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Dear Charles,—I am glad your critical friend likes
the “spirit” of the last articles. He durst not say they
were not worth printing, since men as good judges as himself
had actually printed them. I now send, for the last attempt
at the “Art of Poetry,” A Thunder Storm on the Lake—not
with the expectation of having Keen print it, but to elicit his
opinion.

Let me know at your earliest leisure what he says; although
for the present I cannot promise to answer your letters,
except with the greatest brevity.

Yours ever,

R. Carlton.

THUNDER STORM ON THE LAKE.

Profound the hush around the silv'ry stream!
A hush, like musing melancholy's dream!
See! sprung from mirror wave, a vault of blue
Uparch'd and join'd to inverse semblance true,
Makes concave sphere, where, hast'ning to its rest,
Sun sinking meets sun rising in the West!
And curving banks with fringe of living green
Picture below, revers'd, a magic scene;
By bathing wing or leaping fish so stirr'd,
As in that phantom land breath'd wind, unheard
Above, where forms and colors moveless stand—
Sweet, matchless paintings, trac'd by master hand!
Hark! what and whence that dread and solemn swell?—
A mystic shout that grandly rose and fell,
As in the deep of mirror'd world some spirit choir
Responsive sang to theme of burning lyre!

222

Up starts the waking sense, intent to hear
That voice again—the heart the while in fear!
Nor vain; that voice, great tempest king, was thine,
Bidding fierce hosts of fire around thee shine,
And marshall'd from the hazy West to rise,
Mid darkness, o'er serene of smiling skies—
There, hark! a longer and a harsher peal
The lagging chides, and orders quick to wheel,
With magazine of rain and forked light,
To where their angry lord holds back from flight
The winged steeds beneath his car of cloud—
Winds chaf'd and uttering howls of discord loud!
Behold! like first faint dim from om'nous wings
When death, at distance coming, sadness flings
On infant face of lov'd and smitten child,
O'er picture scene below, solemn and wild,
Steals awe with shade—true portent that the car,
On whirlwinds borne, is rushing from afar!
With terror fraught, akin to day of doom,
It casts a deep and yet a deeper gloom—
Strange seeming shadows, mix'd with fiery red
Of sun obscure, thro' dimming sackcloth shed!
Loud thunder, now, speaks all the terror near;
And yonder imag'd world, as mov'd in fear
Its frame should pass, shakes in the quiv'ring lake,
And dreads, when next th' electric cloud shall break.
Ha! scatheful glare! how quick at vivid gleam,
Vanish'd, dissolv'd, my bright and gentle dream!
See! e'en yon tow'ring crag of frowning rock
Now quakes and smokes from vast and instant shock!
He comes! he comes! enshrin'd in that black cloud
Dense veil'd around his throne—an awful shroud!
Its edges light with curl of silv'ry wreaths,
As smoke the deep-voic'd cannon breathes!—
Away!—to shelt'ring cave away!—the crash
Is here!—the deaf'ning roar!—the dazzling flash!—
The strife of winds and waves—beneath, around,
Above, is madness all! The solid ground
Staggers! and o'er the lake, its foamy white,
Lash'd by wrathful winds in gaint might,
Rages—a sea of mingled mist and fire!
The trees, fierce shaken, in the ruthless ire
Of unseen potent forms, down crush'd, low bend,
And cries of woe, with frantic gestures, send!
Fast streams, from upper air, the torrent rain!
With noise, it beats reiterant the plain;
Or crystal rods, to fragments is it hurl'd,
Or myriad sparkles blown!—a chaos world

223

Becomes the mass conglomerate of sky,
And earth, and fire, and flood! Wild fury's cry
His triumph marks, and rage, mid sullen light,
Thro' darkness struggling of sepulchral night!
But past the stormy car of sable cloud;
That voice, in distant thunder long and loud,
The elemental strife bids instant stay!
Swift squadrons wheel, on ready winds, away,
Darting from rank to rank the signal light,
And all, or far, or near, speed on the flight!
Lo! what a sudden tide of golden beams
From you rich mellow blaze of beauty streams!
'Tis essence burning from ambrosial grove,
Round couch, with sumptuous veiling, wove
From fleecy cloud, soft mist, and azure sky,
Suffus'd by angel art with gorgeous dye!—
Rest meet to wait the splendent prince of day,
Majestic sinking from the scene away!
See, too, behind where night of tempest lowers,
Soft gems of rainbow dew in copious showers
Forth shed by tempest's lord, as sign of love,
Are ranged in yonder ample arch above!
The blending hues curve that vast circle's round,
Whose plane of light metes out distinct the bound
Between that zone of storm and this of rest,
Where earth smiles joyous in fresh verdure drest.
And lo! yet mingled, as in fitful dream,
With quiv'ring dyes of heaven and sunshine gleam,
Amidst the dancing waves, like sep'rate parts
Of picture torn, the vision world forth starts!
Thus, to our view, breaks first the spirit land,
When pass'd, disrob'd of flesh, we awe-struck stand
Beyond the wave, on Jordan's farther shore,
And curious catch the distant blended roar—
The words mysterious, and strange solemn notes—
A seraph song mid empyrean floats!
Dread sounds!—a voice wakes in the ravish'd soul—
An echo comes like farewell thunder's roll.

THE END.

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