The Works of The Ettrick Shepherd Centenary Edition. With a Memoir of the Author, by the Rev. Thomas Thomson ... Poems and Life. With Many Illustrative Engravings [by James Hogg] |
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Storm of Thunder among Mountains.
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 | The Works of The Ettrick Shepherd |  |
Storm of Thunder among Mountains.
“No; such a day I find not registered
In my old worn-out memory, although there
The calendar's distinct and legible.
Full sixty years I've sojourned 'neath these rocks:
Look at them, stranger—these dim hideous cliffs,
That wrangle with the heavens. These to me
Are as my kindred; each aërial sound
That comes down from these hoary monitors
Hath language in it. The old raven's voice
Is to me as a brother's; and the eagle
From off his morning cliff tells me the tidings
Of days to come. The cataract's changing note,
Its trumpet tones, and its soft swelling melody,
Have all an utterance. Here I am as much
A thing of nature, of the wilderness,
As cloud or cliff, eagle or sounding stream—
A shred of the ever-changing elements.
In my old worn-out memory, although there
The calendar's distinct and legible.
382
Look at them, stranger—these dim hideous cliffs,
That wrangle with the heavens. These to me
Are as my kindred; each aërial sound
That comes down from these hoary monitors
Hath language in it. The old raven's voice
Is to me as a brother's; and the eagle
From off his morning cliff tells me the tidings
Of days to come. The cataract's changing note,
Its trumpet tones, and its soft swelling melody,
Have all an utterance. Here I am as much
A thing of nature, of the wilderness,
As cloud or cliff, eagle or sounding stream—
A shred of the ever-changing elements.
“But on that dreadful day my ample book,
The great vocabulary of nature, closed,
And voices more triumphant went abroad.
Can'st thou divulge me, traveller; were the spirits
Of the vast deep let loose, trying to shake
And shiver this fair universe to pieces?
Or did the eternal God himself descend
Upon our mountains?”
The great vocabulary of nature, closed,
And voices more triumphant went abroad.
Can'st thou divulge me, traveller; were the spirits
Of the vast deep let loose, trying to shake
And shiver this fair universe to pieces?
Or did the eternal God himself descend
Upon our mountains?”
“It was nature all,
Nothing but nature's self, be thou assured,
Most venerable hind; but thou hast seen her
In temporary and strong convulsion.”
Nothing but nature's self, be thou assured,
Most venerable hind; but thou hast seen her
In temporary and strong convulsion.”
“No; I know all her features, all her hues,
And all her thousand voices. Yon fleet clouds,
Which I term billows of the firmament—
Look to them, traveller: how they heave, and sail
From cliff to cliff, roll down into the chasms,
Then rise from the opposing steeps like spray—
Is it not grand?—And think'st thou I not know
Each boding hue, each movement, and each shade,
Of that aërial ocean? What am I
But as a wave of it? and dost thou think,
Old as I am, that I not know myself?
And all her thousand voices. Yon fleet clouds,
Which I term billows of the firmament—
Look to them, traveller: how they heave, and sail
From cliff to cliff, roll down into the chasms,
Then rise from the opposing steeps like spray—
Is it not grand?—And think'st thou I not know
Each boding hue, each movement, and each shade,
Of that aërial ocean? What am I
But as a wave of it? and dost thou think,
Old as I am, that I not know myself?
“You children of the valley live and think
As such behoves, amid the reign of man;
Look on these regions of sublimity,
Changing their shades to all infinitude,
Yet still the same—This is the reign of God!
As such behoves, amid the reign of man;
Look on these regions of sublimity,
Changing their shades to all infinitude,
Yet still the same—This is the reign of God!
“Stare not, I am no maniac. Sit thee down,
While I describe that morning as I saw it
From this same spot.—I rose and looked around;
The hour told that the morning was advanced,
But Heaven said, No. Methought the sun had stood
Still o'er the valley of Jehoshaphat,
Or that the night of Egypt had returned.
It was a hideous twilight. No bird sung;
The flocks forgot to feed, and stood and gazed,
Nor wist they what to dread. Sometimes I heard
A tremulous bleat come from the hills, and then
It came in such a tone it frightened me.
Still darker grew the morn; the brooding cloud
Lean'd its grim bosom deeper o'er the glen;
The heavens and earth were mingled, closed around
And here was I, an old and trembling thing,
Immured between them. For my hills I looked;
I looked to heaven, and for the blessed sun,
But all were lost—all curtained in together
In one impervious veil. I prayed to God,
And waited the event. Forthwith arose
A rushing sound somewhere above my head,
Whether in earth or heaven, in rock or cloud,
I could not tell; but nearer still it came,
And louder and more furious was the sound,
Like many torrents rushing on the wind.
Anon I saw the bosom of the cloud
Begin to heave and work with boiling motion,
And on its murky breast strange hues arose
Of dull and pallid blue, or muffled red,
While frightful openings yawned and closed again.
Nature lay on a bed of travailing;
Now strong convulsions, throes, and wrestlings,
Showed that with serpent birth her breast would rend:
Short then the pause and troubled, ere I saw
The heaven's slow swarthy bosom burst asunder,
And rain, and hail, and bolts of liquid flame
Issued at once. No sooner had the blaze
Dazzled my sight, than from the inmost cloud
The voice of the Eternal God came forth
As if in tenfold wrath; while every cave,
And every echo of these frowning cliffs
Shouted and jabbered as in mockery.
How my heart trembled! and a chillness crept
O'er all my frame; for such a rending crash,
So loud and so prolonged, ne'er stunned the ear
Of sinful worm. Fain would I have rebuked
The hills for such unholy mimicry,
For every rock, ravine, and yawning bourn,
Nay, every tiny clough, sent forth its thunder,
Jarring it proudly: Thus with every peal
Ten thousand thunders issued forth their voices.
Forgive me, stranger, but at times I deemed
The palaces of heaven were rent asunder,
And clattering down the air. The hills were smitten
For their presumption; for the lightning struck
And wounded their green bosoms; and their rocks,
Their proudest peaks were splintered and o'erthrown
By these fleet darts from the Almighty's hand,
And toppled down their sides with feeble sound,
As in confession of their nothingness
Before their Maker's anger. First the hail
Burst through its sable shroud, and strewed the land
With whitened desolation; then the doors,
The flood-gates of that dark impending tide,
Were all let loose, and on the prostrate earth
The mighty cataracts of the heaven descended;
From these proud mountains poured a thousand streams,
Where streams before ne'er ran, and every one
Pelting and foaming 'gainst all opposition
With upstart insolence, as who should say
Here am I; who dare bar my mighty course?
Then, ever and anon, the rending peal
Made the rocks chatter, rolled from hill to hill,
And boomed along the sky. Oh, such a scene
These old dim eyes shall never look upon,
Nor these ears listen, in this earthly frame!
Then tell not me of nature's operations;
That was no produce of her onward work,
But a dire judgment and a grievous one,
As all the land hath found. My Bible calls
Thunder the voice of the Eternal God.
For me, I had a thought, a sinful one,
But I must tell it:—I did dread the fiends
Had met in conclave in that hollow cloud,
That seemed in burning colic with the mass
Within its hideous womb. The gleaming bolts
I deemed the arrows of the Almighty, sent
To scatter and confound them. Then the roars
In still redoubled violence that ensued,
I weened the clamour of outraged demons
Bellowing in wrathful anguish. Then methought
I heard them growling in their burning chariots
Far, far away, above the fields of air,
One after one. It was a passing thought,
A wild and sinful one—God pardon me!
But when the glorious sun looked from on high,
Through golden windows opening in the cloud,
In mild and glowing majesty, it was
Like a glad glimpse of heaven to me, who had
Sat in the shadow of infernal gloom
Amid its horror, uproar, and turmoil;
I could not choose but hail the God of Day,
And King of Glory, on his triumph won.”
While I describe that morning as I saw it
From this same spot.—I rose and looked around;
The hour told that the morning was advanced,
But Heaven said, No. Methought the sun had stood
Still o'er the valley of Jehoshaphat,
Or that the night of Egypt had returned.
It was a hideous twilight. No bird sung;
The flocks forgot to feed, and stood and gazed,
Nor wist they what to dread. Sometimes I heard
A tremulous bleat come from the hills, and then
It came in such a tone it frightened me.
Still darker grew the morn; the brooding cloud
Lean'd its grim bosom deeper o'er the glen;
The heavens and earth were mingled, closed around
And here was I, an old and trembling thing,
Immured between them. For my hills I looked;
I looked to heaven, and for the blessed sun,
But all were lost—all curtained in together
In one impervious veil. I prayed to God,
And waited the event. Forthwith arose
A rushing sound somewhere above my head,
Whether in earth or heaven, in rock or cloud,
I could not tell; but nearer still it came,
And louder and more furious was the sound,
Like many torrents rushing on the wind.
Anon I saw the bosom of the cloud
Begin to heave and work with boiling motion,
And on its murky breast strange hues arose
Of dull and pallid blue, or muffled red,
While frightful openings yawned and closed again.
Nature lay on a bed of travailing;
Now strong convulsions, throes, and wrestlings,
Showed that with serpent birth her breast would rend:
Short then the pause and troubled, ere I saw
The heaven's slow swarthy bosom burst asunder,
And rain, and hail, and bolts of liquid flame
Issued at once. No sooner had the blaze
Dazzled my sight, than from the inmost cloud
The voice of the Eternal God came forth
As if in tenfold wrath; while every cave,
And every echo of these frowning cliffs
Shouted and jabbered as in mockery.
How my heart trembled! and a chillness crept
O'er all my frame; for such a rending crash,
So loud and so prolonged, ne'er stunned the ear
Of sinful worm. Fain would I have rebuked
The hills for such unholy mimicry,
For every rock, ravine, and yawning bourn,
Nay, every tiny clough, sent forth its thunder,
Jarring it proudly: Thus with every peal
Ten thousand thunders issued forth their voices.
Forgive me, stranger, but at times I deemed
The palaces of heaven were rent asunder,
And clattering down the air. The hills were smitten
For their presumption; for the lightning struck
And wounded their green bosoms; and their rocks,
Their proudest peaks were splintered and o'erthrown
By these fleet darts from the Almighty's hand,
And toppled down their sides with feeble sound,
As in confession of their nothingness
Before their Maker's anger. First the hail
Burst through its sable shroud, and strewed the land
With whitened desolation; then the doors,
The flood-gates of that dark impending tide,
Were all let loose, and on the prostrate earth
The mighty cataracts of the heaven descended;
From these proud mountains poured a thousand streams,
Where streams before ne'er ran, and every one
Pelting and foaming 'gainst all opposition
With upstart insolence, as who should say
383
Then, ever and anon, the rending peal
Made the rocks chatter, rolled from hill to hill,
And boomed along the sky. Oh, such a scene
These old dim eyes shall never look upon,
Nor these ears listen, in this earthly frame!
Then tell not me of nature's operations;
That was no produce of her onward work,
But a dire judgment and a grievous one,
As all the land hath found. My Bible calls
Thunder the voice of the Eternal God.
For me, I had a thought, a sinful one,
But I must tell it:—I did dread the fiends
Had met in conclave in that hollow cloud,
That seemed in burning colic with the mass
Within its hideous womb. The gleaming bolts
I deemed the arrows of the Almighty, sent
To scatter and confound them. Then the roars
In still redoubled violence that ensued,
I weened the clamour of outraged demons
Bellowing in wrathful anguish. Then methought
I heard them growling in their burning chariots
Far, far away, above the fields of air,
One after one. It was a passing thought,
A wild and sinful one—God pardon me!
But when the glorious sun looked from on high,
Through golden windows opening in the cloud,
In mild and glowing majesty, it was
Like a glad glimpse of heaven to me, who had
Sat in the shadow of infernal gloom
Amid its horror, uproar, and turmoil;
I could not choose but hail the God of Day,
And King of Glory, on his triumph won.”
| The Works of The Ettrick Shepherd | |