Poems and Poetical Fragments :: :: University of Virginia Library

TO A BEAUTIFUL FEMALE PORTRAIT.

Whereto shall I liken thee,
Thou with sunbright eyes divine?
Twilight never dimmeth thee,
Evermore thy sharp eyes shine;
Thou art like the morning star
On the forehead of the day,
Looking earthward from afar
When the night clouds float away;—

Thou art like the sparkling fly
Dancing on the Eastern night,
Through a trellised gallery,
Up and down all fiery bright;

Thou art like a starry flower
Hidden in a mist of green,
From beneath a woven bower
Here and there in glimpses seen.

All bright things are not so bright,
Not so deep as are thine eyes;
Not the hollow blue at night,
Fading into other skies;
Not the blue Forget-me-not,
Bright and deep although it be;
Not the rays from chrystals shot,
Nor the twinkling summer sea.

Fix thy full deep eyes on me,
Let me lose my being there;
Let me pass out into thee
From my house of sin and care:
Surely all thine inner soul
Whence such lights for ever shine,
Must with mild and sweet controul
Purify and brighten mine.

Or if this may never be,
Fix them full upon me still;
Let me borrow light from thee;—
Losing all my thought and will,
Quite absorbed, and emptied quite,—
In their lustrous brightness lost,—
All my sunshine turned to night,—
I'm contented with the cost.

[Evermore the night wave beateth on]

Evermore the night wave beateth on,
Heavily dashing up the pebbled shore;
Evermore the silent stars look on;—
Evermore the spent wave draweth back
Hoarsely chiding pebbles down the shore;
Westward float the stars amid the rack:—
Will the night wind never cease to rave
In the pauses of the tumbling sea?
Every moment falls the same dull wave
Heavily dashing down continually;
Floateth on in discontinuous mass
Weary vapour over the dim sea;
Stars look downward as the blue gulphs pass
With a pale fixt lustre silently.
Time will go to sleep—
And the first eternal laws
Which the world in balance keep,
Wreck us by a pause;—
Rise, thou golden sun, from out the deep,—
Break the charm that lulls the universe to sleep.

EPICEDIA.

I.

Ye must not die—your cheek is red,
Ye have not lost your bloom;
We shall be loth when ye are dead
To lay ye in your tomb.

Ye must not die—your eyes are bright,
Your heart leaps merrily;
It's not for them that 'll die to night,
To look so brave to day.

Ye must not die—ye are not old,
Ye have never a hair that's gray;
Ye must not go into the dark and cold
In your best and shiniest day.

Ye must not die—the West wind 'll come,
For the winter's over and gone;
The swallows are flying back to their home,
And the spring is coming on.

II.

Refresh me with the bright blue violet,
And put the pale faint-scented primrose near,
For I am breathing yet:
Shed not one silly tear,
But when mine eyes are set
Scatter the fresh flowers thick upon my bier,
And let my early grave with morning dew be wet.

I have passed swiftly o'er the pleasant earth,
My life hath been the shadow of a dream;
The joyousness of birth
Did ever with me seem:
My spirit had no dearth,
But dwelt for ever by a full swift stream,
Lapt in a golden trance of never-failing mirth.

Touch me once more, my father, ere my hand
Have not an answer for thee;—kiss my cheek
Ere the blood fix and stand
Where flits the hectic streak;
Give me thy last command,
Before I lie all undisturbed and meek,
Wrapt in the snowy folds of funeral swathing-band.

III.

Slowly and softly let the music go,
As ye wind upwards to the gray church tower;
Check the shrill hautboy, let the pipe breathe low—
Tread lightly on the pathside daisy flower.
For she ye carry was a gentle bud,
Loved by the unsunned drops of silver dew;
Her voice was like the whisper of the wood
In prime of even, when the stars are few.
Lay her all gently in the flowerful mould,
Weep with her one brief hour; then turn away,—
Go to hope's prison,—and from out the cold
And solitary gratings many a day
Look forth: 'tis said the world is growing old,—
And streaks of orient light in Time's horizon play.

IV.

The cowslip standeth in the grass,
The primrose in the budding grove
Hath laid her fair pale breast
On the greensward to rest;
The vapours that cease not to rove
Over the blue sky, fleet and pass,
And ever o'er the golden sun
Their shadows run.

She is not in the kingcup mead,
Stooping to whisper to the flowers;
She is not in the wood
Nursing the primrose bud;
She doth not mark the blooming hours,
The joy and May she doth not heed;
Under the church wall in the shade
Her bed is made.

V.

Rise, said the Master, come unto the feast:—
She heard the call, and rose with willing feet:
But thinking it not otherwise than meet
For such a bidding to put on her best,
She is gone from us for a few short hours
Into her bridal closet, there to wait
For the unfolding of the palace gate
That gives her entrance to the blissful bowers.
We have not seen her yet; though we have been
Full often to her chamber door, and oft
Have listened underneath the postern green,
And laid fresh flowers, and whispered short and soft:
But she hath made no answer, and the day
From the clear West is fading fast away.

VI.

The turf is green above thee,
Thou'rt wedded to thy rest,
With the cold damp earth about thee,
And thine arms across thy breast:
The light hath waned around thee,
Wherein thy spirit breathed;
And thou hast faded from the flowers
With which thy brow was wreathed.

Oh! thou wert mild and beautiful,
A sunbeam in life's showers;
Thou wert too mild and beautiful
For this dull earth of ours:
So they have taken thee away—
Fair spirits like thine own,
And thou art gone to be with them
In sight of God's high throne.

VII.

Not the springing up of day,
Nor the bright hues of the May,
Can give me joy now thou art gone;
Not the singing of the bird
In the purple evening heard;
All bright things that seemed my own
From thy light were shed,
And with thee have fled.

When I had thee here with me,
Every thing was blest by thee,
Thou hadst breathed on all around;
But thou hast past away
From the night and day;
Thy voice doth never sound;
Thou hast taken of my heart
Far the better part.

August 22, 1830.

Oh! when shall this frail tenement of clay
Be emptied by Death's peremptory call,
And its celestial guest be fetched away,
From mortal tenure and corporeal thrall,
A beam, to mingle with the flood of day,
A part to join unto the glorious All?—
When shall the kingly intellect have fled
From this his dull material servitude,
And Thought exalt her long-abasèd head,
With pomp of heavenly majesty endued?
And when shall the affection, here below
Broken by parting in its stream of light,
Dash off the earthly vestiture of woe,
And shine, with everlasting radiance bright?

SONNET WRITTEN AT A DISTANCE FROM HOME.

My own dear country—thy remembrance comes
Like softly-flowing music on my heart;
With thy green sunny hills, and happy homes,
And cots rose-bowered, bosomed in dells apart;
The merry pealings of our village bells
Gush ever and anon upon mine ear;
And is there not a far-off sound that tells
Of many-voicèd laughter shrill and clear?
Oh! were I now with thee—to sit and play
Under the hawthorn on the slope o' th' hill,
As I was wont to do; or pluck all day
The cowslip and the flaunting daffodil,
Till shepherds whistled homeward, and the West
Folded the large sun in her crimson breast.

ON SEEING THE FOLLOWING EPITAPH AT SELWORTHY, WEST SOMERSET.

August 5, 1832.

This grave's a cradle where an infant lies,
Rockt fast asleepe with Death's sad lullabyes.

Sad lullabyes, dear child—in this sweet spot,
The chime of hourly clock,—the mountain stream
That ever sends up to thy resting place
Its gush of many voices—and the crow
Of matin cock, faint it may be but shrill,
From elm embosomed farms along the dells,—
These are thy lullabyes—who would not sleep
Thus husht and sung to with all sweetest sounds?

And I can stand beside thy cradle, child,
And see yon belt of clouds in silent pomp
Midway the mountain passing slowly on,

Whose beaconed top peers over on the vale;—
And upward narrowing in thick-timbered dells
Dark solemn coombs, with wooded buttresses
Propping his mighty weight—each with its stream,
Now leaping sportfully from crag to crag,
Now smoothed in clear black pools—then in the vales
Through lanes of bowering foliage glittering on,
By cots and farms and peaceful villages,
And meadows brightest green. Who would not sleep
Rockt in so fair a cradle?

But that word—
That one word—‘death,’ comes over my sick brain
Wrapping my vision in a sudden swoon;
Blotting the gorgeous pomp of sun and shade,
Mountain, and wooded cliff, and sparkling stream,
With a thick dazzling darkness.—Who art thou
Under this hillock on the mountain side?
I love the like of thee with a deep love,
And therefore called thee dear—thee who art now
A handful of dull earth. No lullabyes
Hearest thou now, be they or sweet or sad;

No revelry of streams, no pomp of clouds,
Not the blue top of mountain—nor the woods
Which clothe the steeps, have any joy for thee.

Go to then—tell me not of balmiest rest
In fairest cradle—for I never felt
One half so keenly as I feel it now,
That not the promise of the sweetest sleep
Can make me smile on Death. Yet I do smile,
Because we shall not sleep.

TO THE STREAM IN WORTHY DELL, NEAR PORLOCK.

September, 1832.

I named thee once the silver thread,
When in the burning summer day
I stept across thy stony bed
Upon my homeward way.

For down an old rock's mossy steep
Thy thin bright stream, as I past by,
Into a calm pool clear and deep
Slid down most peacefully.

But now it is the Autumn eve,
Dark clouds are hurrying through the sky;
Thy envious waters will not leave
One stone to cross thee by.

And all about that old steep rock
Thy foamy fall doth plash and roar,
Troubling with rude incessant shock
The pool so still before.

Thus happy childhood evermore
Beneath unclouded summer suns
On to its little lucid store
Of joy most calmly runs.

But riper age with restless toil
Ever for ampler pleasures frets;
And oft with infinite turmoil
Troubles the peace it gets.

SONNET.

[Lady, I may not but indite to thee]

Lady, I may not but indite to thee
One grateful tribute of my verse, to tell
How sweetly fared my spirit and how well
In the pure air of thy society,
How cheered and how refreshed she back returned
Into this world's thick weary atmosphere;
And how she hath trimmed up and pointed clear
Her lamps of Faith and Hope that dimly burned.
Because thy talk hath been of Christ, and things
Hid in the bosom of eternal Love:
Because thy soul hath fixed her rest above,
And thither straining with unflagging wings
Pierceth in vision far beyond the ken
Of the proud multitude of reasoning men.

A REMEMBRANCE.

January 5, 1831.

Ημιν η μαθησις ουκ αλλο τι η αναμνησις τυγχανει ουσα, και κατα τουτον αναγκη που ημας εν προτερω τινι χρονω μεμαθηκεναι α νυν αναμιμνησκομεθα.— Plato. Phædo, §.47.

Methinks I can remember, when a shade
All soft and flowery was my couch, and I
A little naked child with fair white flesh
And wings all gold-bedropt: and o'er my head
Bright fruits were hanging, and tall balmy shrubs
Shed odorous gums around me; and I lay
Sleeping and waking in that wondrous air,
Which seemed infused with glory—and each breeze
Bore, as it wandered by, sweet melodies,

But whence I knew not:—one delight was there,
Whether of feeling or of sight or touch
I know not now—which is not on this earth,
Something all glorious and all beautiful
Of which our language speaketh not, and which
Flies from the eager graspings of my thought,
As doth the shade of a forgotten dream.
All knowledge had I; but I cared not then
To search into my soul and draw it thence:
The blessed creatures that around me played
I knew them all, and where their resting was,
And all their hidden symmetries I knew,
And how the form is linked unto the soul,
I knew it all; but thought not on it then,
I was so happy.

And upon a time
I saw an army of bright beamy shapes,
Fair-faced and rosy-cinctured and gold-winged,
Approach upon the air: they came to me;
And from a chrystal chalice silver-brimmed
Put sparkling potion to my lips, and stood
All round me in the many-blooming shade,

Shedding into the centre where I lay
A mingling of soft light; and then they sung
Songs of the land they dwelt in: and the last
Lingereth even till now upon mine ear.

Holy and blest
Be the calm of thy rest,
For thy chamber of sleep
Shall be dark and deep;
They will dig thee a tomb
In the dark deep womb,
In the warm dark womb.

Spread ye, spread the dewy mist around him,
Spread ye, spread, till the thick dark night surround him,
Till the dark long night hath bound him,
Which bindeth all before their birth
Down upon the nether earth.
The first cloud is beamy and bright,
The next cloud is mellowed in light,
The third cloud is dim to the sight,
And it stretcheth away into gloomy night:

Twine ye, twine the mystic threads around him,
Twine ye, twine—till the fast firm fate surround him,
Till the firm cold fate hath bound him,
Which bindeth all before their birth
Down upon the nether earth.
The first thread is beamy and bright,
The next thread is mellowed in light,
The third thread is dim to the sight,
And it stretcheth away into gloomy night:—

Sing ye, sing the spirit song around him,
Sing ye, sing till the dull warm sleep surround him,
Till the warm damp sleep hath bound him,
Which bindeth all before their birth
Down upon the nether earth.
The first dream is beamy and bright,
The next dream is mellowed in light,
The third dream is dim to the sight,
And it stretcheth away into gloomy night:—

Holy and blest
Is the calm of thy rest,
For thy chamber of sleep
Is dark and deep;

They have dug thee a tomb
In the dark deep womb,
The warm dark womb.

Then dimness past upon me: and that song
Was sounding o'er me when I woke again
To be a pilgrim on the nether earth.

December 11, 1832.

We cannot weep, nor feel as we have felt
For aught in sorrow: thou art all too calm
And solemn-silent on thy bed of death;—
And that white sunken face hath never a sign
To make of aught disquieted within.
'Tis a most awful thing, that face of thine
Seared with the traces which the soul hath left,—
The settlement from all the stir of life,
The fixed conclusion of all modes of thought,
The final impress of all joys and cares:—
We dare not whisper when we look on thee;
We scarce can breathe our breath when thou art by;
Dread image of the majesty of Man!

BALLAD.

[The Baron is back from his hawking come]

The Baron is back from his hawking come,
At the close of the summer's day:
But the spots of red blood danced over his eyes
That he might not see the play—
And the heavy deep bells were tolling.

The Baron is back to his banquet come,
And hath sat him down to dine;
But his thoughts they ran on the red red blood
That he might not taste the wine—
And the heavy deep bells were tolling.

Now where were ye, sister, when I rode by,
For ye were not in your bower:—
Oh I was chasing a bright butterfly
That flew from flower to flower—
Where the summer rose-buds were blowing.

And where were ye, sister, when I rode back,
For ye were not in your hall:—
Oh I was watching the large sun set
From off the castle wall—
When the yellow wall-flowers were closing.

But where were ye, sister, at mid of night,
For ye were not laid asleep:—
Oh I looked for love of the pale round moon
In the moat so still and deep—
When the loud night-birds were singing.

The Baron looked over the castle trees
At the turning of the sun;
And that Lady wailed and tossed her hands
As she would never have done—
For her own true-love she's weeping.

The Baron looked over the dim church-yard
As the moon was on the wane;
And that Lady lay by a new-turned grave,
She may rise never again—
With her own true-love she's sleeping.

—Now up, thou Baron of Taunton tower,
To the holy cloister flee;
For thou hast slain the truest pair
In all the West countree.
And the heavy deep bells are tolling.

UNDER A PORTRAIT OF NELSON.

Thou falledst—but thou art not fled—
Thy spirit is but scattered,
And of thy mighty soul a part
Liveth in each true British heart;
And when along the Ocean brine
The beacon-wisp of war shall shine,
Then British chiefs and British men
Shall rise and build thee up again.

FRAGMENTS FROM SAPPHO.

I. [Hesperus, thou bringest near]

Hesperus, thou bringest near
All that garish day
Scattered far away:
Thou bringest back the sheep,
Thou bringest back the goat,
Thou bringest back the children to their mother dear.

II. [Sweet mother mine, I cannot weave my web]

Sweet mother mine, I cannot weave my web,
For I am faint with deep desire
For thinking of the youth I love.

III. [Full-faced in the sky the moon was shining]

Full-faced in the sky the moon was shining,
The maidens were standing round the altar.

IV. [All the stars that cluster around the moonlight]

All the stars that cluster around the moonlight
Back from sight their glittering faces cover,
Whensoe'er the earth at the full she lightens.

V. [Thou shalt lie in the grave: never of thee mention or memory]

Thou shalt lie in the grave: never of thee mention or memory
Men shall hold in the long ages to come. Thou hast inherited
No Pierian flowers: down in the dark house of forgetfulness
Thou shalt go with the dim ghosts of the dead, flitting and vanishing.

FRAGMENTS FROM ALCÆUS.

I. [The air-god raineth: through the sky]

The air-god raineth: through the sky
Comes down the tempest mightily;
The streams are thick with solid ice: [OMITTED]
Keep down the winter;—pile up more
Upon the fire, and largely pour
The honey-mellowed wine;
And round our temples let the soft wool twine.

II. [Dark-tressèd, chaste, and mildly-smiling Sappho.]

Dark-tressèd, chaste, and mildly-smiling Sappho.

THE GREENLANDER TO HIS DEAD REINDEER;

WRITTEN IN EARLY YOUTH.

Christmas, 1821.

Nevermore on hills of snow
Shall we two together go,
My Reindeer;
Nevermore the snow thou'lt paw,
All in haste my sledge to draw,
My Reindeer.

Nevermore along the bright
Snowy wildernesses white,
By the dazzling Northern light,
Shall we homeward go at night,
My Reindeer.

Underneath the snow full deep
Long ago my children sleep;—
I could not their mother keep;—
When they went I did but weep,
My Reindeer;

Then together thou and I
Slid along full merrily,
When the sun was in the sky,
When the lights were dancing high;—
Now all stiff I see thee lie,
What have I to do but die,
My Reindeer.

The two last stanzas have been added since.

SONNETS, SUGGESTED IN THE WEST OF ENGLAND, DURING THE SUMMER OF 1832.

I. INTRODUCTORY.

If thou would'st find what holiest men have sought,
Communion with the power of Poesy,
Empty thy mind of all unquiet thought,—
Lay bare thy spirit to the vaulting sky
And the glory of the sunshine: go and stand
Where nodding briers sport with the water-break,
Or by the plashings of a moonlight creek,—
Or breast the wind upon some jutting land:—
The most unheeded things have influences
That sink into the soul; in after-hours

We oft are tempted suddenly to dress
The tombs of half-forgotten moods with flowers:
Our own choice mocks us;—and the sweetest themes
Come to us without call, wayward as dreams.

III. ON SEEING OUR FAMILY VAULT.

This lodging is well chosen;—for 'tis near
The fitful sighing of those chesnut trees;—
And every Sabbath morning it can hear
The swelling of the hymnèd melodies:
And the low booming of the funeral bell
Shall murmur through the dark and vaulted room,
Waking its solemn echoes but to tell
That one more soul is gathered to its home.
There we shall lie beneath the trodden stone:—
Oh none can tell how dreamless and how deep
Our peace will be—when the last earth is thrown,—
The last notes of the music fallen asleep,—
The mourners past away,—the tolling done,—
The last chink closed, and the long dark begun.

SACRED PIECES.

ON THE SIGN OF THE CROSS IN BAPTISM.

In token that thou shalt not fear
Christ crucified to own,
We print the Cross upon thee here,
And stamp thee his alone.

In token that thou shalt not blush
To glory in his name,
We blazon here upon thy front
His glory and his shame.

In token that thou shalt not flinch
Christ's quarrel to maintain,
But 'neath his banner manfully
Firm at thy post remain:

In token that thou too shalt tread
The path he travelled by,
Endure the cross, despise the shame,
And sit thee down on high:

Thus outwardly and visibly
We seal thee for his own:
And may the brow that wears his Cross,
Hereafter share his crown.

PSALM XLVI.

God is our refuge and our strength
When trouble's hour is near:
A very present help is he,
Therefore we will not fear:

Although the pillars of the earth
Shall clean removèd be:
The very mountains carried forth
And cast into the sea:

Although the waters rage and swell
So that the earth shall shake;
Yea, and the solid mountain roots
Shall with the tempest quake:

There is a river which makes glad
The city of our God;
The tabernacle's holy place
Of the Most High's abode.

The Lord is in the midst of her,
Removed she shall not be,
Because the Lord our God himself
Shall help her speedily.

The heathen lands make much ado,
The kingdoms join the fray;
But God hath shewèd forth his voice,
And the earth shall melt away.

The Lord of hosts our refuge is
When trouble's hour is near;
The God of Jacob is with us,
Therefore we will not fear.

PSALM CXXXVII.

By Babylon streams we sat us down and wept,
When we remembered Zion mournfully;
As for our harps, we hanged them up
Upon the willow trees that grew thereby.

Then they that led us captive asked of us
A song, and melody in our dreary day;
Come sing us one of Zion's songs—
How can we sing the Lord's song far away?

If I forget thee, O Jerusalem,
Let my right hand forget her best employ;
Let my tongue cleave unto my mouth,
If I prefer not thee to all my joy.

Remember, Lord, remember Edom's sons,
How they stood round and shouted in their mirth,
At the dark day of Jerusalem—
Down with it, down with it, even to the earth.

Daughter of Babylon, thy doom is sealed—
Yea, happy he who deals thee recompense;
And dasheth down upon the stones
With ruthless hands thy helpless innocents.

AN ANSWER TO A QUESTION.

When the thing thou lovest is not one
That thou canst beg a blessing on;
When the thing thou lovest puts a screen
Thy heart and thy heart's Christ between;
When the love thou lovest makes thee spare
To open all thine heart in prayer;
When the thing thou lovest draws thy love
To earth beneath from heaven above,
Love not the world.

When what thou fearest while abroad,
Thou didst not fear alone with God;
When the fear thou fearest doth not seem
A portion of thy fear for Him;
When what thou fearest makes thee shame
To glory in thy Saviour's name;
When the fear thou fearest makes thee slow
Sin to rebuke in friend or foe,
Fear not the world.

When the love thou lovest doth but make
Part of thy debt for Jesus' sake;
When the thing thou lovest helpeth thee
The glory of thy God to see;
When what thou lovest feedeth thee
With holy sweet society;
When what thou lovest here below
Shall with thee to thy Saviour go,
Then thou mayest love.

When what thou fearest audibly
God's spirit urges thee to flee;
When the fear thou fearest doth appear
Courage to be rather than fear;
When, while thou fearest, thou canst say,
‘My weakness on God's strength I stay;’
When though thou fearest thou canst be
God's soldier at God's victory,
Then thou mayest fear.