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DRUID'S HERB.
[_]
On receiving a sprig of an anonymous herbaceous plant, of a dark, melancholy green, gathered at Stonehenge, on Salisbury Plain, England.
Dark Herb! thou comest in thy sunken green,
Nameless and solemn, from that mystic scene,
Where the drear Plain, with long, old, heathy face,
Bears stern memorials of a vanished race;
Whose heathen manes I would not disturb,
While, after them, I name thee Druid's Herb.
Nameless and solemn, from that mystic scene,
Where the drear Plain, with long, old, heathy face,
Bears stern memorials of a vanished race;
Whose heathen manes I would not disturb,
While, after them, I name thee Druid's Herb.
There are the relics of an age so old,
Earth has no archives where their date is told!
On those bold ruins brooding mystery lies,
Not to be solved, until the vaulted skies
Hung o'er them, vanished, passing like a scroll,
Have left mankind disclosed, a world of soul.
Earth has no archives where their date is told!
On those bold ruins brooding mystery lies,
Not to be solved, until the vaulted skies
Hung o'er them, vanished, passing like a scroll,
Have left mankind disclosed, a world of soul.
What Cambrian power those massive pillars wrought,—
What Celtic bands the stony temple sought,—
What grave magician in the form of priest
On the rude altar slew the votive beast,—
What human victim's crimson life-stream fell,
To dye thy native sod, none, none can tell.
What Celtic bands the stony temple sought,—
What grave magician in the form of priest
On the rude altar slew the votive beast,—
What human victim's crimson life-stream fell,
To dye thy native sod, none, none can tell.
Yet it was there, where thou didst spring to life,
The Druid used the sacrificial knife!
There, in dread concord sounding to the sky,
Went pagan hymn, and victim's dying cry;
Until the breath had passed,—the life had flown,—
A fearful offering to a God unknown!
The Druid used the sacrificial knife!
There, in dread concord sounding to the sky,
Went pagan hymn, and victim's dying cry;
Until the breath had passed,—the life had flown,—
A fearful offering to a God unknown!
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While, mounting o'er the grove of sacred Oak,
Rose from the altar wreaths of flame and smoke,
With magic wand, and astrologic eye,
The Pontiff reared the characters on high,
To show the way where passed the victim's soul
Whose blood he held to sprinkle from the bowl.
Rose from the altar wreaths of flame and smoke,
With magic wand, and astrologic eye,
The Pontiff reared the characters on high,
To show the way where passed the victim's soul
Whose blood he held to sprinkle from the bowl.
And there he wore, bound o'er his ample vest,
The serpent's egg, gold-cased, upon his breast,
Infusing wisdom,—that all-potent charm
Of power alike to govern good and harm;
With oak-leaf chaplet o'er his mighty brow,
And gold tiara, making all to bow.
The serpent's egg, gold-cased, upon his breast,
Infusing wisdom,—that all-potent charm
Of power alike to govern good and harm;
With oak-leaf chaplet o'er his mighty brow,
And gold tiara, making all to bow.
Thus in his dread pontificals arrayed,
With stainless robe, pure hands, and burnished blade,
With reverence he performed the sacred rite,
Clipping with care the hallowed parasite,
And from the oak bore off the sacred weed
Whereon his hopeful spirit was to feed.
With stainless robe, pure hands, and burnished blade,
With reverence he performed the sacred rite,
Clipping with care the hallowed parasite,
And from the oak bore off the sacred weed
Whereon his hopeful spirit was to feed.
Art thou, my sombre foreigner, akin
To those sage herbs the Druids trusted in,
The pains of mind and body to allay,—
The spirit still to fasten in its clay?
Were their dark mysteries o'er thy nature thrown
When thou wast born beneath their altar-stone?
To those sage herbs the Druids trusted in,
The pains of mind and body to allay,—
The spirit still to fasten in its clay?
Were their dark mysteries o'er thy nature thrown
When thou wast born beneath their altar-stone?
And will old Stonehenge never break the spell
Of silence, of its worshippers to tell,—
What were their hopes and fears, of weal and woe,—
What the dim symbol in the mistletoe,
Whose fruit and leaves told, each, their sacred Three,
Which their dark-visioned prophecy could see?
Of silence, of its worshippers to tell,—
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What the dim symbol in the mistletoe,
Whose fruit and leaves told, each, their sacred Three,
Which their dark-visioned prophecy could see?
Do not their Gentile shades come hovering round
Their ruined temple,—their once hallowed ground,—
Lament the darkness which involved them there,
And long for power to make one Christian prayer,—
To be revested with the mortal clay,
And have one more probationary day?
Their ruined temple,—their once hallowed ground,—
Lament the darkness which involved them there,
And long for power to make one Christian prayer,—
To be revested with the mortal clay,
And have one more probationary day?
But, peace! I would not cast the veil aside
From those who sinned without the Law, and died.
I would not pierce beyond that awful gate
Which God hath shut in silence on their state!
Since He vouchsafes the way of life to show,
'T is mine to follow on but Him to know.
From those who sinned without the Law, and died.
I would not pierce beyond that awful gate
Which God hath shut in silence on their state!
Since He vouchsafes the way of life to show,
'T is mine to follow on but Him to know.
And thou, young offspring of a scene so strange,
Unchanged, and sullen, whilst long ages change,
To silence still art thou a devotee
Concerning thy wild home beyond the sea;
Thyself a mystery deeper,—more divine,—
Repeated in each fine-wrought leaf of thine!
Unchanged, and sullen, whilst long ages change,
To silence still art thou a devotee
Concerning thy wild home beyond the sea;
Thyself a mystery deeper,—more divine,—
Repeated in each fine-wrought leaf of thine!
Cutting the mistletoe from the oak was, with the Druids, a ceremony of great solemnity. They worshipped the oak, while they held the mistletoe as most sacred of all plants, on account of some mystical meaning, or shadowing forth, which they beheld in its leaves and berries, each growing in clusters of three, their sacred number.
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