The Poetical Works of Laman Blanchard With a Memoir by Blanchard Jerrold |
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THE DANCE OF THE PEASANTS.
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| II. |
 | The Poetical Works of Laman Blanchard |  |
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THE DANCE OF THE PEASANTS.
(In the ‘Winter's Tale.’)
Good is as hundreds, evil as one;
Round about goeth the golden sun.
Leigh Hunt's Captain Sword and Captain Pen.
Round about goeth the golden sun.
Leigh Hunt's Captain Sword and Captain Pen.
Sleepest thou, Sufferer? —Sleep denies
The balm of her visions to weeping eyes.
Yet worn with pain and faint with fears,
Oh sweet, sweet Sorrower!—even in tears,
The heart may behold
Glad visions unfold,
An Eden of Love to illumine our years.
The balm of her visions to weeping eyes.
Yet worn with pain and faint with fears,
Oh sweet, sweet Sorrower!—even in tears,
The heart may behold
Glad visions unfold,
An Eden of Love to illumine our years.
Glance for a moment around the gloom,
Silent and deep, of this curtained room.
The sphere of our grief, is it wilder than this?
Now gaze on the landscape, the light that we miss.
Nought seemeth to grieve
This rich summer-eve,
Oh, bliss should be ours when looking on bliss!
Silent and deep, of this curtained room.
The sphere of our grief, is it wilder than this?
Now gaze on the landscape, the light that we miss.
Nought seemeth to grieve
This rich summer-eve,
Oh, bliss should be ours when looking on bliss!
The circle of life, how large! Alas,
For him who perceives but a single class;
Who views this beautiful world with eyes
Untaught to admire and sympathise,
By lessons of love,
Beneath and above,
Flowers on the earth and stars in the skies!
For him who perceives but a single class;
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Untaught to admire and sympathise,
By lessons of love,
Beneath and above,
Flowers on the earth and stars in the skies!
A single flower, a single star,
Breathing beside us, beaming afar,
Has a thousand gazers; whilst thousands moan,
As human happiness dies unknown.
I cannot repine,
If joy may be mine
By making the joy of others mine own.
Breathing beside us, beaming afar,
Has a thousand gazers; whilst thousands moan,
As human happiness dies unknown.
I cannot repine,
If joy may be mine
By making the joy of others mine own.
Delights are ever about and around,
Cunningly hidden, yet easily found;
Pleasures refined, yet sweet to the crowd;
Common, yet precious as pure to the proud:
Sympathies fine,
Ennobling, divine,
Courting as mutely, or carolling loud.
Cunningly hidden, yet easily found;
Pleasures refined, yet sweet to the crowd;
Common, yet precious as pure to the proud:
Sympathies fine,
Ennobling, divine,
Courting as mutely, or carolling loud.
A fond illusion, a shadow, may bless
The soul with the balm of forgetfulness.
Gaze, mourner, again from this dim nook of night;
The landscape-behold, it is beamingly bright
With the forms and features
Of Phantasy's creatures;
Yet living, and real, and breathing delight!
The soul with the balm of forgetfulness.
Gaze, mourner, again from this dim nook of night;
The landscape-behold, it is beamingly bright
With the forms and features
Of Phantasy's creatures;
Yet living, and real, and breathing delight!
202
Call them not phantasies, false as fair;
Humanities only are revelling there.
The spell of the Poet hath given them birth;
Yet poetry is but the voice of our earth,
Relating to Time,
In a music sublime,
On vanity, glory, affliction, and mirth.
Humanities only are revelling there.
The spell of the Poet hath given them birth;
Yet poetry is but the voice of our earth,
Relating to Time,
In a music sublime,
On vanity, glory, affliction, and mirth.
Can poetry brighten the midday blue,
Or give to the grass a greener hue?
'Twas as futile to gild the lustre Love flings
Upon life, or the halo which Charity brings,
Or the bright footprint
Of Peace, or the tint
Of Hope's untamed, untiring wings.
Or give to the grass a greener hue?
'Twas as futile to gild the lustre Love flings
Upon life, or the halo which Charity brings,
Or the bright footprint
Of Peace, or the tint
Of Hope's untamed, untiring wings.
Oh, then not false, this forest scene,
Where these, Life's Genii, gladdens the green;
Where Labour leaps up and laughs in play,
And Age and Youth hold holiday;
Where fond eyes glisten,
And hushed hearts listen;
While gazing, are we less happy than they?
Where these, Life's Genii, gladdens the green;
Where Labour leaps up and laughs in play,
And Age and Youth hold holiday;
Where fond eyes glisten,
And hushed hearts listen;
While gazing, are we less happy than they?
The world is to them, with its sun and shade,
For hours together-that grassy glade;
To them is Death but a deep love-trance,
And the progress of Life but the maze of a dance;
And Heaven rejoices
While human voices
Breathe truth in the tones of sweet romance.
For hours together-that grassy glade;
To them is Death but a deep love-trance,
And the progress of Life but the maze of a dance;
And Heaven rejoices
While human voices
Breathe truth in the tones of sweet romance.
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They feel that of eves like this are born
The golden pleasures of many a morn;
For, trials and toils for a time forgot,
Bright memories spring from the fairy spot.
Oh! well they know
How a single day
Of leisure may lighten a dreary lot.
The golden pleasures of many a morn;
For, trials and toils for a time forgot,
Bright memories spring from the fairy spot.
Oh! well they know
How a single day
Of leisure may lighten a dreary lot.
For they are the Poor! the peasant-roots
Of the social tree, and of all its fruits;
And they prize the flowers that are dropp'd by the throng,
And smile on their weeds, and pass lightly along;
The joys which they court
Of game or of sport,
Are stimulants generous, subtle, and strong.
Of the social tree, and of all its fruits;
And they prize the flowers that are dropp'd by the throng,
And smile on their weeds, and pass lightly along;
The joys which they court
Of game or of sport,
Are stimulants generous, subtle, and strong.
And she
who sitteth, but not alone—
That maiden-queen on her simple throne—
There, with a natural beauty crowned,
Shedding a brightness over the ground—
Amidst the praise
Of many lays,
Distinguishing one love murmuring sound.
That maiden-queen on her simple throne—
There, with a natural beauty crowned,
Shedding a brightness over the ground—
Amidst the praise
Of many lays,
Distinguishing one love murmuring sound.
When stranger lips shall say how she
May match in blood with sovereignty,
Will she, who, among this peasant race,
See fondness and truth in every face,
Be more a queen,
In soul or mien,
Than here in her sylvan dwelling-place?
May match in blood with sovereignty,
Will she, who, among this peasant race,
See fondness and truth in every face,
Be more a queen,
In soul or mien,
Than here in her sylvan dwelling-place?
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But she with a heart untrained to cool
Its warm emotions by courtly rule,
Will smile on the peasant's dance and lay,
And cheer him to prolong his play;
Yon shepherd-boy,
Who pipes for joy,
May pipe perchance an hour a day.
Its warm emotions by courtly rule,
Will smile on the peasant's dance and lay,
And cheer him to prolong his play;
Yon shepherd-boy,
Who pipes for joy,
May pipe perchance an hour a day.
Hers will it be to fling the door
Of gladness open to all the poor,
To seek the peasant's pathway bare,
And plant a rose or two here and there;
Her loving hand
Shall strew the land
With the simple pleasures that all may share.
Of gladness open to all the poor,
To seek the peasant's pathway bare,
And plant a rose or two here and there;
Her loving hand
Shall strew the land
With the simple pleasures that all may share.
Hers, too, to teach how treasure is lost
By gaining treasures at others' cost;
How luxury pines when pine the Poor;
Like him who destroyed his garden-store
Of blossoms and trees,
That his neighbour's bees
Might gather their honey there no more.
By gaining treasures at others' cost;
How luxury pines when pine the Poor;
Like him who destroyed his garden-store
Of blossoms and trees,
That his neighbour's bees
Might gather their honey there no more.
Oh! beautiful vision, thanks to thee,
For showing how happy the humble may be;
How little is wanting to gild the gloom
Of Industry toiling its way to the tomb!
For a spirit is there
In that greenwood fair,
The limb to sustain and the mind to illume.
For showing how happy the humble may be;
How little is wanting to gild the gloom
Of Industry toiling its way to the tomb!
For a spirit is there
In that greenwood fair,
The limb to sustain and the mind to illume.
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Comfort thee, mourner! commonest things
Often contain most delicate springs;
The loveliest forms are not the rarest,
Costliest joys are seldom fairest;
The garden shines
More than the mines;
To hope is to have—yet thou despairest?
Often contain most delicate springs;
The loveliest forms are not the rarest,
Costliest joys are seldom fairest;
The garden shines
More than the mines;
To hope is to have—yet thou despairest?
Who cannot count, the dreariest here,
A hundred smiles for every tear?
The pleasure of others lessens our pain,
And memory multiplies all again.
Nature is kind!
Shall we be blind,
When even her dreams are not woven in vain!
A hundred smiles for every tear?
The pleasure of others lessens our pain,
And memory multiplies all again.
Nature is kind!
Shall we be blind,
When even her dreams are not woven in vain!
1836.
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