 | The Poetical Works of Robert Montgomery |  |
BEAUTIFUL INFLUENCES.
“Suppose the singing birds musicians;
The flowers fair ladies; and thy steps no more
Than a delightful measure, or a dance.”
Shakspeare.
The flowers fair ladies; and thy steps no more
Than a delightful measure, or a dance.”
Shakspeare.
(1829.)
Oh for a summer-noon, when light and breeze
Sport on the grass like ripples o'er a lake
Alive with freshness; when the regal Sun,
With God's own smile upon his forehead seen,
Walks in his golden radiance through the path
Cerulean.—Vast and overhanging heaven!
Arching the earth with thy majestic sweep,
At such an hour, with what unsated eye
We look upon thee, till the mind seems lost
In thine immensity, and we appear
O'erwhelm'd by such a vision.
Sport on the grass like ripples o'er a lake
Alive with freshness; when the regal Sun,
With God's own smile upon his forehead seen,
Walks in his golden radiance through the path
Cerulean.—Vast and overhanging heaven!
Arching the earth with thy majestic sweep,
At such an hour, with what unsated eye
We look upon thee, till the mind seems lost
In thine immensity, and we appear
O'erwhelm'd by such a vision.
Care-worn man!
Whom Duty chains within the city-walls
Amid the toiling crowd, how grateful plays
The fresh wind o'er thy sickly brow, when free
To tread the elastic turf; and hear the trees
Wave music on the gales; to catch the voice
Of waters, gushing from their fount unseen,
And singing as they wander:—How sublime
Upon a time-blanch'd cliff to muse, and while
The eagle glories in a sea of air,
To mingle with the scene around! survey
The sun-warm heaven, or at the cavern'd base
Of yon wood-crested mount, the ocean view
With radiant billows ruffled by the breeze:
Then, dawns the resurrection of thy youth
In dewy freshness o'er thy wither'd heart!
Whom Duty chains within the city-walls
Amid the toiling crowd, how grateful plays
The fresh wind o'er thy sickly brow, when free
To tread the elastic turf; and hear the trees
Wave music on the gales; to catch the voice
Of waters, gushing from their fount unseen,
And singing as they wander:—How sublime
Upon a time-blanch'd cliff to muse, and while
The eagle glories in a sea of air,
To mingle with the scene around! survey
The sun-warm heaven, or at the cavern'd base
Of yon wood-crested mount, the ocean view
With radiant billows ruffled by the breeze:
Then, dawns the resurrection of thy youth
In dewy freshness o'er thy wither'd heart!
Nor is the scene, though unbeheld, forgot;
The eye is faithful to a feeling heart:
When torn from some Arcadian haunt, we thread
The crowded city's unromantic streets,
The spot we love refreshing influence yields;
Beneath our feet a fairy pathway flows;
The grass still flutters in the summer-winds,
The dusky wood and distant copse appear,
And that lone stream, upon whose chequer'd face
We mused, when noon-rays made the pebbles gleam
With gem-like dazzle through the wrinkled tide,
Is mirror'd to the mind: though all around
Be rattling hoofs and roaring wheels, the eye
Seems wandering where the heart delights to dwell.
The eye is faithful to a feeling heart:
When torn from some Arcadian haunt, we thread
The crowded city's unromantic streets,
The spot we love refreshing influence yields;
Beneath our feet a fairy pathway flows;
The grass still flutters in the summer-winds,
The dusky wood and distant copse appear,
And that lone stream, upon whose chequer'd face
We mused, when noon-rays made the pebbles gleam
With gem-like dazzle through the wrinkled tide,
Is mirror'd to the mind: though all around
Be rattling hoofs and roaring wheels, the eye
Seems wandering where the heart delights to dwell.
Are there not hours of an immortal birth,
Bright visitations from a purer Sphere,—
A trance of glory, when the Mind to heaven
Attuned, can out of dreams her worlds create?
Oh! none are so absorb'd, as not to feel
Those calming thoughts which harmonise the mind.
When prayer, the purest incense of a soul,
Hath risen to the Throne of heaven, the heart
Is mellow'd; and the shadows which becloud
Our state of darken'd being, glide away;
The heavens are open'd; and the eye of Faith
Looks in, and hath a mystic glance of God!
Bright visitations from a purer Sphere,—
A trance of glory, when the Mind to heaven
Attuned, can out of dreams her worlds create?
Oh! none are so absorb'd, as not to feel
Those calming thoughts which harmonise the mind.
When prayer, the purest incense of a soul,
Hath risen to the Throne of heaven, the heart
Is mellow'd; and the shadows which becloud
Our state of darken'd being, glide away;
The heavens are open'd; and the eye of Faith
Looks in, and hath a mystic glance of God!
And, Genius, undisputed gift of heaven,
From Thee what feelings flow! the passions own
Thy sway, and waken at thy quickening power
Like flowers expanding to the breath of morn.
Then bind his temples with a fadeless wreath;
Give him the proudest seat, a princely rank
And all the deeper homage of the mind,
Who like a god among mankind is felt,
And, from the purest sunshine of his soul
Sends forth the rays which glorify the world!
From Thee what feelings flow! the passions own
Thy sway, and waken at thy quickening power
Like flowers expanding to the breath of morn.
Then bind his temples with a fadeless wreath;
Give him the proudest seat, a princely rank
And all the deeper homage of the mind,
Who like a god among mankind is felt,
And, from the purest sunshine of his soul
Sends forth the rays which glorify the world!
Who hath not felt the might of genius rise,
And stir his spirit to a storm of thought?
Oh! had I kingdoms, I would yield them all
To him, whose thoughts like angel-wings exalt
The fancy, and a thousand springs unlock
Of feeling, that have never gush'd before.
So noble is such joy, that I have blush'd
For all dark thoughts, for all demeaning cares.
In such rapt mood our solitude is fill'd
With bright creations; and clysian scenes
Ope in a vision on the eye of Thought.
Thus charm'd by Genius, hie thee to the haunts
Where Nature shows her blooming face! how bright
The sun, how beautiful the liquid air,—
Like floating music! and the soft-toned wind
Around thee warbling like a conscious joy.
A veil of beauty o'er the world is drawn,
Till thy heart seems to beat for all mankind,
And, full of glorious feeling, thou wouldst fain
Become an Angel to adore thy God,—
A more than mortal to complete His praise.
And stir his spirit to a storm of thought?
Oh! had I kingdoms, I would yield them all
To him, whose thoughts like angel-wings exalt
The fancy, and a thousand springs unlock
Of feeling, that have never gush'd before.
So noble is such joy, that I have blush'd
For all dark thoughts, for all demeaning cares.
In such rapt mood our solitude is fill'd
With bright creations; and clysian scenes
Ope in a vision on the eye of Thought.
Thus charm'd by Genius, hie thee to the haunts
Where Nature shows her blooming face! how bright
The sun, how beautiful the liquid air,—
Like floating music! and the soft-toned wind
Around thee warbling like a conscious joy.
A veil of beauty o'er the world is drawn,
Till thy heart seems to beat for all mankind,
And, full of glorious feeling, thou wouldst fain
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A more than mortal to complete His praise.
And will not Mind a beauteous influence yield?
Oh, glorious 'tis, amid some room antique
To study, all alone, those pictured Shapes
From the soul's Eden call'd! where genius sheds
Spells of entrancement round you; and while the eye
Banquets on beauty, from a painter's soul.
Whether a landscape, whose ethereal lights
Like gleams upon the water, glow o'er tree
And bower, and sky luxuriantly bespread,
Or love-shaped forms, or features angel-bright
Float o'er the enamour'd gaze,—a rich
Excess, a harmony of feeling rules
The fancy, when again the world we greet;
The mind with loveliness is bathed, which yearns
Enchantment over common scenes to throw,
And make dull earth draw nearer heaven, at last!
Oh, glorious 'tis, amid some room antique
To study, all alone, those pictured Shapes
From the soul's Eden call'd! where genius sheds
Spells of entrancement round you; and while the eye
Banquets on beauty, from a painter's soul.
Whether a landscape, whose ethereal lights
Like gleams upon the water, glow o'er tree
And bower, and sky luxuriantly bespread,
Or love-shaped forms, or features angel-bright
Float o'er the enamour'd gaze,—a rich
Excess, a harmony of feeling rules
The fancy, when again the world we greet;
The mind with loveliness is bathed, which yearns
Enchantment over common scenes to throw,
And make dull earth draw nearer heaven, at last!
Who hath not felt the spirit of a Voice,
Its echo haunt him in romantic hours?
From Melody's own lip who hath not heard
Sounds which become a music to his mind?
Music is heaven-born! In the festal home
When throbs a lyre, as if instinct with life,
And some sweet mouth is full of song, how soon
From eye to eye a rapture flows, from heart
To heart! while, floating from the past, the Forms
We love, are re-created; and the smile
Which lights the cheek is mirror'd on the heart.
So beautiful the potency of sound,
There is a magic in the homely chime
Of village-bells; I love to hear them roll
Upon the breeze; like voices from the Dead
They seem to hail us from a viewless World!
Its echo haunt him in romantic hours?
From Melody's own lip who hath not heard
Sounds which become a music to his mind?
Music is heaven-born! In the festal home
When throbs a lyre, as if instinct with life,
And some sweet mouth is full of song, how soon
From eye to eye a rapture flows, from heart
To heart! while, floating from the past, the Forms
We love, are re-created; and the smile
Which lights the cheek is mirror'd on the heart.
So beautiful the potency of sound,
There is a magic in the homely chime
Of village-bells; I love to hear them roll
Upon the breeze; like voices from the Dead
They seem to hail us from a viewless World!
And yet, nor music, nor the painter's mind
Upon the canvas breathed, a charm imprints
So deeply-faithful, as the piercing glance
Of young-eyed Beauty. Beauty!—she hath been
The witching tyrant of the universe
Since her young blush in Paradise began;
Her throne Time cannot shake; stern Wisdom bows
Before her; warriors are her slaves; and half
The vassal world hath worshipp'd at her feet!
Her glance is conquest; and the Mind is moved
Like air by music haunted, when her name
Melts on the ear, and makes the heart serene.
Then, cursed be he that with unhallow'd eye
Can look on Beauty; which for heaven is born,
The boast of nature, and the spell of souls!
Upon the canvas breathed, a charm imprints
So deeply-faithful, as the piercing glance
Of young-eyed Beauty. Beauty!—she hath been
The witching tyrant of the universe
Since her young blush in Paradise began;
Her throne Time cannot shake; stern Wisdom bows
Before her; warriors are her slaves; and half
The vassal world hath worshipp'd at her feet!
Her glance is conquest; and the Mind is moved
Like air by music haunted, when her name
Melts on the ear, and makes the heart serene.
Then, cursed be he that with unhallow'd eye
Can look on Beauty; which for heaven is born,
The boast of nature, and the spell of souls!
| The Poetical Works of Robert Montgomery | |