The Isles of Loch Awe and Other Poems of my Youth With Sixteen Illustrations. By Philip Gilbert Hamerton |
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A HOUSE OF PRAYER. |
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 | The Isles of Loch Awe and Other Poems of my Youth |  |
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A HOUSE OF PRAYER.
The morning came, the day of holy rest,
By some held sacred unto idleness
And all inactive pleasures. Long before
The village bells were sounding on the hills,
Or the strong peal beneath the city spire
Rang out its music through the quiet streets,
The Poet trampled meadows thick with grass,
A second crop, all white with glistening dew;
And soon approaching through the sloping fields
The rivulet he loved, against an oak
Leaned and looked down upon its rocky bed.
By some held sacred unto idleness
And all inactive pleasures. Long before
The village bells were sounding on the hills,
Or the strong peal beneath the city spire
Rang out its music through the quiet streets,
The Poet trampled meadows thick with grass,
A second crop, all white with glistening dew;
And soon approaching through the sloping fields
The rivulet he loved, against an oak
Leaned and looked down upon its rocky bed.
In a damp dell, through crowds of water plants
Shaded with alder—trees indigenous,
Wandered the streamlet down amid the fern;
And from a deep pool rose an island rock,
Carved in and out with hollows dark and smooth,
Worn by the floods, and crowned with golden moss.
About its base 'twas black and slippery,
Stained by the water; but upon the top
A table land of white and bleachèd stone,
Dappled with shadows of the alder leaves.
Shaded with alder—trees indigenous,
Wandered the streamlet down amid the fern;
And from a deep pool rose an island rock,
Carved in and out with hollows dark and smooth,
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About its base 'twas black and slippery,
Stained by the water; but upon the top
A table land of white and bleachèd stone,
Dappled with shadows of the alder leaves.
A slender ash was rooted in the bank,
And lightly reared its head against the blue;
The sun illumined all its silvery bark;
And when a gust gave motion to the branches,
The shadows likewise moved their sable bars.
Its trunk was clothed with ivy so profuse,
That from its root hung down the delicate spray,
And waved above the stream its palest leaves,
Which on a wall of rock all overlaid
With spreading fingers of adhesive lichen,
Threw angular shadows, black and interlaced
With mazy lines. The long grass, red and sere,
Was deeply fringed with rich autumnal gold.
Then he descended to the water's brink,
And looking up the stream, beheld a pool
Of deep, rich brown; and at its shallow marge
The stones were rising almost to the surface
With topaz gleams. A tower of rock behind—
The same we had a glimpse of from above,
Black round its base, but turreted with moss
And grassy tufts, sprinkled with fallen leaves,
Arose between him and a waterfall,
Whose silvery spray shoots upward to the light
And ceases not, as if each falling drop
Were met by some strong buffet where it fell,
And never finding rest, hurled up again
For ever. Down the dark pool bubbles float,
Indwelt by little angels of the sun!
Behind is perfect blackness—shade so deep,
That every insect glancing in that void
Carries a light upon its glassy wings;
And you may trace each line of gossamer
Festooned among the boughs that glitter white,
And hang their polished leaves against the depth
Of empty shade. Above the builded walls
Of Nature's rough and untaught masonry,
The ash-trees and the alders made a roof
Of rich transparent green, whose intricate ribs
Were shapely branches intertwined, and bossed
With nests of birds, whose pillars were round trunks,
Whiter than marble in the morning light.
And lightly reared its head against the blue;
The sun illumined all its silvery bark;
And when a gust gave motion to the branches,
The shadows likewise moved their sable bars.
Its trunk was clothed with ivy so profuse,
That from its root hung down the delicate spray,
And waved above the stream its palest leaves,
Which on a wall of rock all overlaid
With spreading fingers of adhesive lichen,
Threw angular shadows, black and interlaced
With mazy lines. The long grass, red and sere,
Was deeply fringed with rich autumnal gold.
Then he descended to the water's brink,
And looking up the stream, beheld a pool
Of deep, rich brown; and at its shallow marge
The stones were rising almost to the surface
With topaz gleams. A tower of rock behind—
The same we had a glimpse of from above,
Black round its base, but turreted with moss
And grassy tufts, sprinkled with fallen leaves,
Arose between him and a waterfall,
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And ceases not, as if each falling drop
Were met by some strong buffet where it fell,
And never finding rest, hurled up again
For ever. Down the dark pool bubbles float,
Indwelt by little angels of the sun!
Behind is perfect blackness—shade so deep,
That every insect glancing in that void
Carries a light upon its glassy wings;
And you may trace each line of gossamer
Festooned among the boughs that glitter white,
And hang their polished leaves against the depth
Of empty shade. Above the builded walls
Of Nature's rough and untaught masonry,
The ash-trees and the alders made a roof
Of rich transparent green, whose intricate ribs
Were shapely branches intertwined, and bossed
With nests of birds, whose pillars were round trunks,
Whiter than marble in the morning light.
So unto this fair oratory came
The child to pray for guidance, using nought
Of ancient form. He bent no idle knee;
But looking first around him till his mind
Was permeate and luminous with the rays
Of heaven, as was that pure and joyful stream,
His heart became a fount of thankfulness.
The child to pray for guidance, using nought
Of ancient form. He bent no idle knee;
But looking first around him till his mind
Was permeate and luminous with the rays
Of heaven, as was that pure and joyful stream,
His heart became a fount of thankfulness.
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