 | The Poetical Works of Robert Montgomery |  |
As water copies a portentous cloud
By stern reflection, so the spirit's gloom
Lies darkly-mirror'd on the mimic page.
And if some features of a faded Past
Be thus recall'd, they bring no aimless grief
To deaden song, by female worth inspired.
For seldom, since the groan of earth began,
Hath Woman shone more visibly-divine
Than in the gloom of this remember'd year!
When Forms all spirit, moulded by the touch
Of Nature in her most ethereal power,
Whose beauty, delicate as painted air
At the light breeze seem'd ready to dissolve,
Transform'd by feeling, have at once become
Heroical, for superhuman aid!
Behold that chamber, where a feeble lamp
Is quivering, pulse-like, with a dying flame;
There, by yon couch, a soft-eyed mourner fades
Night after night, with uncomplaining brow:
While a soul flutters in that Form revered
From whence her being,—though her brain should parch
Till the flush'd eyelids hang like drooping flowers
About to wither, still, her watch endures!
The bough may blossom from the tree removed,
Ere young affection, from its parent torn,
Can live and flourish, while one ebbing pulse
Articulates within those precious veins!
By stern reflection, so the spirit's gloom
Lies darkly-mirror'd on the mimic page.
And if some features of a faded Past
Be thus recall'd, they bring no aimless grief
To deaden song, by female worth inspired.
For seldom, since the groan of earth began,
Hath Woman shone more visibly-divine
Than in the gloom of this remember'd year!
When Forms all spirit, moulded by the touch
Of Nature in her most ethereal power,
Whose beauty, delicate as painted air
At the light breeze seem'd ready to dissolve,
Transform'd by feeling, have at once become
Heroical, for superhuman aid!
Behold that chamber, where a feeble lamp
Is quivering, pulse-like, with a dying flame;
There, by yon couch, a soft-eyed mourner fades
Night after night, with uncomplaining brow:
While a soul flutters in that Form revered
From whence her being,—though her brain should parch
Till the flush'd eyelids hang like drooping flowers
About to wither, still, her watch endures!
The bough may blossom from the tree removed,
Ere young affection, from its parent torn,
Can live and flourish, while one ebbing pulse
Articulates within those precious veins!
And thus, calamity with glory comes:
From out its gloom, as streams from caverns pour,
The tides of human tenderness proceed.
And virtues, which the noon-bright hour of joy
May dazzle, when a cloud of anguish breaks,
Dawn into birth, and decorate the soul
With heaven-born lustre; like the pale-eyed stars
That shut their lids when gaudy daylight rules,
But ope them on the sun-forsaken night.
From out its gloom, as streams from caverns pour,
The tides of human tenderness proceed.
And virtues, which the noon-bright hour of joy
May dazzle, when a cloud of anguish breaks,
Dawn into birth, and decorate the soul
With heaven-born lustre; like the pale-eyed stars
That shut their lids when gaudy daylight rules,
But ope them on the sun-forsaken night.
Then let the scorner, whom the vernal glee
Or laughing wildness of delighted youth
Hath taught, that pleasure would to pain deny
The sacrifice of one exalted tear,
His creed forego: the fount of Woman's heart
Lies deeper than his shallow gaze detects!
For Beauty, that a soulless idol seem'd
Rear'd on the breath of some adoring night,
Oh, let one pang a cherish'd mind convulse,
The mist is scatter'd! and the unblemish'd heart
Free from the world, like day from darkness comes,
And acts at once the ministry of heaven.
Or laughing wildness of delighted youth
Hath taught, that pleasure would to pain deny
The sacrifice of one exalted tear,
His creed forego: the fount of Woman's heart
Lies deeper than his shallow gaze detects!
For Beauty, that a soulless idol seem'd
Rear'd on the breath of some adoring night,
Oh, let one pang a cherish'd mind convulse,
The mist is scatter'd! and the unblemish'd heart
Free from the world, like day from darkness comes,
And acts at once the ministry of heaven.
Then look at Woman, when by love sublimed:
Misfortune moulds her by a graceful power
To fit the cast of fate; and in her wo
Each mental attribute can bloom as bright
As when the home was costly, and her smile
Fell like a glory on attracted eyes.
As stoops an eagle from his lordly height
Where once he soar'd, companion of the cloud
And storm, so sinks, with a triumphant fall,
Her spirit down to some domestic vale;
There, looks more beauteous in each act and thought
Through the meek round her cottage-virtues run,
Than when it reign'd amid the hall of kings.
A mortal Weakness by the world admired
Let others paint her; and, in Woman find
The uncertain heart by light-wing'd impulse led,
The mind which fruitless admiration feeds,
The tottering purpose, and the tameless will:
There is a passion, that with fine eclipse
O'ershadows all such failing hours present,
When the soul falters,—'tis maternal love!
Unbounded feeling! Space, and Scene and Time
Succumb before thee: infinite in power
As fathomless in depth; no rack affrights,
No dungeon quells, no agony impedes
Thy wondrous action; in the horrid grave
Thou darest to cherish the unconscious Dead,
And heaven admits Thee, when thou soarest there!
Misfortune moulds her by a graceful power
To fit the cast of fate; and in her wo
Each mental attribute can bloom as bright
As when the home was costly, and her smile
Fell like a glory on attracted eyes.
As stoops an eagle from his lordly height
Where once he soar'd, companion of the cloud
And storm, so sinks, with a triumphant fall,
Her spirit down to some domestic vale;
There, looks more beauteous in each act and thought
Through the meek round her cottage-virtues run,
Than when it reign'd amid the hall of kings.
A mortal Weakness by the world admired
Let others paint her; and, in Woman find
The uncertain heart by light-wing'd impulse led,
The mind which fruitless admiration feeds,
The tottering purpose, and the tameless will:
There is a passion, that with fine eclipse
O'ershadows all such failing hours present,
When the soul falters,—'tis maternal love!
Unbounded feeling! Space, and Scene and Time
Succumb before thee: infinite in power
As fathomless in depth; no rack affrights,
No dungeon quells, no agony impedes
Thy wondrous action; in the horrid grave
Thou darest to cherish the unconscious Dead,
And heaven admits Thee, when thou soarest there!
Lo, how that feeling with transforming might
Shapes a wild spirit to its tender will!
Gay as the breeze and dainty as the flower
To-night behold her, on whose jewell'd head
Fashion hath set an ever-fading crown:
Again regard her!—and the trace of God
Is character'd on that ethereal change
Mien, mind, and manner all have undergone;
As broods a Poet o'er some wordless thought
Affection gazes on her unborn child;
And, ere its being into life expands
Love, like a seraph when the soul departs
For glory, waiting to receive its charge,
Stands on the threshold of commencing Life
Bright with the welcome of a mother's bliss!
Shapes a wild spirit to its tender will!
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To-night behold her, on whose jewell'd head
Fashion hath set an ever-fading crown:
Again regard her!—and the trace of God
Is character'd on that ethereal change
Mien, mind, and manner all have undergone;
As broods a Poet o'er some wordless thought
Affection gazes on her unborn child;
And, ere its being into life expands
Love, like a seraph when the soul departs
For glory, waiting to receive its charge,
Stands on the threshold of commencing Life
Bright with the welcome of a mother's bliss!
Charm of the world! whose light makes human love,
If I apparel with too rich a robe
The fascinations which around thee float,
And on thy beauty let no dimness fall
To mar its radiance, 'tis an error blest,
Though blind: for Thou, in thy transcendent worth,
Art lifted to the highest sphere of Song,
When, like a human providence below,
Thy days are consecrate to deeds of heaven.
If I apparel with too rich a robe
The fascinations which around thee float,
And on thy beauty let no dimness fall
To mar its radiance, 'tis an error blest,
Though blind: for Thou, in thy transcendent worth,
Art lifted to the highest sphere of Song,
When, like a human providence below,
Thy days are consecrate to deeds of heaven.
| The Poetical Works of Robert Montgomery | |