The Poetical Works of Thomas Pringle With A Sketch of his Life, by Leitch Ritchie |
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| VI. | FYTTE VI. |
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 | The Poetical Works of Thomas Pringle |  |
158
FYTTE VI.
O pure of heart! thou need'st not ask of me
What this strong music in the soul may be!
What, and wherein it doth exist,
This light, this glory, this fair luminous mist,
This beautiful, and beauty-making power—
—Which wedding Nature to us gives in dower
A new earth and new heaven,
Undreamt of by the sensual and the proud.
Coleridge.
What this strong music in the soul may be!
What, and wherein it doth exist,
This light, this glory, this fair luminous mist,
This beautiful, and beauty-making power—
—Which wedding Nature to us gives in dower
A new earth and new heaven,
Undreamt of by the sensual and the proud.
Coleridge.
Now Hesper from the blushing west
Leads that sweet hour I love the best,
When birds their fluttering pinions fold,
And wild-bees seek their honied hold,
And deer that never heard a hound
Across the verdant valleys bound,
To couch among the banks of thyme
Where greenwoods to the uplands climb.
—Now by some lawny slope we linger,
While quiet Eve with jealous finger
Closes the curtains of the skies
Till modest Dian deign to rise:
Now by the murmuring beach we walk,
Pausing oft in pensive talk,
To list the hermit nightingale
Entrancing all the moonlight vale:
Or, from some sea-ward hanging steep,
View boundless ocean round us swelling,
Without a wish to cross the deep,
Or leave again that lovely dwelling.
Leads that sweet hour I love the best,
When birds their fluttering pinions fold,
And wild-bees seek their honied hold,
And deer that never heard a hound
Across the verdant valleys bound,
To couch among the banks of thyme
Where greenwoods to the uplands climb.
—Now by some lawny slope we linger,
While quiet Eve with jealous finger
Closes the curtains of the skies
Till modest Dian deign to rise:
Now by the murmuring beach we walk,
Pausing oft in pensive talk,
To list the hermit nightingale
Entrancing all the moonlight vale:
Or, from some sea-ward hanging steep,
View boundless ocean round us swelling,
Without a wish to cross the deep,
Or leave again that lovely dwelling.
“Behold,” (thus spoke the bright-eyed Fay,)
“Endeth now the Elfin day:
Ere the star of morning gleams
Thou must leave this Isle of Dreams:
Yet, before the vision part,
Mortal, let thy listening heart
Devoutly learn to understand
The scenes of this symbolic land;
For here a parable doth lie
In all that meets the ear or eye.”
“Endeth now the Elfin day:
159
Thou must leave this Isle of Dreams:
Yet, before the vision part,
Mortal, let thy listening heart
Devoutly learn to understand
The scenes of this symbolic land;
For here a parable doth lie
In all that meets the ear or eye.”
Ere she ceased, pale Dian's crest,
Slowly waning in the west,
Sank behind the shadowy hill;
And the nightingale was still
On his fragrant orange bough.
It is solemn midnight now;
And the silent landscape lies
Hushed beneath the starry skies,
Like a meek and gentle child
Listening to his mother mild,
While her earnest eyes above
O'er him bend with looks of love,
As she prayeth God to keep
Watch around his midnight sleep.—
Like such heart-hushed little one,
Hung my listening soul upon
Words (which I may not rehearse
In this vain and idle verse)—
Things with deepest meaning fraught
By that Gentle Fairy taught,
In whose mien I then might trace
The sister of man's godlike race,
Ere his half-angelic nature
Lapsed into the lowlier creature,
Ere the golden link was riven
That upheld the heart to heaven,
And the ethereal light grew dim
Of the fallen seraphim!
—Lovely lessons there I read,
There I learn a lofty creed,
In the expression of a mind
By a fearless faith refined,
Such as we of mortal strain
Beneath the stars may not attain,
But such themes are all too high
For this lay of Phantasy;
So I close the rambling rhyme
Of my Flight to Fairy Clime.
Slowly waning in the west,
Sank behind the shadowy hill;
And the nightingale was still
On his fragrant orange bough.
It is solemn midnight now;
And the silent landscape lies
Hushed beneath the starry skies,
Like a meek and gentle child
Listening to his mother mild,
While her earnest eyes above
O'er him bend with looks of love,
As she prayeth God to keep
Watch around his midnight sleep.—
Like such heart-hushed little one,
Hung my listening soul upon
Words (which I may not rehearse
In this vain and idle verse)—
Things with deepest meaning fraught
By that Gentle Fairy taught,
In whose mien I then might trace
The sister of man's godlike race,
Ere his half-angelic nature
Lapsed into the lowlier creature,
160
That upheld the heart to heaven,
And the ethereal light grew dim
Of the fallen seraphim!
—Lovely lessons there I read,
There I learn a lofty creed,
In the expression of a mind
By a fearless faith refined,
Such as we of mortal strain
Beneath the stars may not attain,
But such themes are all too high
For this lay of Phantasy;
So I close the rambling rhyme
Of my Flight to Fairy Clime.
Fitting pause from minstrel task,
Now, sweet Azla, let me ask:
But if thou wilt deign to smile
On this Dream of Elfin Isle,
Haply, in an altered strain,
I may touch the harp again;
Richer veins of thought revealing,
Deeper springs of love unsealing,
Where the Passions have their strife
'Midst ‘the bosom-scenes of life;’
For the poet's art must borrow
Spells of might from Fear and Sorrow,
Since our nature seeks relief
From Pleasure in ‘the Joy of Grief.’
Now, sweet Azla, let me ask:
But if thou wilt deign to smile
On this Dream of Elfin Isle,
Haply, in an altered strain,
I may touch the harp again;
Richer veins of thought revealing,
Deeper springs of love unsealing,
Where the Passions have their strife
'Midst ‘the bosom-scenes of life;’
For the poet's art must borrow
Spells of might from Fear and Sorrow,
Since our nature seeks relief
From Pleasure in ‘the Joy of Grief.’
| The Poetical Works of Thomas Pringle | |