 | Poetical Works of Lionel Johnson |  |
SANCTA SILVARUM
To the Earl Russell.
I
Deep music of the ancient forest!Through glades and coverts with thy magic winding;
And in the silence of our hushed hearts finding
Tremulous echoes of thy murmur,
Unshapen thoughts thronging and throbbing:
O music of the mystery, that embraces
All forest depths, and footless far-off places!
Thou art the most high voice of nature,
Thou art the voice of unseen singers,
Vanishing ever deeper through the clinging
Thickets, and under druid branches winging
A flight, that draws our eyes to follow:
Yet, following, find they only forest;
But lonely forest, stately melancholy,
A consecrated stillness, old and holy;
Commanding us to hail with homage
Powers, that we see not, hid in beauty:
A majesty immeasurable; a glorious
Conclave of angels: wherewithal victorious,
The Lord of venerable forests,
Murmuring sanctuaries and cloisters,
Proclaims his kingdom over our emotion:
71
Thunders tremendous laws, in tempest
Embattled between winds and waters.
O mighty friendship of mysterious forces,
O servants of one Will! Stars in their courses,
Flowers in their fragrance, in their music
Winged winds, and lightnings in their fierceness!
These are the world's magnalities and splendours:
At touch of these, the adoring spirit renders
Glory, and praise, and passionate silence.
1886.
II
The moon labours through black cloud,
Through the vast night, dark and proud:
The windy wood dances.
Still the massed heavens drive along:
And, of all night's fiery throng,
The moon alone glances.
Through the vast night, dark and proud:
The windy wood dances.
Still the massed heavens drive along:
And, of all night's fiery throng,
The moon alone glances.
How the lights are wild and strange!
Only one light doth not change,
From living fires flowing:
Where, on fragrant banks of fern,
Steadily and stilly burn
The greenwood worms glowing.
Only one light doth not change,
From living fires flowing:
Where, on fragrant banks of fern,
Steadily and stilly burn
The greenwood worms glowing.
Going down the forest side,
The night robs me of all pride,
By gloom and by splendour.
High, away, alone, afar,
Mighty wills and workings are:
To them I surrender.
The night robs me of all pride,
By gloom and by splendour.
High, away, alone, afar,
Mighty wills and workings are:
To them I surrender.
72
The processions of the night,
Sweeping clouds and battling light,
And wild winds in thunder,
Care not for the world of man,
Passionate on another plan:
O twin worlds of wonder!
Sweeping clouds and battling light,
And wild winds in thunder,
Care not for the world of man,
Passionate on another plan:
O twin worlds of wonder!
Ancients of dark majesty!
Priests of splendid mystery!
The Powers of Night cluster:
In the shadows of the trees,
Dreams, that no man lives and sees,
The dreams! the dreams! muster.
Priests of splendid mystery!
The Powers of Night cluster:
In the shadows of the trees,
Dreams, that no man lives and sees,
The dreams! the dreams! muster.
Move not! for the night wind stirs:
And the night wind ministers
To dreams, and their voices:
Ah! the wild moon earthward bowed
From that tyranny of cloud:
The dim wood rejoices.
And the night wind ministers
To dreams, and their voices:
Ah! the wild moon earthward bowed
From that tyranny of cloud:
The dim wood rejoices.
What do I here? What am I,
Who may comprehend nor sky,
Nor trees, nor dreams thronging?
Over moonlight dark clouds drive:
The vast midnight is alive
With magical longing.
Who may comprehend nor sky,
Nor trees, nor dreams thronging?
Over moonlight dark clouds drive:
The vast midnight is alive
With magical longing.
1889.
III
Through the fresh woods there fleet
Fawns, with bright eyes, light feet:
Bright eyes, and feet that spurn
The pure green fern.
Fawns, with bright eyes, light feet:
Bright eyes, and feet that spurn
The pure green fern.
73
Headed by leaping does,
The swift procession goes
Through thickets, over lawns:
Followed by fawns.
The swift procession goes
Through thickets, over lawns:
Followed by fawns.
Over slopes, over glades,
Down dells and leafy shades,
Away the quick deer troop:
A wildwood group.
Down dells and leafy shades,
Away the quick deer troop:
A wildwood group.
Under the forest airs,
A life of grace is theirs:
Courtly their look; they seem
Things of a dream.
A life of grace is theirs:
Courtly their look; they seem
Things of a dream.
Some say, but who can say?
That a charmed troop are they:
Once youths and maidens white!
These may be right.
That a charmed troop are they:
Once youths and maidens white!
These may be right.
1889.
IV
Over me, beeches broad beneath blue sky
In light winds through their cooling leaves rejoice:
Now, the red squirrel, lithe and wild, runs by;
Anon the wood dove from deep glades, with voice
Of mellow music, lulls the air:
All murmurs of the forest, stirs and cries,
Come stilly down green coverts; the high fern
Smells of rich earth aglow from burning skies.
Hither my greenwood ways love best to turn:
Hither my lone hours gladliest fare.
In light winds through their cooling leaves rejoice:
Now, the red squirrel, lithe and wild, runs by;
Anon the wood dove from deep glades, with voice
Of mellow music, lulls the air:
All murmurs of the forest, stirs and cries,
Come stilly down green coverts; the high fern
Smells of rich earth aglow from burning skies.
Hither my greenwood ways love best to turn:
Hither my lone hours gladliest fare.
74
But not for melancholy solitude;
Not for the fond delight of loneliness:
Though here nor voice, nor alien feet, intrude.
Lone am I: but what lone dreams dare repress
High presences of vanished days?
Long billowy reaches of unnumbered trees
Roll downward from this haunt, and break at length
Against such walls, as no man unmoved sees,
But hails the past of splendour and of strength:
And heights of immemorial praise.
Not for the fond delight of loneliness:
Though here nor voice, nor alien feet, intrude.
Lone am I: but what lone dreams dare repress
High presences of vanished days?
Long billowy reaches of unnumbered trees
Roll downward from this haunt, and break at length
Against such walls, as no man unmoved sees,
But hails the past of splendour and of strength:
And heights of immemorial praise.
That Castle gray, marvellous with mighty years,
Crowning the forest deeps in pride of place:
Towers, royal in their histories of tears,
And royal in their chronicles of grace:
Am I alone, beholding those?
The solitary forest bowers me round:
Yet companies august go through the glade,
Crowned and resplendent! stately and discrowned!
All, solemn from the tragedies they played:
Remembering, each the doom, the close.
Crowning the forest deeps in pride of place:
Towers, royal in their histories of tears,
And royal in their chronicles of grace:
Am I alone, beholding those?
The solitary forest bowers me round:
Yet companies august go through the glade,
Crowned and resplendent! stately and discrowned!
All, solemn from the tragedies they played:
Remembering, each the doom, the close.
Alone! Nay, but almost, would that I were
Alone: too high are these great things for me.
Immeasurable glooms and splendours here
Usurp the calm noon, where my rest should be:
O proud, O ancient Towers! farewell.
I turn from you, and take the world of men:
Gladly I mix me with the common day:
But should they vex me with their tumult: then,
Hither my feet will find the accustomed way;
Then cast once more your heightening spell.
Alone: too high are these great things for me.
Immeasurable glooms and splendours here
Usurp the calm noon, where my rest should be:
O proud, O ancient Towers! farewell.
I turn from you, and take the world of men:
Gladly I mix me with the common day:
But should they vex me with their tumult: then,
Hither my feet will find the accustomed way;
Then cast once more your heightening spell.
1889.
| Poetical Works of Lionel Johnson | |