 | Days and Hours |  |
84
SONGS OF AN OLD MAN.
I
Some Spirit to me brings
The Past by night; once more I see unfold
The gates of Silence and of Death—behold
The lost, the loved—I hear familiar tongues,
Laughter, and merrymaking, and old songs;
From forth a woodbine bower
A sweet face, like a flower,
Looks to me with soft eyes, and to me sings—
I wake, and all that World back into darkness springs!
The Past by night; once more I see unfold
The gates of Silence and of Death—behold
The lost, the loved—I hear familiar tongues,
Laughter, and merrymaking, and old songs;
From forth a woodbine bower
A sweet face, like a flower,
Looks to me with soft eyes, and to me sings—
I wake, and all that World back into darkness springs!
85
I weep to think of them,
Darkness and Silence shake me like the frown
Of overshadowing Death—the Dream looks down
Like a lost Angel from the isles that lie
Far in the Ocean of Eternity,
The Earth is pale and cold,
Nature is faint and old,
And all the voices of the living seem
Like sighs of moon-lit Ghosts beside that sunny dream.
Darkness and Silence shake me like the frown
Of overshadowing Death—the Dream looks down
Like a lost Angel from the isles that lie
Far in the Ocean of Eternity,
The Earth is pale and cold,
Nature is faint and old,
And all the voices of the living seem
Like sighs of moon-lit Ghosts beside that sunny dream.
Some Spirit to me sends
The Past by night: sometimes a festival,
Sometimes a bridal, and sometimes a call
Of happy hunters wakes me from my sleep;
I stretch my arms in darkness, and I weep;
But, Morn, that face of thine,
Eternal and divine,
That, only that, O Morn, can make amends
To me for cares and ills, flown youth, and parted friends.
The Past by night: sometimes a festival,
Sometimes a bridal, and sometimes a call
Of happy hunters wakes me from my sleep;
I stretch my arms in darkness, and I weep;
But, Morn, that face of thine,
Eternal and divine,
That, only that, O Morn, can make amends
To me for cares and ills, flown youth, and parted friends.
86
Thou healest all that pain:
No sooner do I hear the streaming trees,
The wildbirds sparkling in the gusts, the bees'
Low monody—no sooner do I breathe
The rathe rich odours from the slopes beneath,
Than spectres of the heart,
Like shadows, pass and part,
O'er the waste shores thy tide rolls back amain,
The hollows fill once more, and I am born again!
No sooner do I hear the streaming trees,
The wildbirds sparkling in the gusts, the bees'
Low monody—no sooner do I breathe
The rathe rich odours from the slopes beneath,
Than spectres of the heart,
Like shadows, pass and part,
O'er the waste shores thy tide rolls back amain,
The hollows fill once more, and I am born again!
87
II
When pale phantasmal Fear
Racks me, and weeping Memories near me hover,
Of Youth, and her lovesongs for ever over;
When thro' the silence the wan ghosts go by
Of Hope and Beauty, Love and Phantasy;
When dreams of coming woe
Make gladder Long ago;
Daughters of Morn, come to me, give me cheer,
Rosefooted Nymphs, kind Sylphs, sweet Oreads, come anear.
Racks me, and weeping Memories near me hover,
Of Youth, and her lovesongs for ever over;
When thro' the silence the wan ghosts go by
Of Hope and Beauty, Love and Phantasy;
When dreams of coming woe
Make gladder Long ago;
Daughters of Morn, come to me, give me cheer,
Rosefooted Nymphs, kind Sylphs, sweet Oreads, come anear.
Lay on my brows sweet brere,
Lay with your delicate hands some lilybells
Pluckt ere the flush of dawn, and thro' twined shells
Murmur of thymy slope, and mountainfold,
Whisper of viny hills, and sands of gold
Kiss'd by some azure bay
In Edens far away,
Spirits of Summer, softly come anear,
And sing, oh! sing of the wild islands in mine ear.
Lay with your delicate hands some lilybells
Pluckt ere the flush of dawn, and thro' twined shells
Murmur of thymy slope, and mountainfold,
Whisper of viny hills, and sands of gold
Kiss'd by some azure bay
In Edens far away,
Spirits of Summer, softly come anear,
And sing, oh! sing of the wild islands in mine ear.
88
Tell me where woodbines are,
Where the wildvine, and the pale roses blow,
Where I may stand, and see afar below
Meadow, and water'd vale, and rivershore,
And dales with coming harvest burnish'd o'er,
Where with dew-pearled wings
The mavis sits and sings,
Where the cold spring from under dome of spar
Leaps out of darkness forth, swift as a rushing star.
Where the wildvine, and the pale roses blow,
Where I may stand, and see afar below
Meadow, and water'd vale, and rivershore,
And dales with coming harvest burnish'd o'er,
Where with dew-pearled wings
The mavis sits and sings,
Where the cold spring from under dome of spar
Leaps out of darkness forth, swift as a rushing star.
That I with pure delight
May quench my thirst, drink deep, and reinfuse
Youth in my heart with those perennial dews,
And water my dead fancies till they grow,
And breathe in that rare bliss they only know
Who meet the virgin Hours
'Mid pearly moss and flowers,
And hear the worldwide Pæan rise, as Light
Wakes like a warrior arm'd, a king unthrones the Night.
May quench my thirst, drink deep, and reinfuse
Youth in my heart with those perennial dews,
And water my dead fancies till they grow,
And breathe in that rare bliss they only know
Who meet the virgin Hours
'Mid pearly moss and flowers,
And hear the worldwide Pæan rise, as Light
Wakes like a warrior arm'd, a king unthrones the Night.
89
With ye I would be borne
To the high forests and the reboant hills,
Where o'er torn crags the thundering torrent spills,
Where, 'mid the doubling echoes and the sounds
Of cataracts I may hark the cry of hounds,
And catch with dazzled eye
Great Dian sweeping by,
To clear fanfaras of a silver horn,
While I lie hid behind the wildbells, heath, or corn.
To the high forests and the reboant hills,
Where o'er torn crags the thundering torrent spills,
Where, 'mid the doubling echoes and the sounds
Of cataracts I may hark the cry of hounds,
And catch with dazzled eye
Great Dian sweeping by,
To clear fanfaras of a silver horn,
While I lie hid behind the wildbells, heath, or corn.
Or let me hear from under
The sound of fresh seas, like an anthem singing
By the wide World, go up while Day is springing,
And wake right early; let me turn my sight
On the plumed surges, towering in the light,
And mark them run and leap
O'er rocky isle and steep,
Or cloven to dazzling dust, or blown asunder,
Or answer'd from the hills with rolls of cavern'd thunder.
The sound of fresh seas, like an anthem singing
By the wide World, go up while Day is springing,
And wake right early; let me turn my sight
On the plumed surges, towering in the light,
And mark them run and leap
O'er rocky isle and steep,
Or cloven to dazzling dust, or blown asunder,
Or answer'd from the hills with rolls of cavern'd thunder.
90
Let in the breezy May;
Cast back the lattice, let me quaff the Dawn,
Let the wild wind, dew-laden from the lawn,
Scatter my fever'd heart with dewy showers,
Snatch from my brows the poppy's drowsy flowers,
With ye I'll fly, with ye,
To the woods, the hills, the sea;
Cast back the lattice, show me far away
The azure mountain-tops, and torrent springs of Day!
Cast back the lattice, let me quaff the Dawn,
Let the wild wind, dew-laden from the lawn,
Scatter my fever'd heart with dewy showers,
Snatch from my brows the poppy's drowsy flowers,
With ye I'll fly, with ye,
To the woods, the hills, the sea;
Cast back the lattice, show me far away
The azure mountain-tops, and torrent springs of Day!
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