him the road and the day,
He loveth, I ween, the bright things by the way:
They cheer him, and lighten the wearisome load
When the sultry white noon cometh down on the road;
When the blacksnake is lying asleep in the sun,
And the small heated streams o'er their thirsty beds run;
While, mocking the sense, where no breeze is at play,
Like fountains of water the white aspens quiver,
And the willow scarce moves with its slumberous sway,
Like the long idle grass in the low lazy river.
For him the bright mullein,
O'er its broad leaves so woollen,
Biddeth its golden flowers to glow,
Where the buttercup shines,
And the strawberry vines
Creep over the bank where the dandelions grow.
With pack and with staff for some far-away bourne,
While lieth before him the road and the day,
He loveth, I ween, the bright things by the way:
They cheer him, and lighten the wearisome load
When the sultry white noon cometh down on the road;
When the blacksnake is lying asleep in the sun,
And the small heated streams o'er their thirsty beds run;
While, mocking the sense, where no breeze is at play,
Like fountains of water the white aspens quiver,
And the willow scarce moves with its slumberous sway,
Like the long idle grass in the low lazy river.
For him the bright mullein,
O'er its broad leaves so woollen,
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Where the buttercup shines,
And the strawberry vines
Creep over the bank where the dandelions grow.
The wealthy may fence-in their beautiful ground,
Where the large and the rare flaunting flowers abound;
The pilgrim who sits by the roadside alone,
Hath a garden as good and fenced out for his own!
An orchard of wild fruits, his brook and his spring,
Where the sweet birds from heaven all drop down to sing;—
There the oriole flits—and the butterflies throng,
And the wren giveth up its small tribute of song,
And the robin, from out the wild cherry, its strain,
While the small squirrel runs with its cheeks full of grain.
From morning till night, through the sultriest day,
Bright, bright are the things by the wearisome way.
For there the bright mullein
O'er its broad leaves so woollen,
Biddeth its golden flowers to glow,
Where the buttercup shines,
And the strawberry vines
Creep over the bank where the dandelions grow.
Where the large and the rare flaunting flowers abound;
The pilgrim who sits by the roadside alone,
Hath a garden as good and fenced out for his own!
An orchard of wild fruits, his brook and his spring,
Where the sweet birds from heaven all drop down to sing;—
There the oriole flits—and the butterflies throng,
And the wren giveth up its small tribute of song,
And the robin, from out the wild cherry, its strain,
While the small squirrel runs with its cheeks full of grain.
From morning till night, through the sultriest day,
Bright, bright are the things by the wearisome way.
For there the bright mullein
O'er its broad leaves so woollen,
Biddeth its golden flowers to glow,
Where the buttercup shines,
And the strawberry vines
Creep over the bank where the dandelions grow.
64
“FRANCE IS FREE!”
A great voice wakes a foreign land,
And a mighty murmur sweeps the sea,
While nations, dumb with wonder, stand,
To note what it may be;—
The word rolls on like a hurricane's breath—
“Down with the tyrant—come life or death,
France must be free!”
And a mighty murmur sweeps the sea,
While nations, dumb with wonder, stand,
To note what it may be;—
The word rolls on like a hurricane's breath—
“Down with the tyrant—come life or death,
France must be free!”
“Upharsin” is writ on the Orleans wall,
And it needs no prophet to read the word—
The King has fled from his palace hall,
And there the mob is heard!
They shout in the heat of their maddened glee;—
(What sound can compare with a nation's cry
When it leaps from bondage to liberty?)
The voice sweeps on like a hurricane's breath,
And the wondering world hears what it saith,
“France, France is free!”
And it needs no prophet to read the word—
The King has fled from his palace hall,
And there the mob is heard!
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(What sound can compare with a nation's cry
When it leaps from bondage to liberty?)
The voice sweeps on like a hurricane's breath,
And the wondering world hears what it saith,
“France, France is free!”
The rough-shod foot of the people tramps
Through the silken rooms of royalty,
And over the floor the mirrors and lamps
Lie like the shattered monarchy;
They have grasped the throne in their irony,
And have borne it aloft in mockery;
But as if the ghost of a king might be
Still wielding a shadowy sceptre there,
They dash it to earth, and trample it down,
Shivered to dust with the Orleans crown,
And shout with a voice that rends the air,
“France, France is free!”
Through the silken rooms of royalty,
And over the floor the mirrors and lamps
Lie like the shattered monarchy;
They have grasped the throne in their irony,
And have borne it aloft in mockery;
But as if the ghost of a king might be
Still wielding a shadowy sceptre there,
They dash it to earth, and trample it down,
Shivered to dust with the Orleans crown,
And shout with a voice that rends the air,
“France, France is free!”
Oh, joy to the world! the hour is come,
When the nations to freedom awake,
When the royalists stand agape and dumb,
And monarchs with terror shake!
Over the walls of majesty
“Upharsin” is writ in words of fire,
And the eyes of the bondmen, wherever they be,
Are lit with their wild desire.
Soon, soon shall the thrones that blot the world,
Like the Orleans, into the dust be hurled,
And the word roll on like a hurricane's breath,
Till the farthest slave hears what it saith,
“Arise, arise, be free!”
When the nations to freedom awake,
When the royalists stand agape and dumb,
And monarchs with terror shake!
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“Upharsin” is writ in words of fire,
And the eyes of the bondmen, wherever they be,
Are lit with their wild desire.
Soon, soon shall the thrones that blot the world,
Like the Orleans, into the dust be hurled,
And the word roll on like a hurricane's breath,
Till the farthest slave hears what it saith,
“Arise, arise, be free!”
67
THE LAND OF THE WEST.
Thou land whose deep forest was wide as the sea,
And heaved its broad ocean of green to the day,
Or, waked by the tempest, in terrible glee
Flung up from its billows the leaves like a spray;
The swift birds of passage still spread their fleets there,
Where sails the wild vulture, the pirate of air.
And heaved its broad ocean of green to the day,
Or, waked by the tempest, in terrible glee
Flung up from its billows the leaves like a spray;
The swift birds of passage still spread their fleets there,
Where sails the wild vulture, the pirate of air.
Thou land whose dark streams, like a hurrying horde
Of wilderness steeds without rider or rein,
Swept down, owning Nature alone for their lord,
Their foam flowing free on the air like a mane:—
Oh! grand were thy waters, which spurned as they ran
The curb of the rock and the fetters of man!
Of wilderness steeds without rider or rein,
Swept down, owning Nature alone for their lord,
Their foam flowing free on the air like a mane:—
Oh! grand were thy waters, which spurned as they ran
The curb of the rock and the fetters of man!
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Thou land whose bright blossoms, like shells of the sea,
Of numberless shapes and of many a shade,
Begemmed thy ravines where the hidden springs be,
And crowned the black hair of the dark forest maid;—
Those flowers still bloom in the depth of the wild
To bind the white brow of the pioneer's child.
Of numberless shapes and of many a shade,
Begemmed thy ravines where the hidden springs be,
And crowned the black hair of the dark forest maid;—
Those flowers still bloom in the depth of the wild
To bind the white brow of the pioneer's child.
Thou land whose lost hamlets were circled with maize,
And lay like a dream in the silence profound,
While murmuring its song through the dark woodland ways
The stream swept afar through the lone hunting-ground:—
Now loud anvils ring in that wild forest home,
And mill-wheels are dashing the waters to foam.
And lay like a dream in the silence profound,
While murmuring its song through the dark woodland ways
The stream swept afar through the lone hunting-ground:—
Now loud anvils ring in that wild forest home,
And mill-wheels are dashing the waters to foam.
Thou land where the eagle of Freedom looked down
From his eyried crag through the depths of the shade,
Or mounted at morn where no daylight can drown
The stars on their broad field of azure arrayed:—
Still, still to thy banner that eagle is true,
Encircled with stars on a heaven of blue!
From his eyried crag through the depths of the shade,
Or mounted at morn where no daylight can drown
The stars on their broad field of azure arrayed:—
Still, still to thy banner that eagle is true,
Encircled with stars on a heaven of blue!
69
THE ALCHEMIST'S DAUGHTER;
A DRAMATIC SKETCH.
- Giacomo, the Alchemist.
- Bernardo, his son-in-law.
- Rosalia, his daughter, and Bernardo's wife.
- Lorenzo, his servant.
PERSONS REPRESENTED.
SCENE I.
FERRARA.The interior of Giacomo's house. Giacomo and Lorenzo discovered together. Time, a little before daybreak.
GIACOMO.
Art sure of this?
LORENZO.
Ay, signor, very sure.
'T is but a moment since I saw the thing;
Bernardo, who last night was sworn thy son,
Hath made a villanous barter of thine honour:—
Thou mayest rely the Duke is where I said.
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If so—no matter—give me here the light.
[Exit Giacomo.
LORENZO.
(Alone.)
Oh, what a night! It must be all a dream!
For twenty years, since that I wore a beard,
I've served my melancholy master here,
And never until now saw such a night!
A wedding in this silent house, forsooth,—
A festival! The very walls in mute
Amazement stared through the unnatural light;
And poor Rosalia, bless her tender heart,
Looked like her mother's sainted ghost! Ah me,
Her mother died long years ago, and took
One half the blessed sunshine from our house—
The other half was married off last night.
My master, solemn soul, he walked the halls
As if in search of something which was lost;
The groom, I liked not him, nor ever did,
Spake such perpetual sweetness, till I thought
He wore some sugared villany within:—
But then he is my master's ancient friend,
And always known the favourite of the Duke,
And, as I know, our lady's treacherous lord!
Oh, Holy Mother, that to villain hawks
Our dove should fall a prey! poor gentle dear!
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These fingers should be adders at their throats!
No matter—if my master be himself,
Nor time, nor place, shall bind up his revenge.
He 's not a man to spend his wrath in noise,
But when his mind is made, with even pace
He walks up to the deed and does his will.
In fancy I can see him to the end—
The Duke, perchance, already breathes his last,
And for Bernardo—he will join him soon;
And for Rosalia, she will take the veil,
To which she hath been heretofore inclined;
And for my master, he will take again
To alchemy—a pastime well enough,
For aught I know, and honest Christian work.
Still it was strange how my poor mistress died,
Found, as she was, within her husband's study.
The rumour went she died of suffocation;
Some cursed crucible which had been left,
By Giacomo, aburning, filled the room,
And when the lady entered took her breath.
He found her there, and from that day the place
Has been a home for darkness and for dust.
I hear him coming; by his hurried step
There 's something done, or will be very soon.
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GIACOMO.
Lorenzo, thou hast served me twenty years,
And faithfully; now answer me, how was 't
That thou wert in the street at such an hour?
LORENZO.
When that the festival was o'er last night,
I went to join some comrades in their wine
To pass the time in memory of the event.
GIACOMO.
And doubtless thou wert blinded soon with drink?
LORENZO.
Indeed, good signor, though the wine flowed free
I could not touch it, though much urged by all—
Too great a sadness sat upon my heart—
I could do nought but sit and sigh and think
Of our Rosalia in her bridal dress.
GIACOMO.
And sober too! so much the more at fault.
But, as I said, thou 'st served me long and well,
Perchance too long—too long by just a day.
Here, take this purse, and find another master.
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Oh, signor, do not drive me thus away!
If I have made mistake—
GIACOMO.
No, sirrah, no!
Thou hast not made mistake, but something worse.
LORENZO.
Oh, pray you, what is that then I have made?
GIACOMO.
A lie!
LORENZO.
Indeed, good master, on my knees
I swear that what I said is sainted truth.
GIACOMO.
Pshaw, pshaw, no more of this. Did I not go
Upon the instant to my daughter's room
And find Bernardo sleeping at her side?
Some villain's gold hath bribed thee unto this.
Go, go.
LORENZO.
Well, if it must be, then it must.
But I would swear that what I said is truth,
Though all the devils from the deepest pit
Should rise to contradict me!
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Prating still?
LORENZO.
No, signor—I am going—stay—see here—
(He draws a paper from his bosom.)
Oh, blessed Virgin, grant some proof in this!
This paper, as they changed their mantles, dropped
Between them to the ground, and when they passed
I picked it up and placed it safely here.
GIACOMO.
(Examining it.)
Who forged the lie could fabricate this too:—
Get to thy duties, sir, and mark me well,
Let no word pass thy lips about the matter—
[Exit Lorenzo.
Bernardo's very hand indeed is here!
Oh, compact villanous and black! Conditions,
The means, the hour, the signal—everything
To rob my honour of its holiest pearl!
Lorenzo, shallow fool—he does not guess
The mischief was all done, and that it was
The Duke he saw departing—oh, brain—brain!
How shall I hold this river of my wrath!
It must not burst—no, rather it shall sweep
A noiseless maelstrom, whirling to its centre
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And rid me of this most accursed blot!
(He rests his forehead on his hand a few minutes, and exclaims,)
The past returns to me again—the lore
I gladly had forgot, comes like a ghost,
And points with shadowy finger to the means
Which best shall consummate my just design.
The laboratory hath been closed too long;
The door smiles welcome to me once again,
The dusky latch invites my hand—I come!
(He unlocks the door and stands upon the threshold.)
Oh, thou whose life was stolen from me here,
Stand not to thwart me in this great revenge;
But rather come with large propitious eyes
Smiling encouragement with by-gone looks!
Ye sages whose pale, melancholy orbs
Gaze through the darkness of a thousand years,
Oh, pierce the solid blackness of to-day,
And fire anew this crucible of thought
Until my soul flames up to the result!
(He enters and the door closes.)
Scene II.
Another apartment in the alchemist's house. Enter Rosalia and Bernardo.ROSALIA.
You tell me he has not been seen to-day?
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Save by your trusty servant here, who says
He saw his master, from without, unclose
The shutters of his laboratory while
The sun was yet unrisen. It is well;
This turning to the past pursuits of youth
Argues how much the aspect of to-day
Hath driven the ancient darkness from his brain.
And now, my dear Rosalia, let thy face
And thoughts and speech be drest in summer smiles,
And nought shall make a winter in our house.
ROSALIA.
Ah, sir, I think that I am happy!
BERNARDO.
Happy?
Why so, indeed, dear love, I trust thou art!
But thou dost sigh and look along the floor
So vaguely, that thy happiness seems rather
The constant sense of duty than true joy.
ROSALIA.
Nay, chide me not, good sir; the world to me
A riddle is at best—my heart has had
No tutor. From my childhood until now
My thoughts have been on simple honest things.
77
On honest things? Then let them dwell henceforth
On love, for nothing is more honest than
True love.
ROSALIA.
I hope so, sir—it must be so!
And if to wear thy happiness at heart
With constant watchfulness, and if to breathe
Thy welfare in my orisons, be love,
Thou never shalt have cause to question mine.
To-day I feel, and yet I know not why,
A sadness which I never knew before;
A puzzling shadow swims upon my brain,
Of something which has been or is to be.
My mother coming to me in my dream,
My father taking to that room again,
Have somehow thrilled me with mysterious awe.
BERNARDO.
Nay, let not that o'ercast thy gentle mind:
For dreams are but as floating gossamer,
And should not blind or bar the steady reason;
And alchemy is innocent enough,
Save when it feeds too greedily on gold,
A crime the world not easily forgives.
78
Her sire engages in, my plan shall be
To lead him quietly to other things.
But see, the door uncloses and he comes.
Enter Giacomo in loose gown and dishevelled hair.
GIACOMO.
(Not perceiving them.)
Ha, precious villains, ye are caught at last!
BOTH.
Good-morrow, father.
GIACOMO.
Ah, my pretty doves!
BERNARDO.
Come, father, we are jealous of the art
Which hath deprived us all the day of thee.
GIACOMO.
Are ye indeed? (Aside.)
How smoothly to the air
Slides that word father from his slippery tongue!
Come hither, daughter, let me gaze on thee;
For I have dreamed that thou wert beautiful,
So beautiful our very Duke did stop
To smile upon thy brightness! What say'st thou,
Bernardo, didst thou ever dream such things?
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That she is beautiful I had no cause to dream,
Mine eyes have known the fact for many a day.
What villains didst thou speak of even now?
GIACOMO.
Two precious villains—Carbon and Azote—
They have perplexed me heretofore; but now
The thing is plain enough. This morning, ere
I left my chamber, all the mystery stood
Asudden in an awful revelation!
BERNARDO.
I'm glad success has crowned thy task to-day;
But do not overtoil thy brain. These themes
Are dangerous things, and they who mastered most
Have fallen at last but victims to their slaves.
GIACOMO.
It is a glorious thing to fall and die
The victim of a noble cause.
BERNARDO.
Ay, true—
The man who battles for his country's right
Hath compensation in the world's applause;
The victor when returning from the field
Is crowned with laurel, and his shining way
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His nation builds his monument of glory.
But mark the alchemist who walks the streets:
His look is down, his step infirm, his hair
And cheeks are burned to ashes by his thought;
The volumes he consumes, consume in turn;
They are but fuel to his fiery brain,
Which being fed requires the more to feed on.
The people gaze on him with curious looks,
And step aside to let him pass untouched,
Believing Satan hath him arm in arm.
GIACOMO.
Are there no wrongs but what a nation feels?
No heroes but among the martial throng?
Nay, there are patriot souls who never grasped
A sword, or heard the crowd applaud their names;
Who lived and laboured, died and were forgot,
And after whom the world came out and reapt
The field, and never questioned who had sown.
BERNARDO.
I did not think of that.
GIACOMO.
Now mark ye well,
I am not one to follow phantom themes,
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Or crystallizing carbon to o'erflood
The world with riches which would keep it poor;
Nor do I seek the elixir that would make
Not life alone, but misery immortal;
But something far more glorious than these.
BERNARDO.
Pray what is that?
GIACOMO.
A cure, sir, for the heart-ache.
Come, thou shalt see. The day is on the wane—
Mark how the moon, as by some unseen arm,
Is thrust towards heaven like a bloody shield!
On such an hour the experiment must begin.
Come, thou shalt be the first to witness this
Most marvellous discovery. And thou,
My pretty one, betake thee to thy bower,
And I will dream thou 'rt lovelier than ever.
Come, follow me. (To Bernardo.)
ROSALIA.
Nay, father, stay; I'm sure
Thou art not well—thine eyes are strangely lit;
The task, I fear, has overworked thy brain.
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Dearest Rosalia, what were eyes or brain
Compared with banishment of sorrow? Come.
BERNARDO.
(Aside to Rosalia.)
I will indulge awhile this curious humour;
Adieu; I shall be with thee soon again.
GIACOMO.
(Overhearing him.)
When Satan shall regain his wings, and sit
Approved in heaven, perchance, but not till then.
BERNARDO.
What, “not till then?”
GIACOMO.
Shall he be worthy deemed
To walk, as thou hast said the people thought,
Linked with the mighty-souled philosopher:—
And yet the people sometimes are quite right—
The devil 's at our elbow oftener than
We know.
(He gives Bernardo his arm, and they enter the laboratory.)
ROSALIA.
(Alone.)
He never looked so strange before;
His cheeks are suddenly grown pale and thin;
His very hair seems whiter than it did.
Oh, surely, 't is a fearful trade that crowds
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It may be that the sadness which I wear
Hath clothed him in its own peculiar hue.
The very sunshine of this cloudless morn
Seemed but a world of broad, white desolation—
While in my ears small melancholy bells
Knolled their long, solemn and prophetic chime;—
But hark! a louder and a holier toll,
Shedding its benediction on the air,
Proclaims the vesper hour—Ave Maria!
[Exit Rosalia.
Scene III.
Giacomo and Bernardo discovered in the laboratory.GIACOMO.
What sayest thou now, Bernardo?
BERNARDO.
Let me live
Or die in drawing this delicious breath,
I ask no more.
GIACOMO.
(Aside.)
Mark, how with wondering eyes
He gazes on the burning crucibles,
As if to drink the rising vapour with
His every sense.
BERNARDO.
Is this the balm thou spak'st of?
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Ay, sir, the same.
BERNARDO.
Oh, would that now my heart
Were torn with every grief the earth has known,
Then would this sense be sweeter by tenfold!
Where didst thou learn the secret, and from whom?
GIACOMO.
From Gebber down to Paracelsus, none
Have mentioned the discovery of this—
The need of it was parent of the thought.
BERNARDO.
How long will these small crucibles hold out?
GIACOMO.
A little while, but there are two beside,
That when thy sense is toned up to the point
May then be fired; and when thou breath'st their fumes,
Nepenthe deeper it shall seem than that
Which Helen gave the guests of Menelaus.
But come, thou 'lt weary of this thickening air;
Let us depart.
BERNARDO.
Not for the wealth of worlds!
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Nay, but thy bride awaits thee—
BERNARDO.
Go to her
And say I shall be there anon.
GIACOMO.
I will.
(Aside.)
Now while he stands enchained within the spell
I'll to Rosalia's room and don his cloak
And cap, and sally forth to meet the Duke.
'T is now the hour, and if he come—so be it.
[Exit Giacomo.
BERNARDO.
(Alone.)
These delicate airs seem wafted from the fields
Of some celestial world. I am alone—
Then wherefore not inhale that deeper draught,
That sweet nepenthe which these other two,
When burning, shall dispense? 'T were quickly done,
And I will do it!
(He places the two crucibles on the furnace.)
Now, Sir Alchemist,
Linger as long as it may suit thy pleasure—
'T is mine to tarry here. Oh, by St. John,
I'll turn philosopher myself, and do
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Now how like demons on the ascending smoke,
Making grimaces, leaps the laughing flame,
Filling the room with a mysterious haze,
Which rolls and writhes along the shadowy air,
Taking a thousand strange, fantastic forms;
And every form is lit with burning eyes,
Which pierce me through and through like fiery arrows!
The dim walls grow unsteady, and I seem
To stand upon a reeling deck! Hold, hold!
A hundred crags are toppling overhead.
I faint, I sink—now, let me clutch that limb—
Oh, devil! It breaks to ashes in my grasp!
What ghost is that which beckons through the mist?
The Duke! the Duke! and bleeding at the breast!
Whose dagger struck the blow?
Enter Giacomo.
GIACOMO.
Mine, villain, mine!
What! thou 'st set the other two aburning!
Impatient dog, thou cheat'st me to the last!
I should have done the deed—and yet 't is well,
Thou diest by thine own dull hardihood!
BERNARDO.
Ha! is it so? Then follow thou!
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My time
Is not quite yet; this antidote shall place
A bar between us for a little while.
(He raises a vial to his lips, drinks, and flings it aside.)
BERNARDO.
(Rallying.)
Come, give it me—
GIACOMO.
Ha, ha! I drained it all!
There is the broken vial.
BERNARDO.
Is there no arm
To save me from the abyss?
GIACOMO.
No, villain, sink!
And take this cursed record of thy plot,
(He thrusts a paper into Bernardo's hand.)
And it shall gain thee speedy entrance at
The infernal gate!
(Bernardo reads, reels, and falls.)
GIACOMO.
(Looking on the body.)
Poor miserable dust!
This body now is honest as the best,
The very best of earth, lie where it may.
88
For soon Rosalia, as I bade her, shall
Be here. Oh, Heaven! vouchsafe to me the power
To do this last stern act of justice. Thou
Who call'dst the child of Jairus from the dead,
Assist a stricken father now to raise
His sinless daughter from the bier of shame;
And may her soul, unconscious of the deed,
For ever walk the azure fields of heaven.
Enter Rosalia, dressed in simple white, bearing a small golden crucifix in her hand.
ROSALIA.
Dear father, in obedience, I have come—
But where 's Bernardo?
GIACOMO.
Gone to watch the stars;
To see old solitary Saturn whirl
Like poor Ixion on his burning wheel—
He is our patron orb to-night, my child.
ROSALIA.
I do not know what strange experiment
Thou 'dst have me see, but in my heart I feel
That He, in whose remembrance this was made,
(Looking at the cross.)
Should be chief patron of our thoughts and acts.
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I could do nought but kneel and tell my prayers.
GIACOMO.
Ye blessed angels, hymn the word to heaven.
Come, daughter, let me hold thy hand in mine,
And gaze upon the emblem which thou bearest.
(He looks upon the crucifix awhile and presses it to his lips.)
ROSALIA.
Pray tell me, father, what is in the air?
GIACOMO.
Seest thou the crucibles, my child? Now mark,
I'll drop a simple essence into each.
ROSALIA.
My sense is flooded with perfume!
GIACOMO.
Again.
ROSALIA.
My soul, asudden, thrills with such delight
It seems as it had won a birth of wings!
GIACOMO.
Behold, now when I throw these jewels in,
The glories of our art!
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A cloud of hues
As beautiful as morning fills the air;
And every breath I draw comes freighted with
Elysian sweets! An iris-tinted mist,
In perfumed wreaths, is rolling round the room.
The very walls are melting from my sight,
And surely, father, there 's the sky o'erhead!
And on that gentle breeze did we not hear
The song of birds and silvery waterfalls?
And walk we not on green and flowery ground?
Ferrara, father, hath no ground like this;
The ducal gardens are not half so fair!
Oh, if this be the golden land of dreams,
Let us for ever make our dwelling here.
Not lovelier in my earliest visions seemed
The paradise of our first parents, filled
With countless angels whose celestial light
Thrilled the sweet foliage like a gush of song.
Look how the long and level landscape gleams,
And with a gradual pace goes mellowing up
Into the blue! The very ground we tread
Seems flooded with the tender hue of heaven;
An azure lawn is all about our feet,
And sprinkled with a thousand gleaming flowers.
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Nay, dear Rosalia, cast thy angel ken
Far down the shining pathway we have trod,
And see behind us those enormous gates
To which the world has given the name of Death;
And note the least among yon knot of lights,
And recognise your native orb, the earth!
For we are spirits threading fields of space,
Whose gleaming flowers are but the countless stars!
But now, dear love, adieu—a flash from heaven—
A sudden glory in the silent air—
A rustle as of wings, proclaims the approach
Of holier guides to take thee into keep.
Behold them gliding down the azure hill,
Making the blue ambrosial with their light!
Our paths are here divided. I must go
Through other ways, by other forms attended.
94
TO THE WIFE OF A POET.
There is a strange enchantment in those eyes,
A most mysterious witchery of light,
Which, like a meteor, kindles as it flies,
And leaves a glory when it fades from sight.
Their sudden splendour, like some magian's wand,
Transports me where the oriental skies
Pavilion all that's beautiful and bright
Within the spicy vales of Persia's land,
Till in the shade of Tefflis' ancient towers,
I see the sacred maids of those forbidden bowers.
A most mysterious witchery of light,
Which, like a meteor, kindles as it flies,
And leaves a glory when it fades from sight.
Their sudden splendour, like some magian's wand,
Transports me where the oriental skies
Pavilion all that's beautiful and bright
Within the spicy vales of Persia's land,
Till in the shade of Tefflis' ancient towers,
I see the sacred maids of those forbidden bowers.
And in the gorgeous courts of old Castile,
Or the Alhambra's tesselated halls,
Thy glances lead me, till I see and feel
The glory of the Past within those walls.
I see the knights ride out on fiery steeds,
And in the tourney watch them plunge and wheel,
Until the fated one defeated falls
And in the loud arena prostrate bleeds!
A king might proudly break a royal lance,
To win from eyes like thine one bright approving glance!
Or the Alhambra's tesselated halls,
Thy glances lead me, till I see and feel
The glory of the Past within those walls.
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And in the tourney watch them plunge and wheel,
Until the fated one defeated falls
And in the loud arena prostrate bleeds!
A king might proudly break a royal lance,
To win from eyes like thine one bright approving glance!
Such eyes saw she, the one imperial queen
Of all the realm of Intellect, De Stael,
When her own soul, which she had named “Corinne,”
Stood like a Sibyl in the Capitol,
Holding Italia breathless with her spell:—
Such were the eyes by glowing Raphael seen;
And such, it may be, lit the prison wall
When Tasso dreamed of love within his cell;—
And had not Nature touched thy minstrel's tongue,
The sunshine of thy looks had melted him to song!
Of all the realm of Intellect, De Stael,
When her own soul, which she had named “Corinne,”
Stood like a Sibyl in the Capitol,
Holding Italia breathless with her spell:—
Such were the eyes by glowing Raphael seen;
And such, it may be, lit the prison wall
When Tasso dreamed of love within his cell;—
And had not Nature touched thy minstrel's tongue,
The sunshine of thy looks had melted him to song!
98
THE NEW VILLAGE.
Dear to our hearts are homes and household fires,
Where youthful pleasures hailed each happy morn;
Where sang our mothers, and where sat our sires,
Whose blessed looks our memories adorn.
Sacred the threshold by their footsteps worn,
From whence at last went forth the funeral train—
Leaving our hearts by bitter anguish torn;
Sacred the ground where their dear dust has lain;
Sacred the church, the town, and the surrounding plain.
Where youthful pleasures hailed each happy morn;
Where sang our mothers, and where sat our sires,
Whose blessed looks our memories adorn.
Sacred the threshold by their footsteps worn,
From whence at last went forth the funeral train—
Leaving our hearts by bitter anguish torn;
Sacred the ground where their dear dust has lain;
Sacred the church, the town, and the surrounding plain.
Not less the Indian loves his native spot,
Nor walks he less in memory's blessed beam;
His parents, playmates, and the clay-built cot,
Melt o'er his senses like a morning dream.
See the small village sloping to the stream
Beneath the arch of the ancestral wood;
Along the shade the dusky children teem,
Waking in mimic chase the solitude,
Free as their Eden-sire, as innocently nude.
Nor walks he less in memory's blessed beam;
His parents, playmates, and the clay-built cot,
Melt o'er his senses like a morning dream.
99
Beneath the arch of the ancestral wood;
Along the shade the dusky children teem,
Waking in mimic chase the solitude,
Free as their Eden-sire, as innocently nude.
Here dusky maidens roam through nature's bowers,
Mating with fawns along the pathless ways,
Blithesome as birds, as sinless as the flowers,
Wild as the brook, and wandering where it strays,
Pouring to heaven their sweet, unconscious praise;
The foliage bends to greet them as they pass,
And buds unfold to court their tender gaze;
The daisies kiss their foot-falls in the grass,
And little streams stand still to paint them in their glass.
Mating with fawns along the pathless ways,
Blithesome as birds, as sinless as the flowers,
Wild as the brook, and wandering where it strays,
Pouring to heaven their sweet, unconscious praise;
The foliage bends to greet them as they pass,
And buds unfold to court their tender gaze;
The daisies kiss their foot-falls in the grass,
And little streams stand still to paint them in their glass.
Up with the day and glowing as the morn,
Along the brook the laughing children wade;
The happy matron grinds the golden corn—
The sturdy hunters, for the chase arrayed,
Swift as their arrows flash from sun to shade:
Some spear the fish, and some collect the nut,
Till twilight sheds her shadows o'er the glade;
And when the day by peaceful night is shut,
Sleep, like an angel, reigns in every quiet hut.
Along the brook the laughing children wade;
The happy matron grinds the golden corn—
The sturdy hunters, for the chase arrayed,
Swift as their arrows flash from sun to shade:
Some spear the fish, and some collect the nut,
Till twilight sheds her shadows o'er the glade;
And when the day by peaceful night is shut,
Sleep, like an angel, reigns in every quiet hut.
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But now the Indian dons his painted dress,
And burning glances flash their wordless ire,
Murdering peace through all the wilderness;
And youthful Brave and gray and wrinkled Sire
Weave the wild war-dance at the midnight fire,
Where war-clubs, waved by naked arms and strong,
And knives and axes, speak the wild desire,
And maids and matrons mingle in the throng,
Swelling the sullen tide of dull, monotonous song.
And burning glances flash their wordless ire,
Murdering peace through all the wilderness;
And youthful Brave and gray and wrinkled Sire
Weave the wild war-dance at the midnight fire,
Where war-clubs, waved by naked arms and strong,
And knives and axes, speak the wild desire,
And maids and matrons mingle in the throng,
Swelling the sullen tide of dull, monotonous song.
Such now their nights; but at the approach of day
Low sinks the fire, and dies the warlike sound,
While through the woods the warriors glide away,
And on the victim spring with sudden bound,
Hurling the hated settler to the ground.
Not long the Indian's skill or strength defies
The tide which westward bears its way profound;
Conquered at last, the flying tribe descries
Its ancient wigwams burn, and light its native skies.
Low sinks the fire, and dies the warlike sound,
While through the woods the warriors glide away,
And on the victim spring with sudden bound,
Hurling the hated settler to the ground.
Not long the Indian's skill or strength defies
The tide which westward bears its way profound;
Conquered at last, the flying tribe descries
Its ancient wigwams burn, and light its native skies.
The pioneers their gleaming axes swing,
The sapling falls, and dies the forest's sire—
The foliage fades—but sudden flames upspring,
And all the grove is leafed again with fire;
While gleams the pine tree like a gilded spire,
The homeless birds sail, circling wild, and high;
At night the wolves gaze out their fierce desire;
For weeks the smoke spreads, blotting all the sky,
While, twice its size, the sun rolls dull and redly by.
The sapling falls, and dies the forest's sire—
The foliage fades—but sudden flames upspring,
And all the grove is leafed again with fire;
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The homeless birds sail, circling wild, and high;
At night the wolves gaze out their fierce desire;
For weeks the smoke spreads, blotting all the sky,
While, twice its size, the sun rolls dull and redly by.
Before the cabin on the river's side,
When in the unknown west the day is done,
The labourers talk away the eventide,
Rehearse the plan so gloriously begun,
What house to rear, and where the street shall run
The morning comes, and with its earliest gleam
Loud ring the anvils, glowing like the sun;
There fall the axe and adze that shape the beam,
And here the noisy raftsmen labour in the stream.
When in the unknown west the day is done,
The labourers talk away the eventide,
Rehearse the plan so gloriously begun,
What house to rear, and where the street shall run
The morning comes, and with its earliest gleam
Loud ring the anvils, glowing like the sun;
There fall the axe and adze that shape the beam,
And here the noisy raftsmen labour in the stream.
Behold the village! There the tavern grows,
A little inn with large, inviting sign;
There the new store its mingled medley shows;
And over all, yet simple in design,
The general care, ascends the house Divine;
The unfinished steeple, like a skeleton,
Shows the blue sky between its ribs of pine;
Its gilded summit courts the early sun,
And holds it latest when the toilsome day is done.
A little inn with large, inviting sign;
There the new store its mingled medley shows;
And over all, yet simple in design,
The general care, ascends the house Divine;
The unfinished steeple, like a skeleton,
Shows the blue sky between its ribs of pine;
Its gilded summit courts the early sun,
And holds it latest when the toilsome day is done.
102
Now from the belfry rings a cheerful sound,
The air hangs trembling between joy and fear,
And echoes answer from the hills around,
Frightening the wild duck from the sedgy mere,
While trembles by the stream the listening deer,
Bending to drink the creature stands deterred;
The squirrel drops his nut and turns to hear;
All nature listens like a startled bird,
To hear the marriage bell, the first those forests heard.
The air hangs trembling between joy and fear,
And echoes answer from the hills around,
Frightening the wild duck from the sedgy mere,
While trembles by the stream the listening deer,
Bending to drink the creature stands deterred;
The squirrel drops his nut and turns to hear;
All nature listens like a startled bird,
To hear the marriage bell, the first those forests heard.
But hark! again the melancholy toll,
Spreading the shadow of the pall around,
While nature answers to its dreadful dole;
Beside the church there lies the sacred ground,
And in its midst is made the first new mound;
The fairest flower of all that western space
Sleeps in the grave, by sweetest blossoms crowned—
The pure in heart; the beautiful in face—
A fitting dust was hers to consecrate the place!
Spreading the shadow of the pall around,
While nature answers to its dreadful dole;
Beside the church there lies the sacred ground,
And in its midst is made the first new mound;
The fairest flower of all that western space
Sleeps in the grave, by sweetest blossoms crowned—
The pure in heart; the beautiful in face—
A fitting dust was hers to consecrate the place!
Thus it begins; but who shall know the end?
What prophet's thought shall down the future go,
To tell how oft again that bell shall send
Through all the vale the notes of joy or wo;
What graves shall sink; what countless mounds shall grow—
What rich, aspiring temples there shall stand
For Time to darken and to overthrow;
How there at last shall lurk some savage band,
While woods and wolves unchecked shall claim their native land?
What prophet's thought shall down the future go,
To tell how oft again that bell shall send
Through all the vale the notes of joy or wo;
103
What rich, aspiring temples there shall stand
For Time to darken and to overthrow;
How there at last shall lurk some savage band,
While woods and wolves unchecked shall claim their native land?
108
A VISION OF DEATH,
AN EXTRACT.
(An old man discovered in a country grave-yard.)OLD MAN.
Beneath this simple mound lies much, how much!
That living made earth lovelier, and was
The throne and crown unto my own sad world
Of Love and Hope, which make the total sum
Of all that man calls happiness. Bloom, bloom,
Ye little blossoms! and if beauty can
Like other purest essences exhale,
And penetrate the mould, your flowers shall be
Of rarest hue and perfume. I would see
109
With thoughts no mortal hand shall dare. And you,
Ye little wingèd choirs of air, who chant
From over fulness of the heart, as do
The winds which breathe upon the rustling grass,
Or roar along the ocean, till his waves
Thunder and hiss in foamy cataracts,—
Chant ye to-day and to all coming time,
Without the aid of burnished instrument,
The hollow organ of a seventhday pile,
But from your hearts with well accustomed throats,
Which loud from Sabbath unto Sabbath make
Perpetual worship, pour a requiem for
The early lost, or rather say removed.
Would I might follow! wherefore do I stay?
Can there still be in this poor tottering frame,
Which usurous Time has long since bankrupt made,
Aught which can make it valuable to life?
This palsied head of its own free accord,
Which negatively shakes its beggared hairs,
Answers, how truly! Wherefore do I stay?
I have outlived all that inflamed my youth,
Or made my manhood resolute—outlived
A whole misfortune of ancestral gold,
And all the joy which empty Fame bestows;
Two things of boundless sway, which are at once
110
A strange sensation through this wreck of dust
Proclaims a dissolution—let it come.
Oh Death, time was when I had deemed thy name
A terror, and thy cold and fleshless hand
A thing to shrink from!—it is not so now—
Next to the names of those who gave me life
Thine is the dearest, and the next to hers
Whose hand thou hast usurped, I would clasp thine.
How now? these marble monuments like ghosts
Do rise and stand above their natural wont,
And waver in the wind—I faint—who speaks?
The Spirit of Death answers from the air.
'T is He whose name but now was on thy lips.
Thou didst desire me; dost now repent?
OLD MAN.
No!
DEATH.
But thou dost tremble!
OLD MAN.
Not at thee, for yet
I do behold thee not—this tenement
Doth topple with the weight of years;—thy breath
111
The spirit standing on the ruin here;
And face to face answering speech for speech,
Fearless as I do now. I can dare all!
DEATH.
Dost thou defy?
OLD MAN.
Nothing except thy terrors.
My soul was fashioned for command, not fear.
DEATH.
Command'st thou me?
OLD MAN.
No, not as did the hag
Of Endor the poor ghost, for I have still
Enough of courage to brave more of life;
But being here thou art most welcome.
DEATH.
Nay,
But knowest thou what I am?
OLD MAN.
If thou art Death,
Then have I pictured thee a spirit fair,
And full of loving kindness unto all;
112
And tak'st the lily maiden to thy breast,
Or pour'st a healing balm in Manhood's wounds,
Or oil upon the troubled waves of Age.
Speak I not true?
DEATH.
Words may not answer that.
Now let thine eyes instead, compare the picture—
Come, look on me!
OLD MAN.
I do!
DEATH.
Well, what say'st thou?
Am I the thing of terror men have chosen
To name me?
OLD MAN.
Wonder, like the unloosed wind
Seizes me—I cannot speak—yet—
DEATH.
Would not
Curse me?
OLD MAN.
Curse thee? Oh no! a thousand tongues
Are clamorous within my soul to sing
113
Are wells of pity and of love, thy lips
Wreathed with the sainted smile of her who blessed
My earliest infancy. All that the world
E'er crowned me with, of sweet and beautiful,
Is crowded in the compass of thy face.
Art thou thus lovely unto all?
DEATH.
I am
What they who find me make me—Shall we go?
OLD MAN.
Whither?
DEATH.
Upward—and onward, into outer space,
Where she, thy kindred spirit, waiteth thee.
OLD MAN.
Most willingly—but stay, one moment yet,
To let me gaze where I shall gaze no more,
On this new mound—Hold! what is this which lies
Across her grave—The figure of a man!
A poor old man, in dusty, threadbare robes;
See there, how thin his hair is and how white!
How pale he looks! and yet he wears a smile;
Oh, now if I had alms to give, here—
114
Alas!
Hast thou forgot thine own poor tenement
So soon?—
(The spirit of the Old Man leaning over the body exclaims,)
'T is not a face that I am used
To look upon—poor dust!
When Death leads him gently away.
118
MANHOOD.
Man, like his Eden sire, walks fresh from God,
In panoply of majesty and power;
And stands upon his mount of strength supreme,
Firm footed as the oak. The earth is his,
For he has forced the king of beasts to crouch, and brought
The eagle from his eyried crag, and made
A traffic of the seas leviathan;
And from the mountain's stubborn breast hath torn
Its iron heart, or traced the rich red ore
Along its shining veins. The vales, where erst
Free Nature held her sabbath all the year,
He fills with week-day turmoil; and the woods
Are bowed before him, while the quiet trees
Are moulded into temples broad and high,
Or hewn to build the ocean's wingèd arks,
That link together far ends of the earth
With chains of commerce over dangerous seas.
Man spreads the sail, and with his strong right arm
He holds the helm against the tempest's wrath;
Or when the treacherous reef is struck, he clasps
The fainting form and struggles to the shore.
He wears his country's arms, and faces death
To plant above the bulwarks of the foe
The standard of his native land.
In panoply of majesty and power;
And stands upon his mount of strength supreme,
Firm footed as the oak. The earth is his,
For he has forced the king of beasts to crouch, and brought
The eagle from his eyried crag, and made
A traffic of the seas leviathan;
And from the mountain's stubborn breast hath torn
Its iron heart, or traced the rich red ore
Along its shining veins. The vales, where erst
Free Nature held her sabbath all the year,
119
Are bowed before him, while the quiet trees
Are moulded into temples broad and high,
Or hewn to build the ocean's wingèd arks,
That link together far ends of the earth
With chains of commerce over dangerous seas.
Man spreads the sail, and with his strong right arm
He holds the helm against the tempest's wrath;
Or when the treacherous reef is struck, he clasps
The fainting form and struggles to the shore.
He wears his country's arms, and faces death
To plant above the bulwarks of the foe
The standard of his native land.
Than this
A faculty diviner still is his;
For he hath on the walls of science stood,
Gray walls, whose towering turrets well nigh reach
The prophet's dome of inspiration;—there
With all the book of space before him spread,
Hath read its starry pages, and transcribed
Its wonders for the waiting world below!
But man, endowed with all the powers of earth,
The form majestic, and the strong right arm,
With intellect to penetrate the skies,
To unriddle the enigma of the stars,—
Must cast aside his dusty strength, and lay
His little knowledge humbly by, and take
The tender innocence which childhood wears,
And he shall be invested with the power,
The majesty, and wisdom of the immortals.
A faculty diviner still is his;
For he hath on the walls of science stood,
Gray walls, whose towering turrets well nigh reach
The prophet's dome of inspiration;—there
With all the book of space before him spread,
Hath read its starry pages, and transcribed
Its wonders for the waiting world below!
But man, endowed with all the powers of earth,
The form majestic, and the strong right arm,
120
To unriddle the enigma of the stars,—
Must cast aside his dusty strength, and lay
His little knowledge humbly by, and take
The tender innocence which childhood wears,
And he shall be invested with the power,
The majesty, and wisdom of the immortals.
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