The Poetical Works of David Macbeth Moir :: :: University of Virginia Library

The Poetical Works of David Macbeth Moir

Edited by Thomas Aird: With A Memoir of the Author

Moir, D. M. (1798-1851)

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POEMS ON FLOWERS.

THE BIRTH OF THE FLOWERS.

II.

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POEMS ON FLOWERS.

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THE BIRTH OF THE FLOWERS.

A VISION.

I.

Once on a time, when all was still,
When midnight mantled vale and hill,
And over earth the stars were keeping
Their lustrous watch, it has been said,
A Poet on his couch lay sleeping,
As pass'd a vision through his head:
It may be rash—it can't be wrong
To pencil what he saw in song;
And if we go not far amiss,
'Twas this—or something like to this.

II.

Firstly, through parting mists, his eye
The snowy mountain-peaks explored,
Where, in the dizzying gulfs of sky,
The daring eagle wheel'd and soar'd;

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And, as subsiding lower, they
Own'd the bright empire of the day,
Softly array'd in living green,
The summits of the hills were seen,
On which the orient radiance play'd,
Girt with their garlands of broad trees,
Whose foliage twinkled in the breeze,
And form'd a lattice-work of shade:
And darker still, and deeper still,
As widen'd out each shelving hill,
Dispersing placidly they show'd
The destined plains for Man's abode—
Meadow, and mount, and champaign wide;
And sempiternal forests, where
Wild beasts and birds find food and lair;
And verdant copse by river side,
Which threading these—a silver line—
Was seen afar to wind and shine
Down to the mighty Sea that wound
Islands and continents around,
And, like a snake of monstrous birth,
In its grim folds encircled earth!

III.

Then wider as awoke the day,
Was seen a speck—a tiny wing
That, from the sward, drifting away,
Rose up at heaven's gate, to sing
A matin hymn melodious: Hark!
That orison!—it was the lark,

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Hailing the advent of the sun,
Forth like a racer come to run
His fiery course; in brilliant day
The vapours vanishing away,
Had left to his long march a clear,
Cloud-unencumber'd atmosphere;
And glow'd, as on a map unfurl'd,
The panorama of the world.

IV.

Fair was the landscape—very fair—
Yet something still was wanting there;
Something, as 'twere, to lend the whole
Material world a type of soul.
The Dreamer wist not what might be
The thing a-lacking; but while he
Ponder'd in heart the matter over,
Floating between him and the ray
Of the now warm refulgent day,
What is it that his eyes discover?
As through the fields of air it flew,
Larger it loom'd, and fairer grew
That form of beauty and of grace,
Which bore of grosser worlds no trace,
Until, as Earth's green plains it near'd,
Confest, an Angel's self appeared.

V.

Eye could not gaze on shape so bright,
Which from its atmosphere of light,

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And love, and beauty, shed around,
From every winnow of her wings,
Upon the fainting air, perfumes
Sweeter than Thought's imaginings;
And at each silent bend of grace,
The Dreamer's raptured eye could trace,
(Far richer than the peacock's plumes,)
A rainbow shadow on the ground,
As if from out Elysium's bowers,
From brightest gold to deepest blue,
Blossoms of every form and hue
Had fallen to earth in radiant showers.

VI.

Vainly would human words convey
Spiritual music, or portray
Seraphic loveliness—the grace
Flowing like glory from that face,—
Which, as 'twas said of Una's, made
Where'er the sinless virgin stray'd,
A sunshine in the shady place:
The snow-drop was her brow; the rose
Her cheek; her clear full gentle eye
The violet in its deepest dye;
The lily of the Nile her nose;
Before the crimson of her lips
Carnations waned in dim eclipse;
And downwards o'er her shoulders white,
As the white rose in fullest blow,

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Her floating tresses took delight
To curl in hyacinthine flow:
Her vesture seem'd as from the blooms
Of all the circling seasons wove,
With magic warp in fairy looms,
And tissued with the woof of Love.

VII.

Transcendent joy!—a swoon of bliss!
Was ever rapture like to this?
Spell-bound as if in ecstasy,
The visionary's half-shut eye
Drank in those rich, celestial gleams,
Which dart from dreams involved in dreams;
When, as 'twere from a harp of Heaven,
Whose tones are to the breezes given,
While from the ocean zephyr sighs,
And twilight veils Creation's eyes,
In music thus a voice awoke,
And to his wilder'd senses spoke:—

VIII.

“'Tis true man's earth is very fair,
A dwelling meet for Eden's heir”—
Flowing like honey from her tongue,
'Twas thus the syllables were sung—
“And true, that there is wanting there
A something yet: What can it be?
Is it not this?—look up, and see!”

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IX.

First, heavenward, with refulgent smile,
She glanced, then earthward turn'd the while;
From out her lap, she scatter'd round
Its riches of all scents and hues—
Scarlets and saffrons, pinks and blues;
And sow'd with living gems the ground.
The rose to eastern plains she gave;
The lily to the western wave;
The violet to the south; and forth
The thistle to the hardy north:
Then, in triumphant ecstasy,
Glancing across wide earth her eye,
She flung abroad her arms in air,
And daisies sprang up everywhere.

X.

“And let these be”—than song of birds
Harmonious more, 'twas thus her words
Prolong'd their sweetness—“let these be
For symbols and for signs to Thee,
Forthcoming Man, for whom was made
This varied world of sun and shade:
Fair in its hills and valleys, fair
In groves, and glades, and forest bowers,
The Genii of the earth and air
Have lavish'd their best offerings there;
And mine I now have brought him—Flowers!

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These, these are mine especial care;
And I have given them form and hue,
For ornament and emblem too:
Let them be symbols to the sense,
(For they are passionless and pure,
And sinless quite,) that innocence
Alone can happiness secure.
Nursed by the sunshine and the shower,
Buds grow to blossoms on the eye,
And having pass'd their destined hour,
Vanish away all painlessly—
For sorrowing days and sleepless nights
Are only Sin's dread perquisites—
As each returning spring fresh races,
Alike in beauty and in bloom,
Shall rise to occupy their places,
And shed on every breeze perfume.

XI.

“Then let them teach him—Faith. They grow,
But how and wherefore never know:—
The morning bathes them with its dew,
When fades in heaven its latest star;
The sunshine gives them lustre new,
And shows to noon each varied hue,
Than Fancy's dreams more beauteous far;
And night maternal muffles up
In her embrace each tender cup.
They toil not, neither do they spin,

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And yet so exquisite their bloom,
Nor mimic Art, nor Tyrian loom
Shall e'er to their perfection win.
For million millions though they be,
And like to each, the searcher not
From out the whole one pair shall see
Identical in stripe and spot.

XII.

“To Spring these gifts,” the Angel said,
“I give;”—and from her cestus she,
Forth to the Zephyrs liberally,
A sparkling handful scattered
Of seeds, like golden dust that fell
On mountain-side, and plain, and dell.
Hence sprang that earliest drop, whose hue
Is taintless as the new-fall'n snows;
The crocus, yellow-striped and blue;
The daffodil, and rathe primrose;
The colts-foot, with its leaflets white;
The cyclamen and aconite;
The violet's purpureal gem;
The golden star of Bethlehem;
Auriculus; narcissi bent,
As 'twere in worship o'er the stream;
Anemones, in languishment,
As just awakening from a dream;
And myriads not less sweet or bright,
Dusky as jet, or red as flames,

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That glorify the day and night,
Unending, with a thousand names.

XIII.

“My vows are thus to Summer paid,”
She added, as she shower'd abroad,
O'er mount and mead, o'er glen and glade,
A sleet-like dust, which, o'er the ground
In countless atoms falling round,
Like rubies, pearls, and sapphires glow'd:
The pansy, and the fleur-de-lis,
Straightway arose in bloom; sweet pea,
The marigold of aureate hue,
The periwinkles white and blue,
The heliotrope afar to shine,
The cistus and the columbine,
The lily of the vale: and queen
Of all the bright red rose was seen
Matchless in majesty and mien.
Around were over-arching bowers,
Of lilac and laburnum, wove
With jasmine; and the undergrove
Glow'd bright with rhododendron flowers.

XIV.

“Nor shalt thou, Autumn”—thus her words
Found ending—“Nor shalt thou be left,
With thy blue skies and singing birds,
Of favours, all thine own, bereft;

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The foxglove, with its stately bells
Of purple, shall adorn thy dells;
The wallflower, on each rifted rock,
From liberal blossoms shall breathe down,
(Gold blossoms frecked with iron-brown,)
Its fragrance; while the holly-hock,
The pink, and the carnation vie
With lupin, and with lavender,
To decorate the fading year;
And larkspurs, many-hued, shall drive
Gloom from the groves, where red leaves lie,
And Nature seems but half alive.

XV.

“No! never quite shall disappear
The glory of the circling year;—
Fade shall it never quite, if flowers
An emblem of existence be;
The golden rod shall flourish free,
And laurestini shall weave bowers
For Winter; while the Christmas rose
Shall blossom, though it be 'mid snows.

XVI.

“Meanings profounder, loftier lie
In all we see, in all we hear,
Than merely strike the common eye,
Than merely meet the careless ear;

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And meekly Man must bend his knee
On Nature's temple-floor, if he
Would master her philosophy.—
It is not given alone to flowers
To brighten with their hue the hours;
But with a silence all sublime,
They chronicle the march of Time,
As month on month, in transience fast,
Commingles with the spectral past.
Some shall endure for seasons; they
Shall blossom on the breath of Spring;
Shall bourgeon gloriously the blue,
Refulgent, sunny Summer through;
And only shall the feebler ray
Of Autumn find them withering:
Others shall with the crescent Moon
Grow up in pride, to fade as soon:
Yea! not a few shall with the day
That saw them burst to bloom—decay;
Even like the babe, that opes its eye
To light, and seems but born to die.

XVII.

“By hieroglyphic hue and sign,
Flowers shall the heart and soul divine,
And all the feelings that engage
Man's restless thoughts from youth to age:
This blossom shall note infancy,
Lifting in earliest spring its eye

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To dewy dawn, and drinking thence
The purity of innocence;
That—vigorous youth, which from the hue
Of summer skies, imbibes its blue,
And bursts abroad, as if to say
‘Can lusty strength like mine decay?’
This—Life's autumnal date, which takes
A colouring from the breeze which shakes
The yellowing woods; and that—old age,
Which comes when Winter drifts the fields
With snow, and, prostrate to his rage
Tyrannical, bows down and yields.

XVIII.

“Yea! all the passions that impart
Their varied workings to the heart,
That stir to hate or calm to love,
That glory or debasement prove,
In flowers are imaged:—O! discern
In them recondite homilies; learn
The silent lessons which they teach;
For clearer vision shall explain,
Hereafter, what pertains to each,
And that nought made was made in vain!”

XIX.

As melts in music, far aloof,
Amid the chancel's galleried roof,
The organ's latest tone; as dies
The glorious rainbow, ray by ray,

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Leaving no trace on the blue skies,
So sank that voice, that form away.

XX.

And what of the bewilder'd Poet,
On whom had fallen this flowery vision?
Cruel it seems, yet Truth must show it,—
He started from his dream Elysian;
But if 'twas at an Angel's calling,
Sure 'twas a fallen one; his eyes
And ears were shut from Paradise,
To listen—to the watchman bawling!

RHODOCLEA'S GARLAND.

I.

This garland of fair flowers, by me
Fondly wreathed, I send to thee,
Rhodoclea!
Lily, and love-cup are there,
Anemone with dewy hair,
Freshest violets dark-blue,
And the moist narcissus too,
Rhodoclea!

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II.

Being crown'd with these, aside
Cast all vain, unmeaning pride,
Rhodoclea!
Cast vainglorious pride away;
Alike the pageants of a day,
Thou dost cease, and so do they,
Rhodoclea!

THE EGLANTINE.

The sun was setting in the summer west
With golden glory, 'mid pavilions vast
Of purple and gold; scarcely a zephyr breathed;
The woods in their umbrageous beauty slept;
The river with a soft sound murmured on;
Sweetly the wild birds sang; and far away
The azure-shouldered mountains, softly lined,
Seemed like the boundaries of Paradise.

Soft fell the eve: my wanderings led me on
To a lone river bank of yellow sand,—
The loved haunt of the ousel, whose blithe wing
Wanton'd from stone to stone,—and, on a mound

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Of verdurous turf with wild-flowers diamonded,
(Harebell and lychnis, thyme and camomile,)
Sprang in the majesty of natural pride
An Eglantine—the red rose of the wood—
Its cany boughs with threatening prickles arm'd,
Rich in its blossoms and sweet-scented leaves.

The wild-rose has a nameless spell for me;
And never on the road-side do mine eyes
Behold it, but at once my thoughts revert
To schoolboy days: why so, I scarcely know;
Except that once, while wandering with my mates,
One gorgeous afternoon, when holiday
To Nature lent new charms, a thunder-storm
O'ertook us, cloud on cloud—a mass of black,
Dashing at once the blue sky from our view,
And spreading o'er the dim and dreary hills
A lurid mantle.

To a leafy screen
We fled, of elms; and from the rushing rain
And hail found shelter, though at every flash
Of the red lightning, brightly heralding
The thunder-peal, within each bosom died
The young heart, and the day of doom seemed come.

At length the rent battalia cleared away—
The tempest-cloven clouds; and sudden fell
A streak of joyful sunshine. On a bush
Of wild-rose fell its beauty. All was dark
Around it still, and dismal; but the beam

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(Like Hope sent down to re-illume Despair)
Burned on the bush, displaying every leaf,
And bud, and blossom, with such perfect light
And exquisite splendour, that since then my heart
Hath deemed it Nature's favourite, and mine eyes
Fall on it never, but that thought recurs,
And memories of the by-past, sad and sweet.

THE WHITE ROSE.

I

Rose of the desert! thou art to me
An emblem of stainless purity,—
Of those who, keeping their garments white,
Walk on through life with steps aright.

II

Thy fragrance breathes of the fields above,
Whose soil and air are faith and love;
And where, by the murmur of silver springs,
The Cherubim fold their snow-white wings;—

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III

Where those who were severed re-meet in joy,
Which death can never more destroy;
Where scenes without, and where souls within,
Are blanched from taint and touch of sin;—

IV

Where speech is music, and breath is balm;
And broods an everlasting calm;
And flowers wither not, as in worlds like this;
And hope is swallowed in perfect bliss;—

V

Where all is peaceful, for all is pure;
And all is lovely, and all endure;
And day is endless and ever bright;
And no more sea is, and no more night;—

VI

Where round the Throne, in hues like thine,
The raiments of the ransom'd shine;
And o'er each brow a halo glows
Of glory, like the pure White Rose!

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LILIES.

WRITTEN UNDER A DRAWING OF A BUNCH OF THESE FLOWERS IN THE ALBUM OF THE RIGHT HONOURABLE LADY C--- C---.

I

“Look to the lilies how they grow!”
'Twas thus the Saviour said, that we,
Even in the simplest flowers that blow,
God's ever-watchful care might see.

II

Yes! nought escapes the guardian eye
Of Him, who marks the sparrow's fall,
Of Him, who lists the raven's cry—
However vast, however small.

III

Then mourn not we for those we love,
As if all hope were reft away,
Nor let our sorrowing hearts refuse
Submission to His will to pay.

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IV

Shall He, who paints the lily's leaf,
Who gives the rose its scented breath,
Love all His works except the chief,
And leave His image, Man, to death?

V

No! other hearts and hopes be ours,
And to our souls let faith be given
To think our lost friends only flowers
Transplanted from this world to Heaven.

THE HAREBELL.

Simplest of blossoms! to mine eye
Thou bring'st the summer's painted sky;
The maythorn greening in the nook;
The minnows sporting in the brook;
The bleat of flocks; the breath of flowers;
The song of birds amid the bowers;
The crystal of the azure seas;
The music of the southern breeze;
And, over all, the blessed sun,
Telling of halcyon days begun.

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Blue-bell of Scotland, to my gaze,
As wanders Memory through the maze
Of silent, half-forgotten things,
A thousand sweet imaginings
Thou conjurest up—again return
Emotions in my heart to burn,
Which have been long estranged; the sky
Brightens upon my languid eye;
And, for a while, the world I see,
As when my heart first turned to thee,
Lifting thy cup, a lucid gem,
Upon its slender emerald stem.
Again I feel a careless boy,
Roaming the daisied wold in joy;
At noontide, tracking in delight
The butterfly's erratic flight;
Or watching, 'neath the evening star,
The moonrise brightening from afar,
As boomed the beetle o'er the ground,
And shrieked the bat lone flitting round.

Yet though it be, that now thou art
But as a memory to my heart,
Though years have flown, and, in their flight,
Turned hope to sadness, bloom to blight,
And I am changed, yet thou art still
The same bright blossom of the hill,
Catching within thy cup of blue
The summer light and evening dew.

151

Yes! though the wizard Time hath wrought
Strange alteration in my lot,
Though what unto my youthful sight
Appeared most beautiful and bright—
(The morning star, the silver dew,
Heaven's circling arch of cloudless blue,
And setting suns, above the head
Of ragged mountains blazing red)—
Have of their glory lost a part,
As worldly thoughts o'erran the heart;
Still, what of yore thou wert to me,
Blithe Boyhood seeks and finds in thee.
As on the sward reclined he lies,
Shading the sunshine from his eyes,
He sees the lark, with twinkling wings,
For ever soaring as she sings,
And listens to the tiny rill,
Amid its hazels murmuring still,
The while thou bloomest by his knee—
Ah! who more blest on earth than he!

Ah! when in hours by thought o'ercast,
We mete the present with the past,
Seems not this life so full of change,
That we have to ourselves grown strange?
For, differs less the noon from night,
Than what we be from what we might.
The feelings all have known decay;
Our youthful friendships, where are they?

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The glories of the earth and sky
Less touch the heart, less charm the eye;
Yet, as if Nature would not part,
In silent beauty to my heart,
Sweet floweret of the pastoral glen,
Amid the stir, the strife of men,
Thou speakest of all gentle things,
Of bees, and birds, and gushing springs,
The azure lake, the mossy fount,
The plaided shepherd on the mount,
The silence of the vale profound,
And flocks in quiet feeding round!

THE WALL-FLOWER.

I

The Wall-flower—the Wall-flower,
How beautiful it blooms!
It gleams above the ruined tower,
Like sunlight over tombs;
It sheds a halo of repose
Around the wrecks of time.
To beauty give the flaunting rose,
The Wall-flower is sublime.

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II

Flower of the solitary place!
Grey ruin's golden crown,
That lendest melancholy grace
To haunts of old renown;
Thou mantlest o'er the battlement,
By strife or storm decayed;
And fillest up each envious rent
Time's canker-tooth hath made.

III

Thy roots outspread the ramparts o'er,
Where, in war's stormy day,
Percy or Douglas ranged of yore
Their ranks in grim array;
The clangour of the field is fled,
The beacon on the hill
No more through midnight blazes red,
But thou art blooming still!

IV

Whither hath fled the choral band
That fill'd the Abbey's nave?
Yon dark sepulchral yew-trees stand
O'er many a level grave.
In the belfry's crevices, the dove
Her young brood nurseth well,
While thou, lone flower! dost shed above
A sweet decaying smell.

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V

In the season of the tulip-cup,
When blossoms clothe the trees,
How sweet to throw the lattice up,
And scent thee on the breeze;
The butterfly is then abroad,
The bee is on the wing,
And on the hawthorn by the road
The linnets sit and sing.

VI

Sweet Wall-flower—sweet Wall-flower!
Thou conjurest up to me
Full many a soft and sunny hour
Of boyhood's thoughtless glee;
When joy from out the daisies grew,
In woodland pastures green,
And summer skies were far more blue,
Than since they e'er have been.

VII

Now autumn's pensive voice is heard
Amid the yellow bowers,
The robin is the regal bird,
And thou the queen of flowers;
He sings on the laburnum trees,
Amid the twilight dim,
And Araby ne'er gave the breeze
Such scents, as thou to him.

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VIII

Rich is the pink, the lily gay,
The rose is summer's guest;
Bland are thy charms when these decay,
Of flowers—first, last, and best!
There may be gaudier in the bower,
And statelier on the tree;
But Wall-flower—loved Wall-flower,
Thou art the flower for me!

THE DAISY.

I

The Daisy blossoms on the rocks,
Amid the purple heath;
It blossoms on the river's banks,
That thrids the glens beneath:
The eagle, at his pride of place,
Beholds it by his nest;
And, in the mead, it cushions soft
The lark's descending breast.

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II

Before the cuckoo, earliest spring
Its silver circlet knows,
When greening buds begin to swell,
And zephyr melts the snows;
And when December's breezes howl
Along the moorlands bare,
And only blooms the Christmas rose,
The Daisy still is there!

III

Samaritan of flowers! to it
All races are alike,—
The Switzer on his glacier height,
The Dutchman by his Dyke,
The seal-skin vested Esquimaux,
Begirt with icy seas,
And, underneath his burning noon,
The parasol'd Chinese.

IV

The emigrant on distant shore,
'Mid scenes and faces strange,
Beholds it flowering in the sward,
Where'er his footsteps range;
And when his yearning, home-sick heart
Would bow to its despair,
It reads his eye a lesson sage,
That God is everywhere!

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V

Stars are the Daisies that begem
The blue fields of the sky,
Beheld by all, and everywhere,
Bright prototypes on high:—
Bloom on, then, unpretending flower!
And to the waverer be
An emblem of St Paul's content,
St Stephen's constancy.

THE SWEET-BRIAR.

I

The Sweet-briar flowering,
With boughs embowering,
Beside the willow-tufted stream,
In its soft red bloom,
And its wild perfume,
Brings back the past like a sunny dream!

II

Methinks, in childhood,
Beside the wildwood
I lie, and listen the blackbird's song,

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'Mid the evening calm,
As the Sweet-briar's balm
On the gentle west wind breathes along—

III

To speak of meadows,
And palm-tree shadows,
And bee-hive cones, and a thymy hill,
And greenwood mazes,
And greensward daisies,
And a foamy stream, and a clacking mill.

IV

Still the heart rejoices
At the happy voices
Of children, singing amid their play;
While swallows twittering,
And waters glittering,
Make earth an Eden at close of day.

V

In sequestered places,
Departed faces,
Return and smile as of yore they smiled;
When, with trifles blest,
Each buoyant breast
Held the trusting heart of a little child.