 | The Poems of Mackenzie Bell |  |
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POEMS OF NATURE.
“POESY LIVES IN EVERYTHING.”
Poesy lives in everything,
Though only poets find
Her hidden treasures, or can bring
These treasures to mankind.
Though only poets find
Her hidden treasures, or can bring
These treasures to mankind.
She lives with Nature evermore
Alike on land and sea;
Where breakers roar far, far from shore,
And on the quiet lea;
Alike on land and sea;
Where breakers roar far, far from shore,
And on the quiet lea;
Where yonder mountain's soaring peak
Scarce fails to touch the sky;
In yonder vale where, fair and sleek,
The drowsy cattle lie;
Scarce fails to touch the sky;
In yonder vale where, fair and sleek,
The drowsy cattle lie;
In yonder cot where seldom come
The cares of human strife;
In yonder city never dumb
With sounds of human life;
The cares of human strife;
In yonder city never dumb
With sounds of human life;
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Where yonder babbling brooklets haste,
Begirt with mossy strands;
And even where Greed makes many a waste
In many lovely lands;
Begirt with mossy strands;
And even where Greed makes many a waste
In many lovely lands;
'Mid friends and kindred everywhere;
In talks with those we love;
And when, with humble heart, we dare
To think of things above;
In talks with those we love;
And when, with humble heart, we dare
To think of things above;
A part of every impulse here,
Of every joy and pain;
She hallows all, is ever near,
To calm, to cheer again.
Of every joy and pain;
She hallows all, is ever near,
To calm, to cheer again.
Yes; Poesy's white hands can mould
From much of earth, pure leaven;
And who shall say she will not hold
A noble place in Heaven!
From much of earth, pure leaven;
And who shall say she will not hold
A noble place in Heaven!
DESPONDENCY: A MOOD.
Often a word, a look, a jest,
Piercing the veil its depths concealing,
Awakens joy within my breast
I ne'er again had dreamed of feeling.
Piercing the veil its depths concealing,
Awakens joy within my breast
I ne'er again had dreamed of feeling.
To hear the prattle of a child
Amid the summer daisies playing,
To gaze on Nature, stern and wild,
Or when her summer winds are straying;
Amid the summer daisies playing,
To gaze on Nature, stern and wild,
Or when her summer winds are straying;
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To hear the tones of some loved air
Familiar in Life's morn of gladness,—
Small things, yet they dispel my care,—
Small things, yet how they heal my sadness!
Familiar in Life's morn of gladness,—
Small things, yet they dispel my care,—
Small things, yet how they heal my sadness!
But, ah, their influence dies away,
Leaving life drear as when it found me,
Nay, yet more drear, for that one ray
Of sunshine it has shed around me.
Leaving life drear as when it found me,
Nay, yet more drear, for that one ray
Of sunshine it has shed around me.
“NO SUN EVER ROSE WITHOUT SETTING.”
No sun ever rose without setting,
For surely there cometh the night;
No night ever stayed, but begetting
The dawn, it departed in light.
For surely there cometh the night;
No night ever stayed, but begetting
The dawn, it departed in light.
No joy ever came without bringing
A shadow to tell us of grief;
To sorrow there ever is clinging
A something to render relief.
A shadow to tell us of grief;
To sorrow there ever is clinging
A something to render relief.
And therefore in life there remaineth
For joy and for sorrow a place,
And naught on the earth but containeth
A power its effects to efface.
For joy and for sorrow a place,
And naught on the earth but containeth
A power its effects to efface.
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Gird on then your armour of gladness
To combat despairing with scorn,
And live through your night-time of sadness
In hope of the glories of morn.
To combat despairing with scorn,
And live through your night-time of sadness
In hope of the glories of morn.
A SONG OF EARLY SUMMER.
Sweet is the time when tender leaves
Burst forth in all their perfect grace,
When swallows twitter from the eaves,
And Spring to Summer yields her place;
Burst forth in all their perfect grace,
When swallows twitter from the eaves,
And Spring to Summer yields her place;
When red and white the chestnut shows,
When fragrance from the hawthorn spreads,
When fair the blue wistaria blows,
And iris lilies lift their heads.
When fragrance from the hawthorn spreads,
When fair the blue wistaria blows,
And iris lilies lift their heads.
Yet soon the chestnut petals fade,
Wistaria blooms droop one by one,
Soon sigh the leaves for welcome shade,
Then fall with dews at set of sun.
Wistaria blooms droop one by one,
Soon sigh the leaves for welcome shade,
Then fall with dews at set of sun.
Not so the spring-time of the heart,
That knows nor change nor swift decay,
The spring-time of our nobler part
Shall never fade or pass away.
That knows nor change nor swift decay,
The spring-time of our nobler part
Shall never fade or pass away.
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THE HEART'S SUMMER.
Sweet is the noon of a summer day
When, through the woodlands coming,
The village sounds seem far away
And drowsy bees are humming.
When, through the woodlands coming,
The village sounds seem far away
And drowsy bees are humming.
Sweet are the hours of a summer night
When kindly dews are falling,
And thoughts that come with the fading light
Are soothing, or enthralling.
When kindly dews are falling,
And thoughts that come with the fading light
Are soothing, or enthralling.
Sweet are the tones of a friendly voice
When all seems gone but sorrow,
Bidding the heart once more rejoice,
For peace may come to-morrow.
When all seems gone but sorrow,
Bidding the heart once more rejoice,
For peace may come to-morrow.
Sweet is the sound of the world's applause
When fame at last hath found us,
And (wage for toil in a righteous cause)
Flings victory's wreath around us.
When fame at last hath found us,
And (wage for toil in a righteous cause)
Flings victory's wreath around us.
But sweeter far is a heart at rest,
A heart unsoured by sadness—
Which throbs within a blissful breast
With a God-imparted gladness.
A heart unsoured by sadness—
Which throbs within a blissful breast
With a God-imparted gladness.
IN ELLINGTON COPSE.
How lovely are these woodland ways
Clad in their summer dress,
Where come not din and smoke to mar
Their evening loveliness;
Clad in their summer dress,
Where come not din and smoke to mar
Their evening loveliness;
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Where wild-rose and convolvulus
Are wov'n in every hedge,
And buttercups and foxgloves glow
By this clear brooklet's edge;
Are wov'n in every hedge,
And buttercups and foxgloves glow
By this clear brooklet's edge;
Where breezes waft their balmiest scents
Adown the silent wood,
And scarce a songster sings to break
The hush of solitude;
Adown the silent wood,
And scarce a songster sings to break
The hush of solitude;
Where shadows creep across my path
And softly dies the day—
And Summer's beauty holds the world
Within her gracious sway.
And softly dies the day—
And Summer's beauty holds the world
Within her gracious sway.
This evening every wild-flower here
More deeply stirs my heart
Than alien flowers or prodigies
Of man's botanic art;
More deeply stirs my heart
Than alien flowers or prodigies
Of man's botanic art;
This sweet-brier bough, that meekly sends
Its perfume on the air,
I would not give for any flower
The gardener deems most fair;
Its perfume on the air,
I would not give for any flower
The gardener deems most fair;
I leave the rich their bowers of art
Wreathed with the rarest flowers,
Enough for me these woodland ways
In Summer's twilight hours.
Wreathed with the rarest flowers,
Enough for me these woodland ways
In Summer's twilight hours.
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THE LAME BOY IN THE WOODS.
Each season hath its sadness, but for me
Summer hath most of all. I know not why,
But though its sylvan beauty soothes my soul
And brings sweet reveries—though the happy birds,
Discoursing music, stir my mind with dreams,
With melodies, with thoughts of deep delight;
Yet still there lurks within the Summer's heart
Or in mine own, a pain—a deep, wild pain—
Which, even amid still Autumn's ravages
I never feel, nor yet in Winter's storms.
Is it, I ask, that Summer's voiceless spell—
Her loveliness of copse and lea and flower
Is all too soon dissolved—that blossoms fade
When Summer's glory dies?
Summer hath most of all. I know not why,
But though its sylvan beauty soothes my soul
And brings sweet reveries—though the happy birds,
Discoursing music, stir my mind with dreams,
With melodies, with thoughts of deep delight;
Yet still there lurks within the Summer's heart
Or in mine own, a pain—a deep, wild pain—
Which, even amid still Autumn's ravages
I never feel, nor yet in Winter's storms.
Is it, I ask, that Summer's voiceless spell—
Her loveliness of copse and lea and flower
Is all too soon dissolved—that blossoms fade
When Summer's glory dies?
Ah, no; ah, no!
It is that Summer's mocking gladness lends
To loss a sharper sting when I recall
The joy of buoyant health and tireless limbs
Which others feel—alas! through all my life
A joy that knows not me.
It is that Summer's mocking gladness lends
To loss a sharper sting when I recall
The joy of buoyant health and tireless limbs
Which others feel—alas! through all my life
A joy that knows not me.
THE UNFULFILLED IDEAL.
When youthful Summer decks the sward
With flowers on plain and hill,
And Nature wins her meet reward
For working Winter's will,
Even then Life's music lacks a chord:
Something wanted still!
With flowers on plain and hill,
And Nature wins her meet reward
For working Winter's will,
Even then Life's music lacks a chord:
Something wanted still!
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In Autumn, when each searing leaf
With gentle sorrow fraught,
And every garnered golden sheaf
Yield fruit for mingled thought:—
We feel a void—there comes a grief—
Something vaguely sought!
With gentle sorrow fraught,
And every garnered golden sheaf
Yield fruit for mingled thought:—
We feel a void—there comes a grief—
Something vaguely sought!
When Winter lays an icy hand
Where Spring had kissed the ground,
And stiff and stark is all the land
Where Summer erst was crowned:—
We feel but do not understand:
Something still unfound!
Where Spring had kissed the ground,
And stiff and stark is all the land
Where Summer erst was crowned:—
We feel but do not understand:
Something still unfound!
When Spring returns with radiant grace
To fill the earth with song,
And gladness smiles in every place,
And love and life are strong,
Still comes the want we cannot trace:
Something wanted long!
To fill the earth with song,
And gladness smiles in every place,
And love and life are strong,
Still comes the want we cannot trace:
Something wanted long!
“THE AUTUMN IS DYING.”
The autumn is dying,
And leaves that are still,
Grief's tokens, are lying
On plain and on hill;
My garden of pleasure
Lies withered and bare,
Oh, the pitiless measure
Of ruin wrought there!
And leaves that are still,
Grief's tokens, are lying
On plain and on hill;
My garden of pleasure
Lies withered and bare,
Oh, the pitiless measure
Of ruin wrought there!
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In a hedgerow wind-shaken
To wildest unrest,
Forlorn and forsaken
I see a bird's nest,
Its soft down decaying,
Its fledglings all flown,
Naught save the shell staying
Deserted and lone.
To wildest unrest,
Forlorn and forsaken
I see a bird's nest,
Its soft down decaying,
Its fledglings all flown,
Naught save the shell staying
Deserted and lone.
Then the thought rises, cleaving
The depths of my mind,
Soon we too shall be leaving
Our loved homes behind,
Soon the grave will enclose us—
Life's pilgrimage o'er—
“And the place that now knows us
Shall know us no more.”
The depths of my mind,
Soon we too shall be leaving
Our loved homes behind,
Soon the grave will enclose us—
Life's pilgrimage o'er—
“And the place that now knows us
Shall know us no more.”
ASPIRATIONS.
O for the poet's voice and song—
Piercing, yet sweet and clear,
Rich as the cushat's note, yet strong
To reach the great world's ear!
Piercing, yet sweet and clear,
Rich as the cushat's note, yet strong
To reach the great world's ear!
O for the visions that abide
Within the poet's mind,
The thoughts which through his bosom glide
Leaving strange joy behind!
Within the poet's mind,
The thoughts which through his bosom glide
Leaving strange joy behind!
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O for the fruit—immortal fruit
Soiled by no earthly leav'n,
Not fame alone, nor vain repute,
But something caught from heav'n—
Soiled by no earthly leav'n,
Not fame alone, nor vain repute,
But something caught from heav'n—
Assurance that my strain has cheered
One soul, if only one,
And shed on the dark path it feared
A passing glimpse of sun!
One soul, if only one,
And shed on the dark path it feared
A passing glimpse of sun!
DECEMBER DAISIES AND DECEMBER DAYS.
Ah, how the sight of these untimely flowers
Brings dear remembrances of summer hours,
When the full heart in buoyant mood was filled
With happiness—when the swift moments thrilled
The soul with subtle thoughts no words express.
Brings dear remembrances of summer hours,
When the full heart in buoyant mood was filled
With happiness—when the swift moments thrilled
The soul with subtle thoughts no words express.
Kind halcyon moments! How they soothe and bless
And beautify my sordid life. And here,
When this December day is stir-less, clear
At its brief twilight—when there shines afar
From out a cloudless heav'n yon evening star—
When southern breezes blow, nor storm nor rain
Disturb,—I dream 'tis summer come again.
And beautify my sordid life. And here,
When this December day is stir-less, clear
At its brief twilight—when there shines afar
From out a cloudless heav'n yon evening star—
When southern breezes blow, nor storm nor rain
Disturb,—I dream 'tis summer come again.
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SOLITUDE.
Amid the throng
Which, restless, moves along
With hurrying footsteps o'er the earth
But few their noblest thoughts have known,
Seldom save when alone
Come thoughts of worth.
Which, restless, moves along
With hurrying footsteps o'er the earth
But few their noblest thoughts have known,
Seldom save when alone
Come thoughts of worth.
It needs the balm
Of soul-restoring calm
To purge the mind of Life's alloy;
Thus yielding back Man's highest power,
His blessèd pristine dower
Of peace and joy.
Of soul-restoring calm
To purge the mind of Life's alloy;
Thus yielding back Man's highest power,
His blessèd pristine dower
Of peace and joy.
And thus do men
With new and eager ken
Taste those rich joys that only live
In solitude—joys which uplift
Their souls to truth—best gift
That Life can give.
With new and eager ken
Taste those rich joys that only live
In solitude—joys which uplift
Their souls to truth—best gift
That Life can give.
WIND FANCIES.
Murmuring winds vague fancies carry
To the heart while sweeping by,
And the fancies often tarry
Though the winds that brought them die.
To the heart while sweeping by,
And the fancies often tarry
Though the winds that brought them die.
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Now the fancies are of gladness,
Life itself seems one delight;
Now the fancies are of sadness,
Life itself seems dark as night.
Life itself seems one delight;
Now the fancies are of sadness,
Life itself seems dark as night.
| The Poems of Mackenzie Bell | |