 | The lesson of life and other poems |  |
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THE CALENDAR.
Here emblemed, on this printed page,
Is fickle Man from Youth to Age.
Is fickle Man from Youth to Age.
JANUARY.
Lo! from beyond the chill and dusky north,
The primal month, which leads the rolling year,
A Youth in snowy robes brings proudly forth,
With ruddy cheeks and look of careless cheer;
Nor on that Youth's bright face dwells anxious fear;
Or aught, upon his smooth and trustful brow,
Than brave resolves an ordered course to steer,
And towards some glittering port his way to plow;
Which course he registers with many a solemn vow.
The primal month, which leads the rolling year,
A Youth in snowy robes brings proudly forth,
With ruddy cheeks and look of careless cheer;
Nor on that Youth's bright face dwells anxious fear;
Or aught, upon his smooth and trustful brow,
Than brave resolves an ordered course to steer,
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Which course he registers with many a solemn vow.
Full gaily looks he o'er the ice clad ground,
Not deeming ever other robe it wears
Than gilded snows, which everywhere abound:
So forth with confidence the Youngling fares,
Breathing the rare invigorating airs,
Which seem to give his sinews giant force;
Nor 'tween his hopes and him stand threatening cares,
To daunt him in his destined, onward course;
And his heart treads its bosom like a new loosed horse.
Not deeming ever other robe it wears
Than gilded snows, which everywhere abound:
So forth with confidence the Youngling fares,
Breathing the rare invigorating airs,
Which seem to give his sinews giant force;
Nor 'tween his hopes and him stand threatening cares,
To daunt him in his destined, onward course;
And his heart treads its bosom like a new loosed horse.
Towards the dim future turns his brightened eye
To found a kingdom in the coming time;
And shapes himself a glorious destiny—
Heroic deeds, and mighty aims sublime,
To be accomplished in his manhood's prime;
Which win the dazzling heights of fame and power
That, gold and roseate, deck the distant clime,
And on th' horizon beckoning seem to tower:
Thus show those glittering peaks to Youth at sunrise hour.
To found a kingdom in the coming time;
And shapes himself a glorious destiny—
Heroic deeds, and mighty aims sublime,
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Which win the dazzling heights of fame and power
That, gold and roseate, deck the distant clime,
And on th' horizon beckoning seem to tower:
Thus show those glittering peaks to Youth at sunrise hour.
He joins in sports to cheat the lagging day;
Where on the surface of the frost-stilled lake,
Which the high hills and lofty woods embay,
To fence from ruffling winds the freezing flake,
The merry skaters now their pleasure take;
And start the echoes in the stiffened trees,
As their loud laughs the icy barrier shake,
At some skilled comrade who before them flees,
And, by a well ta'en turn, avoids the band with ease.
Where on the surface of the frost-stilled lake,
Which the high hills and lofty woods embay,
To fence from ruffling winds the freezing flake,
The merry skaters now their pleasure take;
And start the echoes in the stiffened trees,
As their loud laughs the icy barrier shake,
At some skilled comrade who before them flees,
And, by a well ta'en turn, avoids the band with ease.
Then group in knots the late born news to hear,
Of battles fought beneath the sourthern skies;
When cracks the ice, and, with but half felt fear,
Apart the crowd of gossips shouting hies,
Buzzing away, like swarms of startled flies,
To join with them who hurl the bounding ball;
While He, alone, the graceful pastime plies,
And sweeps, like bird, in circles large or small,
As from his steel-shod heels the flashing ice-drops fall.
Of battles fought beneath the sourthern skies;
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Apart the crowd of gossips shouting hies,
Buzzing away, like swarms of startled flies,
To join with them who hurl the bounding ball;
While He, alone, the graceful pastime plies,
And sweeps, like bird, in circles large or small,
As from his steel-shod heels the flashing ice-drops fall.
Next, by the hearth-stone's red and crackling blaze,
Cons o'er some tale, and all the moral skips;
Or with bent brow, which half his scorn betrays,
Lists to grave truths which fall from aged lips;
But nought of honied wisdom there he sips,
Nor by advice will any danger shun;
He, confident, the well meant lesson slips,
And vows the Aged have into dotage run,
That lengthening shadows ever mark the setting sun.
Cons o'er some tale, and all the moral skips;
Or with bent brow, which half his scorn betrays,
Lists to grave truths which fall from aged lips;
But nought of honied wisdom there he sips,
Nor by advice will any danger shun;
He, confident, the well meant lesson slips,
And vows the Aged have into dotage run,
That lengthening shadows ever mark the setting sun.
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He deems our Life is not the dreary thing
Which care-worn men, with tearful faces, tell;
That honied Hope bears not both sweet and sting;
That they who weep have by their folly fell,
And, with weak tears, their fancied sorrows swell;
Seeking to daunt, with threat of darker hour,
Those minds whose powers their little mights excel;
That all must yield to Youth's resistless power:
Thus oft miscalls Hope's gift prophetic Reason's dower.
Which care-worn men, with tearful faces, tell;
That honied Hope bears not both sweet and sting;
That they who weep have by their folly fell,
And, with weak tears, their fancied sorrows swell;
Seeking to daunt, with threat of darker hour,
Those minds whose powers their little mights excel;
That all must yield to Youth's resistless power:
Thus oft miscalls Hope's gift prophetic Reason's dower.
FEBRUARY.
Now to its second term strides on the year,And lenthening days foretell mild Spring is near.
One day's warm sunshine clears the frozen earth
Of ice and snow, until another birth
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And binds the plains and streams in Winter's numbing band.
Now on the smoking ground falls spring-like rain,
And hub deep sinks the rocking, labouring wain;
While, to their knees, the panting horses plunge,
Striving, with constant strain, or sudden longe,
To free the ponderous car; and then, ere night,
The earth puts on the chilling, wintery white;
While, o'er the scarred and deep indented ground,
The jarring waggon flies with rumbling sound.
Impatient of control, the high fed team
Strain at their bits, and snort the jetting steam
From their raised heads; while scarce a shallow dint
Their iron-shod feet can make—the ground, like flint,
Rings 'neath their clattering tread. The shuddering stream,
Sporting, erewhile, beneath the sun's warm beam,
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Like some proud spirit who, amid his chains,
Has had one distant glimpse of liberty
Eclipsed by ruthless, twofold slavery.
Winter seems sporting with the genial smile
Of budding Spring; and to his cave awhile
Draws his rough form, to tempt the Maiden forth;
Then, shouting, rushes from the icy north,
And drives her southward to her torrid plains,
Followed by all her frighted twittering trains.
Where are thy high resolves and solemn vows,
Whilom thou mad'st thou Youth with thoughtful brows?
Now is the time to strike the destined blow,
Now pluck thy laurels, ere the chances go!
“Ah! no, I'll rest till gentle, balmy Spring
Nerves my young arm; for failing efforts bring
Scorn, hard to bear, upon the youthful head.
Wait till rude Winter's snows and winds have fled;
For now the season's face is dark and chill—
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So half through bashfulness, and half through dread,
From his great aims the shrinking Youth is led.
Thus ofttimes Chances 'cause they seem not fair
Are lost: such Fortune Time again may never bear.
MARCH.
March the reeling trees is shaking,
And their withered twigs is breaking
In his nervous hand;
While the new loosed streams are dashing,
Round their rocky barriers flashing;
Or the frost-rent strand
Crumbles 'neath their furious rushing,
And above the banks they're gushing
Deluging the land.
And their withered twigs is breaking
In his nervous hand;
While the new loosed streams are dashing,
Round their rocky barriers flashing;
Or the frost-rent strand
Crumbles 'neath their furious rushing,
And above the banks they're gushing
Deluging the land.
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From adown the quaking mountain,
Fed at snow's dissolving fountain,
See the torrent gleam!
Rending oak, and bordering willow,
With its rushing, roaring billow,
As, with awful scream,
Part both clinging roots and branches,
Ere the earth-born giant launches,
Helpless down the stream.
Fed at snow's dissolving fountain,
See the torrent gleam!
Rending oak, and bordering willow,
With its rushing, roaring billow,
As, with awful scream,
Part both clinging roots and branches,
Ere the earth-born giant launches,
Helpless down the stream.
Now the snow capped hill o'erpowered
By the icy mass, which towered
'Bove it, like a crown,
Slowly its huge burden sunders;
Casting off the load which thunders,
Crashing, dragging down
Earth and rocks, in mingled masses,
Till the solid tempest passes
O'er some fated town.
By the icy mass, which towered
'Bove it, like a crown,
Slowly its huge burden sunders;
Casting off the load which thunders,
Crashing, dragging down
Earth and rocks, in mingled masses,
Till the solid tempest passes
O'er some fated town.
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Now while change o'er all is going,
Dreaming Youth arise, be doing!
Out of dreary storms,
Out of elemental foment,
In the wildest, darkest moment,
Sprang all beauteous forms.
Where the moral strife is raging,
Where the panting war is waging,
Manly greatness warms.
Dreaming Youth arise, be doing!
Out of dreary storms,
Out of elemental foment,
In the wildest, darkest moment,
Sprang all beauteous forms.
Where the moral strife is raging,
Where the panting war is waging,
Manly greatness warms.
Ever Anarchy presages
Better days to coming ages,
Days of calm repose.
After Pain has had her measure,
Trips upon her heels soft Pleasure,
Smiling as she goes.
Out of rank corruption coming,
Spreading incense with its blooming,
Springs the fragrant rose.
Better days to coming ages,
Days of calm repose.
After Pain has had her measure,
Trips upon her heels soft Pleasure,
Smiling as she goes.
Out of rank corruption coming,
Spreading incense with its blooming,
Springs the fragrant rose.
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Timid Youth, to wounds a stranger,
Chides, yet shuns the threatening danger—
“Mad or blind are they
Who upon the treacherous ocean,
In the tempest's fierce commotion,
Make their first essay.”
Thus the Youth who fear was scoffing,
Now his boasted courage doffing,
Weakly turns away.
Chides, yet shuns the threatening danger—
“Mad or blind are they
Who upon the treacherous ocean,
In the tempest's fierce commotion,
Make their first essay.”
Thus the Youth who fear was scoffing,
Now his boasted courage doffing,
Weakly turns away.
APRIL.
To April glides the changing year,The Month which laughs amid her frown;
Now on her lids there hangs a tear,
Or weltering showers the meadows drown;
Then half a smile the earth cheers up,
And nectarous draughts the sun-beams quaff
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Or, with one universal laugh,
Nature's young, giddy scions shout.
Birds scream from out the dancing trees;
The blue-eyed violets wink about,
And toss their odours on the breeze;
The gurgling streams suck in the springs,
And seem to leap along more fleet,
As on the rocky pathway rings
Sound of their twinkling silver feet;
The grass steals forth with face all wan,
By the life-giving sun beguiled,
To see if surly March is gone—
All Nature, like a new-born child,
Leaps on its fruitful mother's lap,
To win by its innoxious wiles—
If such a gracious thing may hap—
Its great Creator's golden smiles:
For there's a glory in the hour
Beyond what e'en the sun can lend,
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A something in which Heaven must blend.
Creative Power is on the earth;
Through the wide laboratory ring
Sounds which announce each wondrous birth,
As ply the busy hands of Spring.
Now, while warm sunshine sheds a light
Upon the flower decked, grassy meads,
No winter blast thy hopes to blight,
Say Youth, where are thy mighty deeds?
The sun calls forth from out the earth
A warm and fructifying steam,
That to each senseless thing gives birth—
Leaps not thy heart beneath its beam?
Can it not wake thy sluggish mind,
Can it not stir thy nerveless hands;
Or drowsy sloth's strong chains unbind,
And melt their stringent, icy bands?
“Oh! yes, within my soul I feel
The trumpet call of glorious Spring;
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And make my quivering heartstrings ring
In concord with the joyous day.
Now my crude schemes I'll shape anew,
To smooth the rougher parts away,
Ere trust them to the world's keen view.”
While thus in dreams the Weakling strays,
Which bring not either ill or good,
To dreams his first resolve decays:
But still rolls on Time's awful flood,
And bears along the heedless Boy
Where new, more tempting sights arise;
Who deems each whirling eddy joy,
Slights Good to grasp some present prize.
MAY.
What Witch could shape this balmy dayBut buxom, blue-eyed, sweet-breathed May!
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Peeping from the grasses green,
Peeping through the ether blue,
And heard when shouts the blithe cuckoo;
Or when the blue-bird's quivering cry
Drops, like a sunbeam, from the sky;
Or when the swallow's scolding note
Seems in the very ear to float,
Then, in a moment, far away,
You scarce can catch its distant lay.
All is life, and all is joy!
Art thou he, thou truant Boy!
Who planned thyself a wondrous fate,
Above the vulgar herd's estate;
To soar far o'er the nether crowd,
And bathe thy wings in glory's cloud?
Now while life wakes all around,
Why stand with looks upon the ground;
Why sigh and blush with eye-lids wet,
Like Venus caught in Vulcan's net?
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Is thy heart's thirst for Fame assuaged?
“Ah, no! Within yon forest's shade
I have wooed a blue-eyed Maid;
Fairer never trod dull earth,
Fairer never gave love birth!
'Neath yon holly's spreading green
Maids have crowned her Beauty's Queen.
There a May-day feast is held
Which blends our sports with vanished eld.
There Robin Hood with bow in hands,
Though outlaw, next his Sovereign stands,
To shoot, with all but Robin's skill,
The arrows winged with gray goose quill;
As drawn to ear, with ancient art,
From the long bow they whirring dart.
There Morrice Dancers quaintly dight,
With measured step, show Kemp's delight;
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With gartered bells, the Dancers bound.
There too the youthful Wrestlers strain,
Sole prize, their Sovereign's smile to gain;
Or make the echoing forest ring,
As ponderous bar or sledge they fling.
And when the ruder sports are o'er,
The Maids and Youths shall skip the floor
Of springing turf, by Nature spread,
In many a wild and mazy tread.
Ale's foaming cups our sports shall close,
With feast that wakes no after throes
In throbbing head or burning toe;
So strong our healthful blood will flow.”
Thus love and rustic revelry
Ambition's dreams have forced to flee.
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JUNE.
June, when roses deck the ground,Scatters sweetest smells around;
Flowers which choicest breath exhale,
Bushes, trees, and vines that trail
On trellis or along the ground,
In full blown majesty abound.
Birds, within the close leaved groves,
Whisper to their near perched loves;
'Neath the graceful panther steals
Purring at his coy dame's heels;
While the now all fearless deer
His agile foeman passes near,
Trailing towards the herded does;
Or, with locked horns, and sharp hoof's blows,
Wrestles with some rival bold,
Tangled in his antler's hold.
The eager bull attempts the wall,
With many a smothered deep-mouthed call,
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Gazing with their full-orbed eyne
On him sundered from them far
By an envious stony bar;
Uncropped the tender grass he yields,
And roars around the trampled fields.
From his knotted forehead glow
Eyes which ask but for a foe;
While the froth in spotted flakes
From his gnashing muzzle breaks.
Filled with rabid love he burns;
And on his master boldly turns,
Driving the frighted, trembling clown
Headlong to the neighbouring town.
See, where comes a white robed train,
Winding through the hawthorn lane!
She within that merry band,
With chaplet crowned and flower in hand,
I deem some youthful village Bride
Moving by her Bridegroom's side.
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Ever as her eyes she raises,
Is the Bridegroom, is the Man
Whose hopes his powers to do outran.
Tell me fickle, changing Boy,
Is this Ambition's stern employ?
“I have won the blue-eyed Maid
From her native sylvan shade;
Bound her youthful heart to me
By Love's eternal mystery.
Now to the village church we wend
To bind those bonds time ne'er shall rend—
Happy captives! willing slaves!
Love his wing in triumph waves,
And fans the foggy airs away,
That nought may mar our wedding-day;
Banishing each boding fear
By words which she and I can hear—
Just hear, as the low accents start
Bubbling upward from the heart;
And spread a warm and joyous glow
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Hymen, in saffron mantle dight,
Beckons on the lagging night;
Whose rosy torch shall lend a ray
More welcome than the glaring day.
Then, while life is blessed by Love,
Let not stern Ambition move
His iron hand, to quench a fire
Lit by genial, soft desire!
Let not Wisdom's sudden chill
All the shuddering senses fill,
To nip that earliest, brightest bud
Which, like a lily o'er the flood,
Shows that the turbid stream of Life,
Dark with the rushing Passions' strife,
Yet bears upon its troubled breast
One flower which, star-like, swims at rest,
Clings to the hidden depths below,
While 'bove the wave its blossoms show!”
Thus led by Hymen's luring ray,
Excuse is found for each delay.
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JULY.
Now wakes the busy hum of insect life,Beneath the glowing sun's prolific heat,
And all the air with moving forms is rife,
That with their gauzy oars the thin tide beat,
In myriad swarm which, like a vapour, swims,
And flickers dimly o'er the damper ground;
Or, like a bark, some bulkier voyager skims,
Fanning along with a low droning sound.
Now ply the ne'er tired bees their honied trade,
Rocking upon the robbed, yet unmarred flowers;
The four-winged dragon's rapid course is staid
On some tall stem which o'er the streamlet towers;
Pale butterflies seek out the half dried pool,
To rest their yellow wings upon the brink;
The beetle nods within the thicket cool,
And seems, a grave philosopher, to think
O'er all the little world beneath his view.
Golden, and green, and red, and dusky brown,
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Like sensual men who would their short life drown,
'Cause of its briefness, in a round of joy;
Seeking to shut those avenues of thought
Which work their silken spirits sad annoy;
Not heeding that through suffering peace is wrought.
Who toils beneath the burning noonday sun,
With hardened hands by frequent work embrowned;
Lest the first promise which his labour won,
With full success be not at harvest crowned?
Who bends to pluck the rank and choking weed
From out the bosom of the springing corn;
Lest canker or the blighting rust they breed?—
For of dull sloth are half such evils born.
Is this Fame's Votary strayed so far away,
E'en from the broad, oft travelled, beaten road?
Why toil you here in menial array?
Can work like this your steps to honour goad?
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That which will nourish from the well tilled earth.
Each coming day sees a new care begin;
Till half despairing of my labour's worth,
I well nigh throw aside the useless spade,
Thinking my life dear bought at such a price,
By which but famine's awful jaws are staid:
Then dreams of self-dealt death my thoughts entice,
As, all o'erwearied, I move musing home;
Where soft eyes on me from the spindle beam,
And chubby faces round me lisping come,
To drive away the dark and selfish dream.
Urged on by these, another day I toil;
For who will feed those mouths when I am gone?
Thus homely ties may guilty actions foil;
Thus man to good is oft by children won!
Cheered on at home, I still my work resume,
And daily toil, and daily win a smile;
But here, I ween, Ambition has small room
From Duty's path a Father's steps to guile.”
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AUGUST.
The dusty grass hangs down its languid head,
And on its stalk dries up the sun-burned flower,
The vernal green from the curled leaves has fled,
All verdure shrinks beneath the sun's fierce power;
It seems as if a nipping frost had passed
From the north's puffed and chilling cheeks, to blast
Poor Nature slumbering in her summer bower.
And on its stalk dries up the sun-burned flower,
The vernal green from the curled leaves has fled,
All verdure shrinks beneath the sun's fierce power;
It seems as if a nipping frost had passed
From the north's puffed and chilling cheeks, to blast
Poor Nature slumbering in her summer bower.
The kine stand restless in the shrunken stream,
Lashing the flies with oft reverted tail;
Or 'neath the trees escape the sultry beam,
Leaving the pasture where tumultuous sail
Inflaming gnats, that dance in myriad crowds;
Deep in the grove the listless bird enshrouds,
And stills his warbling to a plaintive wail.
Lashing the flies with oft reverted tail;
Or 'neath the trees escape the sultry beam,
Leaving the pasture where tumultuous sail
Inflaming gnats, that dance in myriad crowds;
Deep in the grove the listless bird enshrouds,
And stills his warbling to a plaintive wail.
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The springs are dried upon the mountain's head,
And sheep steal down where erst a torrent roared;
While opening seams within its blackened bed,
Like dumb mouths, beg that moisture may be poured,
To cheer its banks, and glad the withering lands;
The bordering shrubs bend down with folded hands,
And one still prayer goes upward to earth's Lord.
And sheep steal down where erst a torrent roared;
While opening seams within its blackened bed,
Like dumb mouths, beg that moisture may be poured,
To cheer its banks, and glad the withering lands;
The bordering shrubs bend down with folded hands,
And one still prayer goes upward to earth's Lord.
All sounds are hushed, save the sharp rattling cry
Of grasshoppers, and the shrill crickets' trill;
Or when the swift winged bees go booming by;
Which sounds but make the hour appear more still,
And wake no notice in the listless ear;
For that we note not which we ever hear;
Or Nature's voice might move Man's stubborn Will.
Of grasshoppers, and the shrill crickets' trill;
Or when the swift winged bees go booming by;
Which sounds but make the hour appear more still,
And wake no notice in the listless ear;
For that we note not which we ever hear;
Or Nature's voice might move Man's stubborn Will.
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It seems as if the noontide ne'er would pass;
The blinding sun hangs fixed above our heads,
Encompassed by a sky of burning brass,
That on the land a fiery terror sheds;
Driving the labourer from his half tilled field,
To seek the drowsy grove's protecting shield,
Where sleep's light foot upon his eyelids treads.
The blinding sun hangs fixed above our heads,
Encompassed by a sky of burning brass,
That on the land a fiery terror sheds;
Driving the labourer from his half tilled field,
To seek the drowsy grove's protecting shield,
Where sleep's light foot upon his eyelids treads.
But who stands gasping in the sultry air,
Which nigh o'ercomes him ere his sinews tire,
And seems to flicker like the vapour rare
That rises o'er some huge and scorching fire?
Close by his side two puny children delve,
With tiny hands, that scarce can grasp the helve
With which they imitate their labouring sire.
Which nigh o'ercomes him ere his sinews tire,
And seems to flicker like the vapour rare
That rises o'er some huge and scorching fire?
Close by his side two puny children delve,
With tiny hands, that scarce can grasp the helve
With which they imitate their labouring sire.
Lo 'tis the Dreamer! Man what do you here;
And why toil here these tender children twain?
Wakes not the sun thy heart's paternal fear,
Lest his fierce beams should sap the youthful brain,
And fatal madness on your offspring shed;
Or sudden strike the opening blossoms dead,
Never on earth to live and bloom again?
And why toil here these tender children twain?
Wakes not the sun thy heart's paternal fear,
Lest his fierce beams should sap the youthful brain,
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Or sudden strike the opening blossoms dead,
Never on earth to live and bloom again?
“I fear; but ah! 'tis sullen Fate's command
That they by work their painful bread shall earn;
Nor loitering idly by the wayside stand,
Though summer's fires like living embers burn.
Here must I point the rough, laborious way,
And lead the march while beams the lucid day;
Or, loosing me, where might their footsteps turn!”
That they by work their painful bread shall earn;
Nor loitering idly by the wayside stand,
Though summer's fires like living embers burn.
Here must I point the rough, laborious way,
And lead the march while beams the lucid day;
Or, loosing me, where might their footsteps turn!”
SEPTEMBER.
The yellow leaves which now appearUpon the trees' green heads,
Like those first warnings, wan and drear,
Which Time departing spreads
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To warn us of the tomb,
Foretel how Autumn's slow decay
Shall rob them of their bloom.
The tasseled maize has ceased to grow,
And nods its ripened ears
In many a rustling, serried row;
No flower the landscape cheers;
But from the black and withering limb
The bursting seed-pod falls;
While through the stubble stiff and grim,
The merry partridge calls,
In tones so like man's whistled notes,
His prim clad dames to share
The scattered buckwheat, rye or oats
Which 'scaped the gleaner's care.
No buds put forth, no sprouts appear
In pale but healthy green,
All things proclaim the waning year,
In all decay is seen.
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Among the falling leaves,
Nor plies her empty, hanging hands,
Nor aught on earth achieves.
Ah! soon the maid, in slumber deep,
Amid the snow shall fall;
Nor break her heavy, torpid sleep
Till rings the blue-bird's call;
When scattering ice and chilling snow
With arms revived by rest,
Across the land she'll tripping go,
In vernal blossoms drest.
Who rustles through the withered corn,
And plucks the yellow ears?
While fitful on the breeze is born
The song with which he cheers
His spirits at the tedious work—
A childish melody!
By signs which in my memory lurk,
I know Fame's Votary.
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Forgetful of thy vow,
Still wielding plough, and scythe, and spade—
Say! what can daunt thee now?
“Thus Man with careful hand must reap
That which his labour sowed;
Nor sadly o'er his task should weep
Though thoughts of honour goad;
Or tempt with golden visions bright,
His footsteps to betray;
Which dazzle but to cheat the sight,
Arise but to decay.”
And thus with silly ancient saws,
Which Time has set for fools,
To use instead of reason's laws,
His fickle mind he schools.
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OCTOBER.
Is this the great millennium day
When holy Saints, in bright array,
To greet their Lord shall rise;
Or have our wandering footsteps found
The Cherub guarded, sacred ground
Of primal Paradise?
When holy Saints, in bright array,
To greet their Lord shall rise;
Or have our wandering footsteps found
The Cherub guarded, sacred ground
Of primal Paradise?
Ah! no; the hectic of decay
Is what gives beauty to the day,
And lends it all its charms:
As oft its sweetest smile will grace
The dear, departing, heaven-lit face,
When fading in death's arms.
Is what gives beauty to the day,
And lends it all its charms:
As oft its sweetest smile will grace
The dear, departing, heaven-lit face,
When fading in death's arms.
But O how fair the prospect seems!
Fair as the misty land of dreams
In which I've wondering stood:
It seems as if the evening skies
Had downward shook their gorgeous dyes
Upon the nodding wood.
Fair as the misty land of dreams
In which I've wondering stood:
It seems as if the evening skies
Had downward shook their gorgeous dyes
Upon the nodding wood.
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Golden, and red, and blue, and green,
With every varied tint between
That from art's mingling springs,
Appear the motley coated trees,
As stooping, soaring in the breeze,
They shake their rainbow wings.
With every varied tint between
That from art's mingling springs,
Appear the motley coated trees,
As stooping, soaring in the breeze,
They shake their rainbow wings.
Half hidden 'neath the yellow leaves,
The sun-burned, portly apple heaves
Upon its bending branch.
The blooming peach, the smooth cheeked pear,
The purple grapes, in clusters rare,
Downward their sly looks launch;
The sun-burned, portly apple heaves
Upon its bending branch.
The blooming peach, the smooth cheeked pear,
The purple grapes, in clusters rare,
Downward their sly looks launch;
And nod and wink, as blow the gales,
Exhaling spicy breath that sails
The loaded air along,
To mingle with the robin's voice,
Till all the echoing vales rejoice
In rich perfume and song.
Exhaling spicy breath that sails
The loaded air along,
To mingle with the robin's voice,
Till all the echoing vales rejoice
In rich perfume and song.
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Beside the hearth-stone's ruddy blaze,
Which o'er his toil-worn features plays,
Again the Dreamer see!
Long silver locks are in his hair,
And on his brow, once smooth and fair,
A bygone misery.
Which o'er his toil-worn features plays,
Again the Dreamer see!
Long silver locks are in his hair,
And on his brow, once smooth and fair,
A bygone misery.
But smiles, that hide all trace of woe,
Adown those thought-worn channels flow,
And speak a happy mood;
As with his parted, froth-wreathed lips
The stiff October ale he sips,
His bustling Housewife brewed.
Adown those thought-worn channels flow,
And speak a happy mood;
As with his parted, froth-wreathed lips
The stiff October ale he sips,
His bustling Housewife brewed.
While o'er the heaped and spotless board,
With all of Autumn's dainties stored,
His gloating eyes are bent;
And ever, as he bends to quaff,
Comes from the can a smothered laugh
Of gratified content.
With all of Autumn's dainties stored,
His gloating eyes are bent;
And ever, as he bends to quaff,
Comes from the can a smothered laugh
Of gratified content.
128
What ho! what thing shall balk thee now—
Thou who once wore the thoughtful brow
The mighty ever wear—
In working out thy glorious schemes,
Thy golden, hopeful, youthful dreams,
Now that thy life goes fair?
Thou who once wore the thoughtful brow
The mighty ever wear—
In working out thy glorious schemes,
Thy golden, hopeful, youthful dreams,
Now that thy life goes fair?
“What, have I toiled from morn till eve,
But in my elder days to leave
The joys which crown my lot!
No, I will taste the fruits of toil,
Enjoy the rich, but hard won spoil
My aching sinews got.”
But in my elder days to leave
The joys which crown my lot!
No, I will taste the fruits of toil,
Enjoy the rich, but hard won spoil
My aching sinews got.”
Thus floats he down the stream of life,
Nor struggles in a manly strife,
Nor tries to breast the tide;
But onward where the current bears,
With all the herd he listless fares,
Without a star to guide.
Nor struggles in a manly strife,
Nor tries to breast the tide;
But onward where the current bears,
With all the herd he listless fares,
Without a star to guide.
129
NOVEMBER.
Dark days and short, with fogs and sleety rain,Foretell stern Winter soon will tread the plain;
Though yet in mists, he o'er the land has blown,
He hides the horrors that engird his throne:
But morn and eve the chained and sluggish brook
Reflected shows its tyrant's icy look.
No herb puts forth; the sapless trees are bare,
Nor wave their boughs upon the gusty air;
But stiff and grim, all life and beauty gone,
Their bony shapes make drear the withered lawn.
Unless, perchance, the freezing rain-drops beat
On the brown trunks, and all the branches sheet
In one thick coating of clear, glittering ice;
When Winter shows a dazzling, gay device,
That shames bright Summer on her fairest day—
If o'er the scene the wizard sun should play;
For instant from a silver ocean rise
Shapes which make earth an Eastern Paradise.
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Great rows of pearls on bending branches strung,
Huge evergreens with precious emeralds dight,
Carbuncles, amethysts, and diamonds bright,
With all the gems which men esteem most rare,
Commingled flash upon the frosty air.
Once more upon a cheerful fire-side gaze,
And see the Dreamer nodding o'er the blaze;
Now sunken far in garrulous old age,
He wastes, unheard, his thoughts and precepts sage.
Goes o'er his life from youth's first sunny hour,
Through manhood's noon, till age's shadows lower.
O'er scenes of youth his roaming thoughts most brood,
When Hope her blossoms on his pathway strewed;
And ever memory sheds a clearer ray
On these first deeds than acts of yesterday:
131
And turns his back against the setting sun,
To see if haply he can trace the way
O'er which he toiled throughout the weary day,
Dark grows the late trod valley 'neath his gaze,
While far away the long past summits blaze.
Or gains, perchance, some Youth's impatient ear,
Who restless stands the tedious Sage to hear,
And tells to him his varied tale of life,
His youth's fair hopes, his manhood's eager strife;
Warns him what paths to choose, and what to shun,
Shows on what rocks unconscious voyagers run;
Then breathes a sigh of heavy, heart-felt pain,
And wishes he might live his life again.
Nor knows that he the selfsame course would tread,
For all the snow that crowns his sapient head;
Or with some more fantastic follies stray,
In untried paths, which lead as far away
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The seeming substance might to vapour blend;
For oft the distant fair is present foul,
And 'neath a palm a lion's foot may prowl.
DECEMBER.
At last, 'mid bleak December's awful ice,
The earth-worn Wanderer sadly sits him down.
But earthly joys no longer him entice,
Eternal thoughts his palsied senses drown,
And gathering doubts around him darkly frown.
High on a beetling crag he takes his seat,
Whose rocky base with countless wrecks is strown;
Beneath he hears the sullen waters beat,
As on the land they dash their many trampling feet.
The earth-worn Wanderer sadly sits him down.
But earthly joys no longer him entice,
Eternal thoughts his palsied senses drown,
And gathering doubts around him darkly frown.
High on a beetling crag he takes his seat,
Whose rocky base with countless wrecks is strown;
Beneath he hears the sullen waters beat,
As on the land they dash their many trampling feet.
133
His eager look across the billow strays,
Sees now a light, and now a passing sail;
Which ever as he on them rests his gaze,
Like cheating phantoms, into darkness fail:
At which his care-wrung brow turns ashy pale;
And more intent he pries into the gloom;
While fiercer still dread doubts his soul assail,
And louder still the thundering waters boom,
And mists arise, that chill like a new opened tomb.
Sees now a light, and now a passing sail;
Which ever as he on them rests his gaze,
Like cheating phantoms, into darkness fail:
At which his care-wrung brow turns ashy pale;
And more intent he pries into the gloom;
While fiercer still dread doubts his soul assail,
And louder still the thundering waters boom,
And mists arise, that chill like a new opened tomb.
Yes! seated high on Time's perplexing rock,
Beneath Eternity's dark waters roar,
Whose sights and sounds his quailing spirits shock—
Sees now a helpless babe cast safe ashore,
Now a strong man engulfed for evermore;
There swims a martyr with a brow of hope,
There sinks a king amid his precious store,
There sage philosophers at rushes grope,
And think with them to reach that dreadful ocean's scope.
Beneath Eternity's dark waters roar,
Whose sights and sounds his quailing spirits shock—
Sees now a helpless babe cast safe ashore,
Now a strong man engulfed for evermore;
There swims a martyr with a brow of hope,
There sinks a king amid his precious store,
There sage philosophers at rushes grope,
And think with them to reach that dreadful ocean's scope.
134
Low sounds of woe, and dying wails arise;
And shouts of cheer above the tumult soar,
Mingled with strains which seem from Paradise,
That, for a moment, still the deafening roar,
And calm the billows till the tones are o'er.
These sights and sounds his wakeful senses drink—
But where go they who reach the mist wrapped shore,
Where they who in the boiling current sink?
No faith, no hope is his, he can but doubting think.
And shouts of cheer above the tumult soar,
Mingled with strains which seem from Paradise,
That, for a moment, still the deafening roar,
And calm the billows till the tones are o'er.
These sights and sounds his wakeful senses drink—
But where go they who reach the mist wrapped shore,
Where they who in the boiling current sink?
No faith, no hope is his, he can but doubting think.
Then peers he wondering o'er the dizzy steep,
On that wild sea where he must erelong swim,
Whose thickening horrors coldly round him creep;
Till, lost in dread, his straining eyes grow dim,
And heavy woe-drops down his pale cheeks skim.
Or on his knees in dull despair he falls;
For not a ray of hope comes up to him,
Though, mad with fear, he to the billows calls,
Whose dark, mysterious depth his staggering heart appals.
On that wild sea where he must erelong swim,
Whose thickening horrors coldly round him creep;
Till, lost in dread, his straining eyes grow dim,
And heavy woe-drops down his pale cheeks skim.
Or on his knees in dull despair he falls;
135
Though, mad with fear, he to the billows calls,
Whose dark, mysterious depth his staggering heart appals.
For comfort then he earthward turns his eyes,
But sees one line of long, unbroken snow;
All cheerless round him the cold landscape lies,
While all the world seems laughing at his woe;
Each old familiar object bids him go;
Or on his fears in solemn mockery smiles.
Then turns he where the ceaseless waters flow;
For nought on earth his sinking heart beguiles,
And every glimpse of life new sorrow on him piles.
But sees one line of long, unbroken snow;
All cheerless round him the cold landscape lies,
While all the world seems laughing at his woe;
Each old familiar object bids him go;
Or on his fears in solemn mockery smiles.
Then turns he where the ceaseless waters flow;
For nought on earth his sinking heart beguiles,
And every glimpse of life new sorrow on him piles.
On him he feels a cold and ruthless hand,
That ever urges towards the fearful brink;
Nor can he the relentless grasp withstand,
Or from the firm locked fingers slyly shrink;
Now o'er their balls his palsied eyelids sink,
Blindly he clutches at the slippery shore—
My God! what can the mind at such time think!
A plunge, half swallowed in the angry roar,
And the big waves roll on as darkly as before.
That ever urges towards the fearful brink;
Nor can he the relentless grasp withstand,
Or from the firm locked fingers slyly shrink;
Now o'er their balls his palsied eyelids sink,
136
My God! what can the mind at such time think!
A plunge, half swallowed in the angry roar,
And the big waves roll on as darkly as before.
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