Madmoments: or First Verseattempts :: :: University of Virginia Library

But yet a moment— one brief moment more,
And the sterntonëd Hour, his chime will ring,
As unconcerned, as tho' his note could bring
No sense of Pain! A moment, yet how sore!
Whose paltry space weighs on the sick Heartscore
Until each pulse be Agony; each string,
As of my inmost Soul is quivering,
While Time his careless fingers runneth o'er
The spirit's chords; the hour stops not for me;
He is no courtier; he will not stay
In gilded Antirooms; no Flattery
Honeys his tongue; but on his sober way,
Plain Teller of a simple History,
He moves, unheeding what he brings or bears away!

2.

The Clock has struck; sharp, cold, distinct, and clear;
Not one, sole, moment wanting to complete

112

Time's mystic Round; he ne'er doth falsely beat;
Aye with unerring step the hours bear
The burthen of our deeds away— the Tear,
The Laugh, the Song, the Joy, the Kiss so sweet
Of first unsulliëd Love, all these must fleet,
As Flowers ripe in season! wouldst thou hear
Soulthrilling tones, Music that is a spell
To stir the Heart, as Nightwinds Forestleaves?
Go, list at eve, unto the Villagebell,
With its old clock, beneath the gray Towereaves
And think what thou hast been! oh heed thou well
Its Comment on the Grave— such thought retrieves

3.

The faults and follies of the Past: seat thee
Upon some mossy tomb, 'till the Moonsrays
Outbursting, spiritlike, Nightsshroud, with blaze
Of Glory wreath it; charm and mystery
Shedding o'er all things; 'till with fancies high
The spot run o'er; look down where stern Time plays
His solemn Game, Earth unto Earth he says,
And Dust to Dust! but shouldst thou troubled be
At that sad Picture, from Distrust redeem
Thy Soul by looking Heavenwards for Light.
Then shall the Flowers on the Grave seem bright
As those of Spring; nay, shall not only seem,
But be: for such they are when viewed aright,
Types of a happier Spring unto the wise Man's Sight!

4.

Then shall that Light on all things round thee play,
And that same narrow trench shall seem to be,
The fairest Heritage that Earth for thee
Reserves of all her Treasures: then the ray
Of Truth eterne within, shall force its way
Thro' thy past Being's darkness strong and bright,

113

As a Lamp newly fed! oh then thy sight
Shall look abroad on Earth and find it gay
As in thy boyish years, the bloom once more
Restored to all that seemed so sere before.
Then shall thy Heart expand a second Spring,
Yet ripe as Autumn! a right goodly Tree
Whose better Fruits have reached maturity.
And Time who seemed to snatch with withering Wing
Each choicest bliss, youth's moments back shall bring;
Regive the Heart its freshness and its glee,
Its early dews, the power to bless, and be
Blessed in all it sees and feels, in everything!

5.

So has it fared with me: in my young hours
I loved all things as with a Brother's Love,
Each in its kind, the Lion and the Dove,
The suneyed Eagle, and the Mole; the flowers
That star wild brake or lea; the leafy Bowers,
Where true Inheritors of Joy still rove,
Making their lives one hymn: all these could move
My spirit, like a spell; with hidden powers,
Amid such sights and sounds, I seemed to grow
Replete and strong; Joy still producing Joy
The more I shared, and all without alloy.
Thus I grew up with Nature, and her Brow
Was as my Mother's; Time could not destroy
One thought she gave, nor Custom render low!

6.

But evil days came o'er me with their blight,
And my soul grew eclipsed! in cloudy ways
Of doubt and fear it strayed; a chilling haze,
The Earth's dark shadow, past 'twixt it, like night
And its true source: it caught no more the light
Of heavenly thought, nor shed reflected rays

114

Of Glory on the Earth; awhile it was
Cast out of Eden, yet lost not all Sight,
Seeking a blessing which was not; which ne'er
By Discontent's sad hand is plucked— then Flower,
And Bird, and Brook, were out of tune: their Power
Is in the Heart, but when the keynote here
Is wanting, like bewildered chimes they pour,
Not memories sweet, but discord on the Heart and Ear!

7.

Telling us what we are not, nor can be,
Until we make atonement; thus we hear
The merry Eveningbells ring blithe and clear,
And feel that they are not for us— their glee
Has Madness in its Mirth; a mockery,
That calls the big Tear to the Eye; the Tear
Shed over Hopes and Scenes too sweet, which ne'er
Can be as they have been— Oh Memory
Why hauntest thou the sad chill graves of yore,
Staying Time's mouldering hand? the Moss that grows
So kindly, as it were to spare our throes,
And hide the Names we love, for evermore,
Thou cleanest off the stone, and then it shows
Words which, like Daggers, pierce us to the Core!

8.

Oh! we must make atonement; we must be
In heart as little children, e'er again
We taste what we have tasted, or may drain
The Plentyhorn of Nature! the pure glee
Of Birds and Beasts, that with their Sympathy
For her, have mixed no fretting thoughts, no pain
For Things to be, or been: alas! in vain
We toil, and fret and toil— Time hurries by,
Stealing our fruitful Moments, and instead
Brings us but barren Years! our hearts are dead

115

Within our Breasts, for selfish thoughts are there,
Which make its Beatings vain: the fountainhead
Runs o'er with discontent, its waters bear
Blight to Youth's flowers once so fresh and fair!

9.

So has it fared with me; but I am one
Who loved and love my God with all my Heart,
And Mind and Soul; and over such the Smart
Of Sorrow passes light. I have lost none
Of my Soul's Gifts; her Wings are now fullgrown,
And bear me to Highplaces— to each part
Of this fair world where Nature's forms impart
Their Boundlessness to us: whence I look down
On Ocean; like the Seashell grows my Breast,
Left by the Flood, or haply long before,
But echoing to its Source for evermore,
Tho' so, so far removed: Oh Reader haste
To do likewise; with holy Lip to taste
Nature's Lifemilk, ere yet thy Thirst be gone.
Make thee a part of her, thus shall Her rest
Be thine; thy thoughts as hers, Eternal, Blest!