Old Year Leaves Being Old Verses Revised: By H. T. Mackenzie Bell ... New Edition |
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| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. | SCENE IV. |
| V. |
| VI. |
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 | Old Year Leaves |  |
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SCENE IV.
Early morning. Edgar standing on a balcony enjoying the fresh balmy air and watching the last traces of the sunrise die away in the sky.Edgar.
So yesterday was Christmas-day, and yet
Such weather joyous and unwinter-like,—
In truth such weather as in recent years
We northerners but rarely have received
In sunless seasons which we summer call
Merely from force of custom.
Such weather joyous and unwinter-like,—
In truth such weather as in recent years
We northerners but rarely have received
In sunless seasons which we summer call
Merely from force of custom.
Many trees
Retain their leaves—and fair it is to see
Green leaves at Christmas-time, while gorgeous flowers,
Which never bloom in Britain save when placed
In houses cramped and stifling with damp heat,
Display their beauty in the open air.
A few days since I saw—exquisite sight!
An avenue of fine camellia plants,
And all in fullest flower! and as I looked
Up the long vista while the luscious red
Commingled in my vision with the white,
And as I further gazed upon the scene
Of which they were the centre, and drank in
Its wondrous loveliness, I felt deep joy
That still amid its mingled pain and grief
Such sweetness is preserved on earth to soothe
And elevate men's thoughts. They who have lived
Only in climates where the fickle weather
Is changeful as the winds, can never know
The bliss of living where, come calm or storm,
No blighting blast can reach to wither up
Our vital energies and make our life
A misery. This is not such a clime
As Italy's in winter, where the sun
Makes summer as its warm rays penetrate,
But in the shade the cutting searching wind
Blows keenly from the snowy Apennines;
Nor such a clime as that whose azure waves
Reflect with dazzling force the Day-king's heat
Upon the olive-groves and pine-clad crags
Of the gay Riviera;—but whose warmth
Dies with the day, and night is damp and cold.
Here winds are never cold nor ever harm
With treacherous touch the trustful invalid,
Who, lured by the soft sunlight, walks abroad.
Here balmy night is pleasant and as mild
As is the day, while the defiled sea-shore
Appears, at least at night, most beautiful
Viewed from a distance; and the dotted lights
From many a cottage on the lone crag-sides
Vie with the stars from out the deep blue sky
In forming a fair circlet round the bay
Like flashing jewels round the shapely arm
Of youth-dowered maid.
Retain their leaves—and fair it is to see
Green leaves at Christmas-time, while gorgeous flowers,
Which never bloom in Britain save when placed
In houses cramped and stifling with damp heat,
Display their beauty in the open air.
A few days since I saw—exquisite sight!
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And all in fullest flower! and as I looked
Up the long vista while the luscious red
Commingled in my vision with the white,
And as I further gazed upon the scene
Of which they were the centre, and drank in
Its wondrous loveliness, I felt deep joy
That still amid its mingled pain and grief
Such sweetness is preserved on earth to soothe
And elevate men's thoughts. They who have lived
Only in climates where the fickle weather
Is changeful as the winds, can never know
The bliss of living where, come calm or storm,
No blighting blast can reach to wither up
Our vital energies and make our life
A misery. This is not such a clime
As Italy's in winter, where the sun
Makes summer as its warm rays penetrate,
But in the shade the cutting searching wind
Blows keenly from the snowy Apennines;
Nor such a clime as that whose azure waves
Reflect with dazzling force the Day-king's heat
Upon the olive-groves and pine-clad crags
75
Dies with the day, and night is damp and cold.
Here winds are never cold nor ever harm
With treacherous touch the trustful invalid,
Who, lured by the soft sunlight, walks abroad.
Here balmy night is pleasant and as mild
As is the day, while the defiled sea-shore
Appears, at least at night, most beautiful
Viewed from a distance; and the dotted lights
From many a cottage on the lone crag-sides
Vie with the stars from out the deep blue sky
In forming a fair circlet round the bay
Like flashing jewels round the shapely arm
Of youth-dowered maid.
What were the lines I strung
Together, to employ an idle hour?
Together, to employ an idle hour?
Christmas in the summer sunshine! O how beautiful it seems,—
Clothed in gladness are its moments, realising poets' dreams,
While its hours pass swiftly from us, how we wish they were for aye,
That their bright and buoyant pleasure with its guilelessness might stay.
Clothed in gladness are its moments, realising poets' dreams,
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That their bright and buoyant pleasure with its guilelessness might stay.
Christmas in the summer sunshine! softly blows the scented breeze
And its coming stirs the frondage of the stately staid palm-trees.
Calm the noble realm of Ocean, fair the dotted fishing skiffs,
And the verdant cactus growing on the gaunt uprising cliffs.
And its coming stirs the frondage of the stately staid palm-trees.
Calm the noble realm of Ocean, fair the dotted fishing skiffs,
And the verdant cactus growing on the gaunt uprising cliffs.
All of Flora's cultured beauty freely is revealed to view,
And among the vine-clad ridges of sweet wild-flowers not a few,
Soft azaleas, rich gardenias, ope their blossoms to the air,
With the rose, and trained geranium:—while its wild type too is there.
And among the vine-clad ridges of sweet wild-flowers not a few,
Soft azaleas, rich gardenias, ope their blossoms to the air,
With the rose, and trained geranium:—while its wild type too is there.
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Fitting the moon's glorious radiance for the people as they pass
On the eve of merry Christmas, to and from the midnight mass;
And for strolling serenaders who invade the silent hours
With what doubtless they consider some of music's choicest flowers.
On the eve of merry Christmas, to and from the midnight mass;
And for strolling serenaders who invade the silent hours
With what doubtless they consider some of music's choicest flowers.
Christmas in the summer sunshine! neither snow nor frost are here,
Which, though they may charm the healthy, fill the invalid with fear;
And in sooth, with dear ones round him, spends he happily the day,
Pining not for that loved treasure—his chill home so far away.
Which, though they may charm the healthy, fill the invalid with fear;
And in sooth, with dear ones round him, spends he happily the day,
Pining not for that loved treasure—his chill home so far away.
Yet! 'tis the far away that makes me sad,
For distance is indeed a barrier,
Let bards say what they will; for though I hope
Hale health is coming back, I sometimes feel
As though I had not very long to live;
And if 'tis so, it seems a cruel fate
To have to spend my few remaining days
So far away from those my heart holds dear,
But chiefly from the one my whole soul loves.
For distance is indeed a barrier,
Let bards say what they will; for though I hope
Hale health is coming back, I sometimes feel
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And if 'tis so, it seems a cruel fate
To have to spend my few remaining days
So far away from those my heart holds dear,
But chiefly from the one my whole soul loves.
| Old Year Leaves | |