 | Poems |  |
181
A RETROSPECT.
A belt of wooded country lies
Between the mountains and the shore;
Northward the city's chimneys rise
Through smoke and glare, and in the west
Each barren, heath-empurpled crest
Is bathed in sunset as of yore.
Between the mountains and the shore;
Northward the city's chimneys rise
Through smoke and glare, and in the west
Each barren, heath-empurpled crest
Is bathed in sunset as of yore.
I see the river down below
Glide out into the broadening bay;
Between the seawalls to and fro
The many masts are moving still;
Beyond, the rugged island hill
Slopes down to rocks and whitening spray.
Glide out into the broadening bay;
Between the seawalls to and fro
The many masts are moving still;
Beyond, the rugged island hill
Slopes down to rocks and whitening spray.
The heights are veiled in violet gold;
The evening blue is on the sea;
All things are lovely as of old:
I cannot, if I would, forget,—
The very past confronts me,—yet
There is a world of change for me.
The evening blue is on the sea;
All things are lovely as of old:
I cannot, if I would, forget,—
The very past confronts me,—yet
There is a world of change for me.
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Autumnal tints and sunset hues
Are beautiful on hill and plain;
They are not ours to guard or lose—
But something from within is given,
Some faint reflected flash of Heaven,
That fades away while these remain.
Are beautiful on hill and plain;
They are not ours to guard or lose—
But something from within is given,
Some faint reflected flash of Heaven,
That fades away while these remain.
And they are changed and yet the same—
The light that sparkles on the shower,—
The subtle and æthereal flame,
That dying, mocks our vain pursuit,
That is the bloom upon the fruit,—
The scent of April on the flower,—
The light that sparkles on the shower,—
The subtle and æthereal flame,
That dying, mocks our vain pursuit,
That is the bloom upon the fruit,—
The scent of April on the flower,—
Is swift to go, as swift to come;
Some kindred spirit is estranged—
Some dear familiar lips are dumb,—
Eyes that lit up my life with love,
No longer beacon from above—
And all they looked upon is changed.
Some kindred spirit is estranged—
Some dear familiar lips are dumb,—
Eyes that lit up my life with love,
No longer beacon from above—
And all they looked upon is changed.
Oh! strength of habit, how my feet
Obedient to thy guidance move,
For thou art strong because so sweet,—
Though wrapped in silence and in dreams,
I wander aimless, yet it seems
I hold a purpose while I rove.
Obedient to thy guidance move,
For thou art strong because so sweet,—
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I wander aimless, yet it seems
I hold a purpose while I rove.
Born in another happier time,
Unconscious habit be my guide;
I need not woo thee in my rhyme,
If I forget thee thou wilt stay;—
Ah, whither leads this winding way,
With shadowing trees on either side?
Unconscious habit be my guide;
I need not woo thee in my rhyme,
If I forget thee thou wilt stay;—
Ah, whither leads this winding way,
With shadowing trees on either side?
Oh! surely to the woodland flowers,
That decked the springtide of my days;
Oh! surely to the sweetest hours
That ever lit the lamp of joy;
No depth of darkness can destroy
Those pure, imperishable rays.
That decked the springtide of my days;
Oh! surely to the sweetest hours
That ever lit the lamp of joy;
No depth of darkness can destroy
Those pure, imperishable rays.
I follow, follow to my fate—
Now leftward down the gentle slope,
Then pass the little iron gate,
And climb the steps, and stand again
With throbbing heart that throbs in vain
With memory—Ah! where is hope?
Now leftward down the gentle slope,
Then pass the little iron gate,
And climb the steps, and stand again
With throbbing heart that throbs in vain
With memory—Ah! where is hope?
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But dare I pass within the door
Even in fancy, for within
The phantom of long years before
Is waiting for me? Dare I pray
The intervening years away?
The years of falsehood and of sin.
Even in fancy, for within
The phantom of long years before
Is waiting for me? Dare I pray
The intervening years away?
The years of falsehood and of sin.
Yes, for my soul is all athirst
To wander through the woodland ways;
Yes, for my life is so accurst
With darker memories, that I
Yearn for the blissful agony
Of bringing back beloved days.
To wander through the woodland ways;
Yes, for my life is so accurst
With darker memories, that I
Yearn for the blissful agony
Of bringing back beloved days.
Torture it may be to rejoice,
But death in life to stand without:
I see the form—I hear the voice,
Whose accents thrilled my boyish blood,
Till the soul rolled a fuller flood,
And deepened and grew grandly out.
But death in life to stand without:
I see the form—I hear the voice,
Whose accents thrilled my boyish blood,
Till the soul rolled a fuller flood,
And deepened and grew grandly out.
Oh! wondrous waking-time of life,
How sweet thou art when thou art near,
And oh! how sweeter when the strife
Of manhood comes, and summer's heat
To autumn sunsets leads the feet,—
To icy winter dead and drear.
How sweet thou art when thou art near,
And oh! how sweeter when the strife
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To autumn sunsets leads the feet,—
To icy winter dead and drear.
For every flow'ret whispers love,
And every cloud and every breeze,
The cooing of the distant dove,
The rippling rustling sounds of spring,
And all those hours of blossoming,
That hang a mantle on the trees.
And every cloud and every breeze,
The cooing of the distant dove,
The rippling rustling sounds of spring,
And all those hours of blossoming,
That hang a mantle on the trees.
And each new flutter of delight,
Each thrill of vague and aimless hope,
Each waking vision in the night,
Each flash from bright, beloved eyes
Of sympathy,—each sweet surprise
That gains the soul a freer scope,
Each thrill of vague and aimless hope,
Each waking vision in the night,
Each flash from bright, beloved eyes
Of sympathy,—each sweet surprise
That gains the soul a freer scope,
Is as a dancing mountain beck,
That springs from some half-hidden source
'Mid heather or the mossy wreck
Of shattered stones, then hurries down,—
With waters crystal-clear and brown—
A wayward, wild, impetuous course,
That springs from some half-hidden source
'Mid heather or the mossy wreck
Of shattered stones, then hurries down,—
With waters crystal-clear and brown—
A wayward, wild, impetuous course,
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To join the stream of Love, whose might
Is in the mingling of the flow
Of many brooklets; none aright
Point to its one and truest fount—
Such morning mists enwrap the mount,
We can but know the vale below.
Is in the mingling of the flow
Of many brooklets; none aright
Point to its one and truest fount—
Such morning mists enwrap the mount,
We can but know the vale below.
And well I knew through what a glen
Of wood, and rock, and verdurous sod,
My stream of Love was wandering then,
And in each lisping sound it gave,
I caught a murmur from the wave
Of the eternal love of God,—
Of wood, and rock, and verdurous sod,
My stream of Love was wandering then,
And in each lisping sound it gave,
I caught a murmur from the wave
Of the eternal love of God,—
The ocean rolling far away,
Wherein all rivers rest at last:
Oft has my spirit yearned to pray—
Yet knew the prayer were madly vain—
That it might trace the stream again
In windings through the precious past;
Wherein all rivers rest at last:
Oft has my spirit yearned to pray—
Yet knew the prayer were madly vain—
That it might trace the stream again
In windings through the precious past;
From where its fuller flood began
Until a spongy, porous soil
Absorbed its waters, and it ran
Through sunless gloom without a ray
Of rippling radiance half-astray
To bless its endless, onward toil.
Until a spongy, porous soil
Absorbed its waters, and it ran
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Of rippling radiance half-astray
To bless its endless, onward toil.
I feared those caverns lost to light;—
No swallow brushed it with its wing,
No waterfowl with plashy plight
Ruffled it—no forget-me-not,
Or golden lily lay afloat
Swayed with its dreamy murmuring.
No swallow brushed it with its wing,
No waterfowl with plashy plight
Ruffled it—no forget-me-not,
Or golden lily lay afloat
Swayed with its dreamy murmuring.
I feared to leave the light and grope
Blinded wherever love might go—
For is there love uncheered by hope?
And could the woman's heart unbend
To the boy's ardour, or descend
Like moonlight on the land below?
Blinded wherever love might go—
For is there love uncheered by hope?
And could the woman's heart unbend
To the boy's ardour, or descend
Like moonlight on the land below?
“Never,” I answered, and my soul
Was stirred to trouble; then I sought
By wilful efforts to control
Its destiny, and draw aside
The tangled mazes of its tide,
So with deliberate hands I wrought,
Was stirred to trouble; then I sought
By wilful efforts to control
Its destiny, and draw aside
The tangled mazes of its tide,
So with deliberate hands I wrought,
188
Cleaving a channel broad and deep
Between the river and the slopes:
With joy I watched the waters sweep
Out of the old familiar bed,
Till the new waterway was fed,
And filled beyond my highest hopes.
Between the river and the slopes:
With joy I watched the waters sweep
Out of the old familiar bed,
Till the new waterway was fed,
And filled beyond my highest hopes.
Ah! Love herself must cleave her way,
Or she will never flow aright;
The work went on for many a day,
Then grew a toil, and in the end
A reef of rocks, I could not rend,
Rose grimly up in Love's despite.
Or she will never flow aright;
The work went on for many a day,
Then grew a toil, and in the end
A reef of rocks, I could not rend,
Rose grimly up in Love's despite.
Then in a moment from my eyes
Fell scales of blindness, and I scanned
My wasted work: no bright blue skies
Were mirrored in a crystal stream,
And nowhere could I catch the gleam
Of pebbles set in silver sand.
Fell scales of blindness, and I scanned
My wasted work: no bright blue skies
Were mirrored in a crystal stream,
And nowhere could I catch the gleam
Of pebbles set in silver sand.
No life flowed on—No current swum—
But level cuts and stagnant pools,
Wearing a green and clammy scum
Of matted weeds, were all I saw:
Oh! might of violated law,—
Oh! broken self-avenging rules.
But level cuts and stagnant pools,
Wearing a green and clammy scum
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Oh! might of violated law,—
Oh! broken self-avenging rules.
Oh! Love, I knew thee fierce, aflame,
A lurid-red and baleful star;
A rush of passionate yearning came
For the dim distant Ocean shore,
Lost—lost to me for evermore,
And mighty murmurs, faint and far,
A lurid-red and baleful star;
A rush of passionate yearning came
For the dim distant Ocean shore,
Lost—lost to me for evermore,
And mighty murmurs, faint and far,
Seemed ever echoing in my soul;
And in my fancy I could see
The free, unbounded billows roll,
And knew my being's inmost tide
Had ceased to flow, and could not glide
Down into Love's eternity.
And in my fancy I could see
The free, unbounded billows roll,
And knew my being's inmost tide
Had ceased to flow, and could not glide
Down into Love's eternity.
Oh! Love; pure love! oh! light of Heaven,
Even in anger bearing bliss,
Surely that yearning rush was given
By thee in mercy: surely thou
Wert calm and kindly then as now,
But I was blind and saw amiss.
Even in anger bearing bliss,
Surely that yearning rush was given
By thee in mercy: surely thou
Wert calm and kindly then as now,
But I was blind and saw amiss.
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This is thy vengeance, when we hide
Our hearts from thee—thou drawest nigh
Once and once only to our side
In majesty of loveliness,
And to our brow thy lips dost press
Murmuring, “Kiss me or I die:”
Our hearts from thee—thou drawest nigh
Once and once only to our side
In majesty of loveliness,
And to our brow thy lips dost press
Murmuring, “Kiss me or I die:”
And if thou diest what are we
But frozen blocks of lifeless stone?
Oh! in that very agony
Of passionate, self-answered prayer,
It was thy face divinely fair
That came and blest me lost and lone.
But frozen blocks of lifeless stone?
Oh! in that very agony
Of passionate, self-answered prayer,
It was thy face divinely fair
That came and blest me lost and lone.
Ay, and the river long forgot
In limestone caverns lost to view
Was flowing, though I knew it not,
Was flowing ever, on and on,
Until at last the daylight shone,
And on its waters broke the blue.
In limestone caverns lost to view
Was flowing, though I knew it not,
Was flowing ever, on and on,
Until at last the daylight shone,
And on its waters broke the blue.
Then from a thousand springs it gushed
New into being, as unseen
Some Titan ocean stream has rushed
Out of its giant fountain head,
And welled along its coiling bed
Down walls of water, cold and green.
New into being, as unseen
Some Titan ocean stream has rushed
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And welled along its coiling bed
Down walls of water, cold and green.
Oh! just return to see aright
The sin and treason of the soul,
And love beside it dazzling white,
To clasp her and be clasping still,
And know her passed beyond the will,
Beyond the conscious, false control.
The sin and treason of the soul,
And love beside it dazzling white,
To clasp her and be clasping still,
And know her passed beyond the will,
Beyond the conscious, false control.
I have no hope, but such as lives
In sweet and infinite desire,
Or such as blessèd memory gives,
Fair as the promise of the morn,
That burns, before the night be born,
In the autumnal sunset fire.
In sweet and infinite desire,
Or such as blessèd memory gives,
Fair as the promise of the morn,
That burns, before the night be born,
In the autumnal sunset fire.
No hope, alas! of love's return,
But endless hope, oh! love in thee;
And hope shall lean on thee, and learn
Thy language, “Be not sick to feed
Each narrow momentary need,
But be content and lean on me.”
But endless hope, oh! love in thee;
And hope shall lean on thee, and learn
Thy language, “Be not sick to feed
Each narrow momentary need,
But be content and lean on me.”
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No hope—and now the waters wide
Are salt and bitter to the taste;
Ay—but that tells how far the tide
Of Ocean eager, uncontrolled
Into the river's heart is rolled
Through level marsh, or sandy waste.
Are salt and bitter to the taste;
Ay—but that tells how far the tide
Of Ocean eager, uncontrolled
Into the river's heart is rolled
Through level marsh, or sandy waste.
It whispers of the living rest,
The passion-pulse of life to be,
When we are clasped to Love's own breast.—
When somewhere, somewhere far below
We floating down no more shall know
Which is the stream and which the sea.
The passion-pulse of life to be,
When we are clasped to Love's own breast.—
When somewhere, somewhere far below
We floating down no more shall know
Which is the stream and which the sea.
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