The Vision of Prophecy and Other Poems :: :: University of Virginia Library

A lofty mountain-wall, that parts
Two valleys fair and green,
We scaled, and stood in purer air,
Where winds were blowing keen,—
It was as if, by sudden glance,
Two separate worlds were seen.

One with a cloudless sky, and filled
With sunlight to the sea,—
The other, dim with surging mists,
That drifted loose and free,
And cast fantastic shadows down
On rock, and stream, and tree.

Dark chestnut-trees, festooned with vines,
Stood thick in either dell,—
The goat in fragrant thickets browsed
And tinkled his small bell,
And from some mountain-cove, unseen,
The goatherd blew his shell.

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Through the rich greenery below
Were sprinkled quiet cots,
Each fenced by bristling spires of maize,
Or yams in marshy plots,
While mulberry, and quince, and fig,
Besprent the sunnier spots.

To us it seemed some happy haunt
Of freedom and content,—
A little world, shut out from care
And all disquietment;
So fancy pictured, when a group
Came up the slow ascent.

With toiling steps they gained the height,
A weary group of four;—
A care-worn man, on whom the weight
Of years was pressing sore,
And younger forms, untimely bent
Beneath the loads they bore.

Their heavy burdens they unbound,
And stopped a while to rest,—
One a mere child, who shrunk from sight,
With girlish fear possessed,—
A smile strayed o'er the old man's face,
When we the child addressed.

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They had been in the woods, he said,
From early morning-light,
To watch their fires, amid the smoke,
With bleared and aching sight;
And, with their loads, a weary way
Must go ere fall of night.

Each day's hard labour barely earned
The needful means of life.—
With care and poverty they waged
A sharp, out-wearing strife;
And sorrows keener still were his,—
He had a dying wife.

A mournful story, that dispelled
My fancy's idle dream,—
A tale of want, and grief, and care,—
Life's one unchanging theme,
That makes the world a wilderness,
Whatever it may seem.

And so the scene, to us so fair,
For them no beauty had,—
Nor ever had they felt its power
To make the spirit glad;
With its dark drapery the mind
All festive nature clad.

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They stood with lustreless, dull eyes
Amid the works of God,—
Earth bloomed in vain for them, in vain
Heaven cast its joy abroad;—
Their minds were struck with blight, their hearts
Were in the dust they trod.

Beyond the daily strife with want,
No care, no thought had they,—
No higher claim could break the spell
Of this habitual sway;—
And thus, from infancy to age,
One life had worn away.

From day to day, the dim-eyed mind
Its narrow circle paced,—
Its springs had rusted from disuse,
Its powers had run to waste,
And, line by line, the godlike sign
That stamped it was defaced.

Nor, musing thus, do I condemn
Its misery, but mourn
That care can so corrode the mind,
And leave the heart forlorn;—
Let man unveil the woes of man
In sorrow, not in scorn.