 | Avolio ; a legend of the island of Cos |  |
v
DEDICATORY SONNET
TO EDWIN P. WHIPPLE, ESQ., OF BOSTON.
O Friend! between us, for long dreary years,Distance and Fate have raised their barriers strong;
Yet Love, surviving, takes the wings of Song,
And flies to greet thee; whatsoe'er appears
Of false or feeble in these various lays,
Forgive; the heart is in them, and to thee
The lowliest strains of true sincerity
Rise like the music of a voice of praise.
Though thou hast searched the souls of greatest Seers,
Shakespeare, and Spencer, Sidney,—to the core
Of their deep natures probing o'er and o'er,—
Still not the less to humbler bards are given
Thy faith and homage,—for the Poet's lore,
Or great or small, is knowledge caught from Heaven!
1
AVOLIO—A LEGEND OF THE ISLAND OF COS.
What time the Norman ruled in Sicily
At that mild season when the vernal sea
Is ruffled only by the zephyrs gay,
A goodly ship set sail upon her way
From Ceos unto Smyrna; through the calm
She passed by sunny islands crowned with palm,
Until, so witching tender was the breeze,
So drugged the hours with balms of slumb'rous case,
That they who manned her, in the genial air
And dalliance of the time, forgot the care
Due to her courses; in the warm sunshine
They lay enchanted, dreaming dreams divine,
Whilst drifting heedless on the halcyon water
The bark obeyed whatever currents caught her.
At that mild season when the vernal sea
Is ruffled only by the zephyrs gay,
A goodly ship set sail upon her way
From Ceos unto Smyrna; through the calm
She passed by sunny islands crowned with palm,
Until, so witching tender was the breeze,
So drugged the hours with balms of slumb'rous case,
That they who manned her, in the genial air
And dalliance of the time, forgot the care
Due to her courses; in the warm sunshine
They lay enchanted, dreaming dreams divine,
Whilst drifting heedless on the halcyon water
The bark obeyed whatever currents caught her.
Borne onward thus for many a charméd day,
They reach at length a wide and wooded bay,
The haunt of birds, whose purpling wings, in flight,
Made even the gold-hued morning seem more bright,
Flushed as with darting rainbows; through the tide
By the o'erripe pomegranate juices dyed,
And laving boughs of the wild fig, and grape,
Great shoals of dazzling fishes madly ape
The play of silver lightnings in the deep
Translucent pools; the crew awoke from sleep,
Or, rather, that strange trance which on them pressed
Gently as sleep; yet still they seemed to rest,
Fanned by voluptuous gales, by Morphean languors blessed.
They reach at length a wide and wooded bay,
The haunt of birds, whose purpling wings, in flight,
2
Flushed as with darting rainbows; through the tide
By the o'erripe pomegranate juices dyed,
And laving boughs of the wild fig, and grape,
Great shoals of dazzling fishes madly ape
The play of silver lightnings in the deep
Translucent pools; the crew awoke from sleep,
Or, rather, that strange trance which on them pressed
Gently as sleep; yet still they seemed to rest,
Fanned by voluptuous gales, by Morphean languors blessed.
The shore sloped upward into foliaged hills
Cleft by the channels of a maze of rills
That sent their clarion voices clear, and loud,
Up to the answering eagle in the cloud;
Green vales there were between, and pleasant lawns
Thick-set with blooms, like sheen of tropic dawns
Brightening the Orient; further still, the glades
Of murmurous forests flecked with golden shades
Stretched glimmering southward; on the woods' far rim,
Faintly discerned through veiling vapors, dim
As mists of Indian summer, the wide view
Was clasped by mountains flickering in the blue
And hazy distance;—over all there hung
The morn's eternal beauty calm and young.
Cleft by the channels of a maze of rills
That sent their clarion voices clear, and loud,
Up to the answering eagle in the cloud;
Green vales there were between, and pleasant lawns
Thick-set with blooms, like sheen of tropic dawns
Brightening the Orient; further still, the glades
Of murmurous forests flecked with golden shades
Stretched glimmering southward; on the woods' far rim,
Faintly discerned through veiling vapors, dim
As mists of Indian summer, the wide view
Was clasped by mountains flickering in the blue
And hazy distance;—over all there hung
The morn's eternal beauty calm and young.
3
Amidst the throng that gazed with wondering faces
On that fair Eden, and its fairy graces,
Was one—Avolio—a brave youth of Florence,
Self-exiled from his country, in abhorrence
Of the base, blood-stained tyrants dominant there;—
A gentleman he was, of gracious air,
And liberal as the summer, skilled in lore
Of arms, and chivalry, and many more
Deep sciences, which others left unlearned.
He loved adventure; how his spirit burned
Within him, when, as now, a chance arose
To search untravelled forests, and strange foes
Vanquish by púissance of knightly blows,
Or, rescue maidens from malignant spells
Enforced by hordes of wizard sentinels:
So, in the ardor of his martial glee
He clapped his hands, and shouted suddenly:
“Ho! Sirs! a challenge! let us pierce these woods
Down to the core; explore the solitudes,
And make this flowery empire all our own;
Who knows but we may conquer us a throne?
At least, bold feats await us, grand emprise
To win us favor in our ladies' eyes;—
By Heaven! he is a coward who delays!”
On that fair Eden, and its fairy graces,
Was one—Avolio—a brave youth of Florence,
Self-exiled from his country, in abhorrence
Of the base, blood-stained tyrants dominant there;—
A gentleman he was, of gracious air,
And liberal as the summer, skilled in lore
Of arms, and chivalry, and many more
Deep sciences, which others left unlearned.
He loved adventure; how his spirit burned
Within him, when, as now, a chance arose
To search untravelled forests, and strange foes
Vanquish by púissance of knightly blows,
Or, rescue maidens from malignant spells
Enforced by hordes of wizard sentinels:
So, in the ardor of his martial glee
He clapped his hands, and shouted suddenly:
“Ho! Sirs! a challenge! let us pierce these woods
Down to the core; explore the solitudes,
And make this flowery empire all our own;
Who knows but we may conquer us a throne?
At least, bold feats await us, grand emprise
To win us favor in our ladies' eyes;—
By Heaven! he is a coward who delays!”
So saying, all his countenance ablaze
With fiery zeal, the youth sprang lightly up,
And with right lusty motion filled a cup
(They brought him straightway) to the glistening brim
With Cyprus wine:—“Now glory unto him
Whom, bent on gallant deeds, no danger daunts,
Whose constant soul a constant impulse haunts
Which spurs him onward, onward, to the end;
Pledge we the Brave! and may St. Ermo send
Success to crown our valiantest!” this said,
Avolio shoreward leaped, and with him led
The whole ship's company.
With fiery zeal, the youth sprang lightly up,
4
(They brought him straightway) to the glistening brim
With Cyprus wine:—“Now glory unto him
Whom, bent on gallant deeds, no danger daunts,
Whose constant soul a constant impulse haunts
Which spurs him onward, onward, to the end;
Pledge we the Brave! and may St. Ermo send
Success to crown our valiantest!” this said,
Avolio shoreward leaped, and with him led
The whole ship's company.
A motley band
Were they who mustered; 'round him on the strand,
Mixed knights, and traders; the first, fired for toil
Which promised glory; the last, hot—for spoil.
Through breezy paths, and beds of blossoming thyme
Kept fresh by secret springs, the showery chime
Of whose clear falling waters in the dells,
Played like an airy peal of elfin bells,
With eager minds, but aimless, idle feet,
(The scene about them was so lone, and sweet,
It spelled their steps), 'mid labyrinths of flowers,
By mossy streams, and in deep shadowed bowers,
They strayed from charm to charm through lengths of languid hours.
Were they who mustered; 'round him on the strand,
Mixed knights, and traders; the first, fired for toil
Which promised glory; the last, hot—for spoil.
Through breezy paths, and beds of blossoming thyme
Kept fresh by secret springs, the showery chime
Of whose clear falling waters in the dells,
Played like an airy peal of elfin bells,
With eager minds, but aimless, idle feet,
(The scene about them was so lone, and sweet,
It spelled their steps), 'mid labyrinths of flowers,
By mossy streams, and in deep shadowed bowers,
They strayed from charm to charm through lengths of languid hours.
5
In thickets of wild fern and rustling broom,
The humble-bee buzzed past them with a boom
Of insect thunder, and in glens afar
The golden fire-fly, a small, animate star,
Shone from the twilight of the darkling leaves.
High noon it was, but dusk, like mellow eve's,
Reigned in the wood's deep places, whence it seemed
That flushing locks, and quick arch glances gleamed,
From eyes scarce human; thus the fancy deemed
Of those most given to marvels; the rest laughed
A merry jeering laugh, and many a shaft
Launched from the Norman cross-bow pierced the nooks,
Or cleft the shallow channels of the brooks,
Whence, as the credulous swore, an Oread shy,
And a glad Nymph, had peeped out laughingly.
The humble-bee buzzed past them with a boom
Of insect thunder, and in glens afar
The golden fire-fly, a small, animate star,
Shone from the twilight of the darkling leaves.
High noon it was, but dusk, like mellow eve's,
Reigned in the wood's deep places, whence it seemed
That flushing locks, and quick arch glances gleamed,
From eyes scarce human; thus the fancy deemed
Of those most given to marvels; the rest laughed
A merry jeering laugh, and many a shaft
Launched from the Norman cross-bow pierced the nooks,
Or cleft the shallow channels of the brooks,
Whence, as the credulous swore, an Oread shy,
And a glad Nymph, had peeped out laughingly.
Thus wandering, they reached a sombre mound
Rising abruptly from the level ground,
And planted thick with dark funereal trees,
Whose foliage waved and murmured, though the breeze
Had sunk to midnight quiet, and the sky
Just o'er the place seemed locked in apathy,
Like a fair face wan with the sudden stroke
Of death, or heart-break; not a word they spoke,
But paused with wide, bewildered, gleaming eyes,
Standing at gaze: what mortal terrors rise
And coil about their hearts with serpent fold;
And O! what loathly scene is this they hold,
Grasped with unwinking vision, as they creep,
(Led by their very horror,) up the steep,
And the whole preternatural landscape dawns
Freezingly on them; a broad stretch of lawns
Sown with rank poisonous grasses, whence the dew
Of hovering exhalations flickered blue,
And wavering on the dead-still atmosphere;
Dead-still it was, and yet the grasses sere,
Stirred as with horrid life amidst the sickening glare!
Rising abruptly from the level ground,
And planted thick with dark funereal trees,
Whose foliage waved and murmured, though the breeze
Had sunk to midnight quiet, and the sky
Just o'er the place seemed locked in apathy,
Like a fair face wan with the sudden stroke
Of death, or heart-break; not a word they spoke,
6
Standing at gaze: what mortal terrors rise
And coil about their hearts with serpent fold;
And O! what loathly scene is this they hold,
Grasped with unwinking vision, as they creep,
(Led by their very horror,) up the steep,
And the whole preternatural landscape dawns
Freezingly on them; a broad stretch of lawns
Sown with rank poisonous grasses, whence the dew
Of hovering exhalations flickered blue,
And wavering on the dead-still atmosphere;
Dead-still it was, and yet the grasses sere,
Stirred as with horrid life amidst the sickening glare!
The affrighted crew (all save Avolio) fled
Incontinent, but his dull feet with lead
Seemed freighted; whilst his terror whispered “fly,”
The spell of some uncouth necessity
Baffled retreat, and ruthless, scourged him on;
Meanwhile the sun thro' darkening vapors shone
Nigh to his setting, and a sudden blast—
Sudden and chill—woke shrilly up and passed
With ghostly din, and tumult; airy sounds
Of sylvan horns, and sweep of circling hounds
Nearing the quarry: now, the wizard chase
Swept faintly, faintly up the fields of space,
And now, with backward rushing whirl roared by
Louder, and fiercer, till a maddening cry,
A bitter shrick of human agony
Leaped up, and died, amidst the stifling yell
Of brutes athirst for blood: a crowning swell
Of savage triumph followed, mixed with wails
Sad as the dying songs of nightingales
Murmuring the name—Actaeon!
Incontinent, but his dull feet with lead
Seemed freighted; whilst his terror whispered “fly,”
The spell of some uncouth necessity
Baffled retreat, and ruthless, scourged him on;
Meanwhile the sun thro' darkening vapors shone
Nigh to his setting, and a sudden blast—
Sudden and chill—woke shrilly up and passed
With ghostly din, and tumult; airy sounds
Of sylvan horns, and sweep of circling hounds
Nearing the quarry: now, the wizard chase
Swept faintly, faintly up the fields of space,
7
Louder, and fiercer, till a maddening cry,
A bitter shrick of human agony
Leaped up, and died, amidst the stifling yell
Of brutes athirst for blood: a crowning swell
Of savage triumph followed, mixed with wails
Sad as the dying songs of nightingales
Murmuring the name—Actaeon!
Even as one—
A 'rapt sleep-walker—through the shadows dun
Of half-oblivious sense, with soulless gaze
Goes idly journeying 'midst uncertain ways,
Thus did Avolio, sore perplexed in mind,
(Excess of mystery made his spirit blind,)
Grope through the gloom; anon he reached a fount
Whose watery columns had long ceased to mount
Above its prostrate Tritons: near at hand,
Dammed up in part by heaps of yellow sand,—
Dead-white, and lustreless,—a rivulet
Of oozy banks, with dank dark alders set,
Blurred in its turbid tides the o'erhanging sky;
The melancholy waters seemed to sigh
In wailful murmurs of articulate woe,
And struggling from the sullen depths below.
This dirge arose:—
A 'rapt sleep-walker—through the shadows dun
Of half-oblivious sense, with soulless gaze
Goes idly journeying 'midst uncertain ways,
Thus did Avolio, sore perplexed in mind,
(Excess of mystery made his spirit blind,)
Grope through the gloom; anon he reached a fount
Whose watery columns had long ceased to mount
Above its prostrate Tritons: near at hand,
Dammed up in part by heaps of yellow sand,—
Dead-white, and lustreless,—a rivulet
Of oozy banks, with dank dark alders set,
Blurred in its turbid tides the o'erhanging sky;
The melancholy waters seemed to sigh
In wailful murmurs of articulate woe,
And struggling from the sullen depths below.
This dirge arose:—
8
SONG OF THE IMPRISONED NAIAD.
I.
Woe! woe is me! the ages pass away,The mortal seasons run their mystic rounds,
Whilst here I wither for the sun-bright day,
Its genial sights and sounds.
Woe! woe is me!
II.
One summer night, in centuries long agone,I saw my Oread lover leave the brake,
I heard him plaining on the peaceful lawn
A plaint “for my sweet sake.”
Woe! woe is me!
III.
Hearkening! I couched upon a reedy bank,Until the music grew so mournful-wild,
Its sweet despair o'ercame me, and I sank
Weak, wailful as a child.
Woe! woe is me!
IV.
My heart leaped up to answer that fond lay,But suddenly the star-girt planets paled,
9
Majestic Dian sailed.
Woe! woe is me!
V.
She swept aloft,—bold, burning as the sun,And wrathful-red as fiery-crested Mars;
Then knew I that some fearful deed was done
On earth, or in the stars,
Woe! woe is me!
VI.
With ghastly face upraised, and shuddering throat,I watched the portent with a prescient pain,
When, lightning-barbed, a beamy arrow smote,
Or seemed to smite my brain.
Woe! woe is me!
VII.
Oblivion clasped me, till I woke forlorn,Fettered, and sorrowing on this lonely bed,
Shut from the mirthful kisses of the morn,—
Earth's glories overhead.
Woe! woe is me!
VIII.
The south winds stir the sedges into song,The blossoming myrtles scent the enamored air,
10
I pine in sadness here.
Woe! woe is me!
IX.
Alas! alas! the weary centuries flee!The waning seasons perish,—dark, or bright,—
My grief alone, like some charmed poison-tree,
Knows not an autumn blight.
Woe! woe is me!
The mournful sounds swooned off, but Echo rose
And bore them up divinely to a close
Of rare mysterious sweetness; never more
Shall mortal winds to listening wood and shore,
Bring such heart-melting music: “Where, O! where!”
Avolio murmured, “to what haunted sphere
Hath dubious Fate my errant footsteps brought?”
Launched on a baffling sea of mystic thought,
His reason in a whirling chaos lost
Compass and chart, and headway, vaguely tossed
'Midst flitting shapes of wingéd phantasies;—
Just then uplifting his bewildered eyes,
He saw—half hid in shade—the pillars grand,
Of a great gateway reared on either hand,
And close beyond them, nested in a wood
Of stern áspect, a sombrous mansion stood:
Long wreaths of ghastly ivy on its walls
Quivered like goblin tapestry, or palls,
Tattered and rusty, mildewed in the chill
Of dreadful vaults; across each window-sill
Curtains of weird device and fiery hue
Hung moveless,—only when the sun glanced through
The gathering glooms, the hieroglyphs took form,
And life, and action, and the whole grew warm
With meanings baffling to Avolio's sense:—
He stood expectant, trembling, with intense
Dread in his eyes, and yet a struggling faith
Vital at heart;—a sudden-passing breath
Of mystic wind thrilled by his tingling ear,
Waving the curtains inward, and his fear
Uprose victorians, for a serpent shape,
Tall, lithe, and writhing, with malignant gape,
Which showed its fiery fangs, hissed in the gleam
Its own fell eyeballs kindled; oh! supreme
The horror of that vision! as he gazed,
Irresolute, mute, motionless, amazed,
The monster disappeared; a moment sped!
The next, it fawned before him on a bed
Of scarlet poppies. “Speak!” Avolio said,
“What art thou? speak! I charge thee in God's name;”
And bore them up divinely to a close
Of rare mysterious sweetness; never more
Shall mortal winds to listening wood and shore,
Bring such heart-melting music: “Where, O! where!”
Avolio murmured, “to what haunted sphere
Hath dubious Fate my errant footsteps brought?”
Launched on a baffling sea of mystic thought,
His reason in a whirling chaos lost
Compass and chart, and headway, vaguely tossed
'Midst flitting shapes of wingéd phantasies;—
Just then uplifting his bewildered eyes,
He saw—half hid in shade—the pillars grand,
Of a great gateway reared on either hand,
And close beyond them, nested in a wood
Of stern áspect, a sombrous mansion stood:
11
Quivered like goblin tapestry, or palls,
Tattered and rusty, mildewed in the chill
Of dreadful vaults; across each window-sill
Curtains of weird device and fiery hue
Hung moveless,—only when the sun glanced through
The gathering glooms, the hieroglyphs took form,
And life, and action, and the whole grew warm
With meanings baffling to Avolio's sense:—
He stood expectant, trembling, with intense
Dread in his eyes, and yet a struggling faith
Vital at heart;—a sudden-passing breath
Of mystic wind thrilled by his tingling ear,
Waving the curtains inward, and his fear
Uprose victorians, for a serpent shape,
Tall, lithe, and writhing, with malignant gape,
Which showed its fiery fangs, hissed in the gleam
Its own fell eyeballs kindled; oh! supreme
The horror of that vision! as he gazed,
Irresolute, mute, motionless, amazed,
The monster disappeared; a moment sped!
The next, it fawned before him on a bed
Of scarlet poppies. “Speak!” Avolio said,
“What art thou? speak! I charge thee in God's name;”
A death-cold shudder seized the Serpent's frame;
Its huge throat writhed; whence, bubbling with a throe
Of hideous import, a voice, thin and low,
Broke like a mudded rill: “Bethink thee well!
This Isle is Cos, of which old legends tell
Such marvels. Hast thou never heard of me,—
The Island's fated Queen?” “Ay! verily!”
Avolio cried, “thou art that thing of dread!”—
Sharply the Serpent raised its glittering head
And front tempestuous. “Hold! no tongue save mine
Shall solve that mystery! prithee then, incline
Thine ear to the sad story of my grief,
And with thine ear, yield, yield me thy belief;—
Foul as I am, there was a time, O! youth!
When these fierce eyes were founts of love and truth;
There was a time when woman's blooming grace
Glowed through the flush of roses in my face;
When,—but I sinned a deep and damning sin,—
I cursed the great Diana! I defied
The night's immaculate goddess, argent-eyed,
And holiest of Immortals! I denied
The eternal might which looks so cold and calm;—
Therefore, O! stranger! am I what I am;
A monster meet for Tartarus! a thing
Whereon men gaze with awe and shuddering,
And stress of inward terror; through all time,
Down to the last age, my abhorréd crime
Must hold me prisoner in this vile abode,
Unless some man, large-hearted as a god,
Bolder than Ajax, mercifully deign
To kiss me on the mouth!”
She towered amain
With sparkling crest, and universal thrill
Of frenzied eagerness that seemed to fill
Her cavernous eyes with jets of lurid fire;—
“And if I do accord thee thy desire,”
Rejoined Avolio, “what sure guage have I,
That this same kiss thy cursed destiny
Hath not ordained—the least elaborate plan
Whereby to snare and slay me?” “O! man! man!”
The Serpent answered with a loftier mien,
The while her voice grew mild, her front serene,
“Shall Matter always triumph; the base mould
Mask the immortal essence, uncontrolled
Save by your grovelling fancies? O! eterne,
And grand Benignities that breathe and burn
Throughout Creation, are we but the motes
In some vain dream that idly sways and floats
To nothingness; or, are your grandeurs pent
Within ourselves, to rise magnificent
In bloom and music, when we bend above,
And wake them by the kisses of our love?
I yearn to be made beautiful; alas!
Beauty itself looks on prepared to pass
In callous disbelief! one action kind,
Would free and save me,—Why art thou so blind
Avolio?” While she spoke, two timorous hares
Seared by a threatening falcon from their lairs,
Rushed to the Serpent's side; with fondling tongue
She soothed them as a mother soothes her young.
12
Of hideous import, a voice, thin and low,
Broke like a mudded rill: “Bethink thee well!
This Isle is Cos, of which old legends tell
Such marvels. Hast thou never heard of me,—
The Island's fated Queen?” “Ay! verily!”
Avolio cried, “thou art that thing of dread!”—
Sharply the Serpent raised its glittering head
And front tempestuous. “Hold! no tongue save mine
Shall solve that mystery! prithee then, incline
Thine ear to the sad story of my grief,
And with thine ear, yield, yield me thy belief;—
Foul as I am, there was a time, O! youth!
When these fierce eyes were founts of love and truth;
There was a time when woman's blooming grace
Glowed through the flush of roses in my face;
When,—but I sinned a deep and damning sin,—
I cursed the great Diana! I defied
The night's immaculate goddess, argent-eyed,
And holiest of Immortals! I denied
The eternal might which looks so cold and calm;—
Therefore, O! stranger! am I what I am;
A monster meet for Tartarus! a thing
Whereon men gaze with awe and shuddering,
13
Down to the last age, my abhorréd crime
Must hold me prisoner in this vile abode,
Unless some man, large-hearted as a god,
Bolder than Ajax, mercifully deign
To kiss me on the mouth!”
She towered amain
With sparkling crest, and universal thrill
Of frenzied eagerness that seemed to fill
Her cavernous eyes with jets of lurid fire;—
“And if I do accord thee thy desire,”
Rejoined Avolio, “what sure guage have I,
That this same kiss thy cursed destiny
Hath not ordained—the least elaborate plan
Whereby to snare and slay me?” “O! man! man!”
The Serpent answered with a loftier mien,
The while her voice grew mild, her front serene,
“Shall Matter always triumph; the base mould
Mask the immortal essence, uncontrolled
Save by your grovelling fancies? O! eterne,
And grand Benignities that breathe and burn
Throughout Creation, are we but the motes
In some vain dream that idly sways and floats
To nothingness; or, are your grandeurs pent
Within ourselves, to rise magnificent
In bloom and music, when we bend above,
14
I yearn to be made beautiful; alas!
Beauty itself looks on prepared to pass
In callous disbelief! one action kind,
Would free and save me,—Why art thou so blind
Avolio?” While she spoke, two timorous hares
Seared by a threatening falcon from their lairs,
Rushed to the Serpent's side; with fondling tongue
She soothed them as a mother soothes her young.
Avolio mused. “Can innocent things like these
Take refuge by her? then perchance some good,
Some tenderness, if rightly understood,
Lurks in her nature. I will do the deed;
Christ and the Virgin save me at my need!”
Take refuge by her? then perchance some good,
Some tenderness, if rightly understood,
Lurks in her nature. I will do the deed;
Christ and the Virgin save me at my need!”
He signed the monster nearer, closed his eyes,
And with some natural shuddering, some deep sighs,
Gave up his pallid lips to the foul kiss.
What followed then?—a traitorous serpent hiss
Sharper for triumph? O! not so—he felt
A warm, rich, clinging mouth approach and melt
In languid, loving sweetness on his own,
And two fond arms caressingly were thrown
About his neck, and on his bosom pressed
Twin lilies of a pure-white virgin breast.
He raised his eyes, released from brief despair,—
They rested on a maiden tall and fair,
Fair as the tropic morn, when morn is new;
And her sweet glances smote him through and through
With such keen-thrilling rapture, that he swore
His willing heart should evermore adore
Such loveliness, and woo her till he died.
And with some natural shuddering, some deep sighs,
Gave up his pallid lips to the foul kiss.
What followed then?—a traitorous serpent hiss
Sharper for triumph? O! not so—he felt
A warm, rich, clinging mouth approach and melt
In languid, loving sweetness on his own,
And two fond arms caressingly were thrown
About his neck, and on his bosom pressed
Twin lilies of a pure-white virgin breast.
15
They rested on a maiden tall and fair,
Fair as the tropic morn, when morn is new;
And her sweet glances smote him through and through
With such keen-thrilling rapture, that he swore
His willing heart should evermore adore
Such loveliness, and woo her till he died.
“I am thine own,” she said, “thine own dear bride,
If thou wilt take me.” Hand in hand they strayed
Adown the shadows through the woodland glade,
Whence every evil Influence shrank afraid,
And round them poured the golden eventide.
If thou wilt take me.” Hand in hand they strayed
Adown the shadows through the woodland glade,
Whence every evil Influence shrank afraid,
And round them poured the golden eventide.
Swiftly the news of this most strange event
Abroad upon the tell-tale wind was sent,
Rousing the eager world to wonderment.
Abroad upon the tell-tale wind was sent,
Rousing the eager world to wonderment.
Now 'mid the various companies that came
To visit Cos, was that leal knight by Fame
Exalted, for brave deeds, and faith divine,
Shown in the sacred wars of Palestine,—
Tancred, Salerno's Prince; he came in state,
With fourscore gorgeous barges, small and great;
With pomp and music like an Ocean Fate,
His blazoned prows along the glimmering sea
Spread like an Eastern sunrise gloriously.
To visit Cos, was that leal knight by Fame
Exalted, for brave deeds, and faith divine,
Shown in the sacred wars of Palestine,—
Tancred, Salerno's Prince; he came in state,
With fourscore gorgeous barges, small and great;
With pomp and music like an Ocean Fate,
16
Spread like an Eastern sunrise gloriously.
Him and his followers did Avolio feast
Right royally, but when the mirth increased,
And joyous-wingéd jests began to pass
Above the sparkling cups of Hippocras,
Tancred arose, and in his courtly phrase
Invoked delight, and length of prosperous days,
To crown that happy union; one sole doubt
The Prince confessed, and this he dared speak out,—
“It could not be that their sweet hostess still
Worshipped Diana, and her heathen will?”
“O! Sir, not so!” Avolio flushing cried,
“But Christ the Lord!” No single word replied
The beauteous lady, but with gentle pride,
And a quick motion to Avolio's side
She drew more closely by a little space,
Gazing with modest passion in his face,
As one who longed to whisper tenderly,
“O! brave, kind Heart! I worship only thee!”
Right royally, but when the mirth increased,
And joyous-wingéd jests began to pass
Above the sparkling cups of Hippocras,
Tancred arose, and in his courtly phrase
Invoked delight, and length of prosperous days,
To crown that happy union; one sole doubt
The Prince confessed, and this he dared speak out,—
“It could not be that their sweet hostess still
Worshipped Diana, and her heathen will?”
“O! Sir, not so!” Avolio flushing cried,
“But Christ the Lord!” No single word replied
The beauteous lady, but with gentle pride,
And a quick motion to Avolio's side
She drew more closely by a little space,
Gazing with modest passion in his face,
As one who longed to whisper tenderly,
“O! brave, kind Heart! I worship only thee!”
36
SONNETS.
ON THE OCCURRENCE OF A SPELL OF ARCTIC WEATHER IN MAY, 1858.
We thought that Winter with his hungry packOf hounding Winds had closed his dreary chase,—
For virgin Spring, with arch, triumphant face,
Lightly descending, had strewed o'er his track
Gay flowers that hid the stormy season's wrack.
Vain thought! for, wheeling on his northward path,
And girt by all his hungry Blasts, in wrath
The shrill-voiced Huntsman hurries swiftly back,—
The frightened vernal Zephyrs shrink and die
Through the chilled forest,—the rare blooms expire,—
And Spring herself, too terror-struck to fly,
Seized by the ravening Winds with fury dire,
Dies 'mid the scarlet flowers that round her lie,
Like waning flames of some rich funeral fire!
46
[I. An idle Poet dreaming in the sun]
An idle Poet dreaming in the sun,—One given to much unhallowed vagrancy
Of thought and step; who, when he comes to die,
In the broad world can point to nothing done;
No chartered corporations, no streets paved
With very princely stone-work, no vast file
Of warehouses, no slowly-hoarded pile
Of priceless treasure, no proud sceptre waved
O'er potent realms of stock, no magic art
Lavished on curious gins, or works of steam;
Only—a few wild songs that melt the heart;
Only—the glow of some unearthly dream,
Embodied and immortal! What are these,
Sneers the sage world,—chaff! smoke! vain phantasies!
47
[II. Yet Stock depreciates, even Banks decay]
Yet Stock depreciates, even Banks decay,Merchant and architect are lowly laid
In purple palls, and the shrewd lords of trade
Lament, for they were wiser in their day
Than the clear sons of light;—but prithee, how
Doth stand the matter, when the years have fled;
What means you concourse thronging where the dead
Old Singer sleeps;—say! do they seek him now?
Now that his dust is scattered on the breath
Of every wind that blows;—what meaneth this?
It means, thou sapient citizen, that death
Heralds the Bard's true life, as with a kiss,
Wakens two immortalities; then bow
To the world's scorn, O Poet, with calm brow.
48
[Are these the mountains, this the forest gay]
Are these the mountains, this the forest gay,Through whose grand gorges, and empurpled aisles
I walked when Nature wore the light of smiles,
And tuneful Fancies charmed the genial way?
O'er the broad landscape shines as fair a day,
Still sport the breezes, and the wild brooks weave
The same low, drowsy, music; wherefore grieve,
I ask my heart, and whence this sad decay
Of answering gratulation? Oh! my soul,
In thee, in thee, the mournful darkness lies,
Which clogs the buoyant pulse, and dims the eyes
That feasted once upon the humblest flowers;
And so, in vain the kingly mountain towers,
The joyous forest waves, the sparkling waters roll.
52
POLITICAL SONNETS.
SONNET
[I. Hath the proud Spirit which o'erruled this land]
Hath the proud Spirit which o'erruled this landWhen Freedom was baptized in holy blood,
Succumbed forever to the turbid flood
Of wretched anarchies!—oh! calm and grand,
Did her broad wings above our homes expand
In the old heroic days; but we have turned
From the high shrine whereon her glories burned,
And her sweet tongue none seem to understand.
What! battling by our hearthstones, while the Foe
Storms at the gates of our most sacred Right,
When every limb should girded be for fight,
And every heart with one impulsion glow!
Let Traitors in base broils expend their might,
A Titan threats us—shall we bide the blow?
53
[II. Strike! 'tis a righteous quarrel! strike as they]
Strike! 'tis a righteous quarrel! strike as they,Our grand, brave, free Ancestors struck of yore,
Full at the Tyrant's bosom—they forebore,
But not so long as we have—much delay
Endangers liberty, and Freedom's day
Wanes when the unquelled Despot stalks abroad.
Why pause ye? right is right, and God is God
Forever—while the mountain breezes play
Unfettered round your summits, while the sea
Breaks on your shores in thunder, and the glooms
Of mighty woods enshroud your Patriots' tombs,
Ringing to stormy anthems, can it be
That ye will court the Oppressor's insolent sway,
And basely fawn, and falter, and—obey?
54
SONNET
[I. The conflict swells apace! the rallying cries]
The conflict swells apace! the rallying criesOf frenzied Faction, and discordant Hate
Send forth their ominous voices, thundering fate
And ruin, while all loftier virtue dies!
Above us gleam two giant Destinies
Solemn and still, the one with mien elate,
The other that dread Doom whose shadows wait
Where Freedom's sun pales down its wintry skies;
Behind us looms the Past, innumerous grand
Imperial Phantoms resurrectionized,
And beckoning with dumb pathos by their tombs,—
Beyond us, the veiled Future, with command
To bless or curse, as we shall stand full-sized
In Freedom's light, or dwarfed in Slavery's glooms.
55
[II. Our ancient Honor, our ancestral Pride]
Our ancient Honor, our ancestral Pride,Duty, and manhood, every regal Thought
Wherewith a noble end is nobly wrought,
Purpose made strong and Valor sanctified,
All urge divorce from that weak sloth allied
To treacherous peace by glozing compacts bought;
Success, and empire shall not come unsought,
And pluméd Victory walks by Labor's side;
Yet Sleep hath bound us, and the shadow of dreams
Rests cold upon our spirits; one by one
The bulwarks of supremest Rights are riven,
And the crash wakes us not, the lightning-gleams
Unheeded o'er the tempest's bosom run,
And we are blind and deaf to earth, and—heaven.
56
[III. Ay! deaf, blind! lulled with opiates of self-praise]
Ay! deaf, blind! lulled with opiates of self-praise,And sluggish in the calm of base content;
Our Wisdom clogged, our Will in banishment,
Idly we pass the weak, voluptuous days;
Or, if a moment starting from the maze
Of pleasant dreamings, we have feebly bent
To mark the insurgent Madness which hath rent
The altars of our safety, brief the gaze!
Straight the lethargic Ease resumes its power,
And with a listless, and all-vacant air,
We mutter foolish fancies, and—are still;
Meantime, the Foe is up, the trumpets blare,
The mailed Oppression works his iron will,
Whilst dark Destruction bides the final Hour.
57
SONNET
I.
Ye cannot add by any pile YE raise
[_]
[On the refusal of the Legislature of a Southern State to appropriate any amount for the erection of a Monument to the memory of a distinguished Statesman.]
One jot, or tittle to the Statesman's fame:
That the world knows; to the far future days
Belongs his glory, and its radiant flame
Will burn when YE are dead, decayed, forgot;
Therefore your opposition matters not;
The thin-masked jealousies of present time
Unburied in his grave, survive to keep
Rampant the hate He deemed his highest praise,
And the rude clash of discord o'er his sleep;
But for his great, wise acts, his faith sublime,
All that the soul of genius sanctifies,
These mount where viler Passions cannot climb,
These live where palsied Malice faints and dies.
58
[II. Still must the common Voice denounce the deed]
Still must the common Voice denounce the deed,The common Heart swell with an outraged pride,
That the poor purchase of the paltry meed
His country owed him, should be thus denied;
Shame on the Senate! shame on every hand
Which did not falter when recording there,
The basest act achieved for many a year,
To fire the scorn of the whole Southern land;
Nor the South only, for our foes will cry,
Out on your petty pasteboard chivalry!
The People who refuse to crown the Great
And Good with honor, do themselves eclipse,
And doubly shameless is the recreant State,
Whose condemnation comes from her own lips.
62
MISCELLANEOUS SONNETS
[O! pour thine inmost soul upon the Air]
O! pour thine inmost soul upon the Air,And trust to Heaven the secrets that recline
In the sweet nunnery of thy virgin breast;
Speak to the winds that wander everywhere,—
And sure must wander hither—the divine
Contentment, and the infinite, deep rest
That calm thy passionate being, and lift high
To the still realm of Love's eternity
The passive ocean of thy charméd thought;
And tell the Ariel element to bear
The burden of thy whispered heart to me,
By Fairy alchemy of distance wrought
To something sacred as a saintly prayer,
A spell to set my nobler nature free.
64
WRITTEN AFTER READING TRELAWNEY'S DESCRIPTION OF THE BURNING OF SHELLEY'S BODY.
Why did they take thee from thine Ocean-grave,O! man of many sorrows?—the blue sea
Had been thy brother, and each wandering wave
That kissed the shores of thy loved Italy
A solace, and a blessing:—the low moan
Of the lamenting waters seemed to start
Within thy soul an echo, and the tone
Of a more mournful music in thy heart.
O! therefore did'st thou seek them, and pour forth
To their deep sympathy a sorrowing strain
Of all the woes and wretchedness of earth,
That strove to bend thy patient mind in vain:
The Ocean heard thee, loved thee—and the breast
Of Nature's mighty minstrel gave thee—rest.
67
[Thou who art moving ever in the round]
Thou who art moving ever in the roundOf Custom, dragging an eternal chain,
Whose weight for thy dull spirit hath no pain,
Deeming that thou life's secret bliss hast found;—
Whose senseless ear is ravished by no sound
Of inner harmonies, whose eyes are blind
To the rich splendors of creative mind,
That make our common earth imperial ground,
'Tis well for thee in the supreme content
Of grovelling worldliness, to sit, and sigh
That Heaven hath fashioned Poesy, and blent
With our base instincts aught of pure, and high:
Thou would'st pluck down the stars, and curb the bound
Of Ocean, did thy Avarice gain thereby!
70
[O lady! radiant lady! thy sweet eyes]
O lady! radiant lady! thy sweet eyes,And happy smiles, and fulness of all light
Of genial beauty, overthrong my sight
With memories of another, who now lies
Crowned with the churchyard marble: thou hast all
Her winning graces, and her blighted years
Re-bloom in thee,—the dark thought disappears
That wooed the silence, and o'erwept the pall.
My soul flows to thee, and though not again
May passionate thoughts possess me, I will pray,
(As a fond brother might,) that on thy way
The adoration of strong love may rain
Its benedictions,—and around thee fall
Blisses that deepen with the deepening day.
71
THE MYSTERY OF LIFE.
I.
Wrong conquers Right, and the black shadow of illCovers the earth with drought and drear eclipse,
And stammering prayers are uttered by pale lips,
And Tyrants triumph, and Fiends drink their fill
Of mortal wretchedness, and quick blights kill
Virtue i' th' bud of promise;—wherefore this?
Moans the blind soul, stumbling away from bliss
Through the wide mysteries of the eternal Will;
Why fainteth Love in the rude grasp of Hate?
Why creeps the Genius which hath wings to soar?
And human Misery, fronting human Fate,
Scorn and deny Thee, Father, evermore?
Till even the faithful falter from the dust.
O awful God! we hope that thou art just.
72
THE REVELATION OF DEATH.
II.
“Light! give me light!” —the expiring Poet cried,Closing his languid eyelids on the day,
And with that solemn cry he passed away;
And haply Doubt was solved, and Error died,
And glimmering Trust was grandly glorified,
Even in the moment of his mightiest need;
And that same light God planteth as a seed,
Outburst from darkness to a broad noontide;
So that he saw as, Brothers! we shall see
(Freed by the angel Death) the chain sublime
Which binds dim Earth to clear Eternity,
Gleam from the duskiest depths of doubtful Time;
And learnt, as we shall learn, the wondrous plan
“Which justifies the ways of God to man.”
“The last audible words of Goethe were, More Light! The final darkness grew apace, and he, whose eternal longings had been for more Light, gave a parting cry for it as he was passing under the shadow of Death.”
Lewes's Life and Works of Goethe, vol. ii. p. 456.73
PRE-EXISTENCE.
If Immortality be not a dream,Wherefore should we have never known of yore
Another life than ours, a mystic shore,
Whose memory haunts us as a shadowy beam
Of pallid starlight haunts a clouded stream?
What lives for aye hereafter, must before
Have felt the pulse of being; our weak lore
Declares it not; is't therefore the false gleam
Of fantasy, which holds we rise to Heaven
By infinite gradations, through all rounds
Of multiform experience—by the levin
Of fiery trial hallowed in the bounds
Of many worlds, till the immaculate soul
Stands on the heights of Godhead pure and whole?
75
ELEGIAC.
I.
“Whom the Gods love, die early,”—it may be,—But standing, noble Friend, beside thy grave,
Whereon already the lush grasses wave,
Nursed by the pitying Skies' serenity,
[While the pent grief expands, the tears gush free,]
I do arraign the fiery Fate whose blow,
In thy bright morn of years, hath laid thee low,
Whose noon had held all gifts of fame in fee;
Thou wert a Prince in manhood; every grace
Of generous nurture and of genial blood
Beamed in thy presence; and thy lordly face,
The dial of a clear and lofty mood;
Yet now thou art a Phantom,—all is fled,—
The grace, the glory,—God! canst thou be dead?
77
IMMATURITY.
The fields are ripening to the harvest bloom,The full grain reddens in the fiery morn,
When, lo!—a mighty whirlwind, sudden-born,
Blights the fair produce with untimely doom;—
Oft do the coral islands faintly loom
Above the South-sea waters, to sink back,
Crumbling to ruin in the earthquake's track,
And what had risen an Eden, rests—a tomb.
Thus, glorious natures, toiling through the years,
Just ready to yield up the glowing flowers
Of faith and genius, fall amid their peers,
And bear to Darkness those supernal powers,
Wrought slowly upward with elaborate care,
Swelling from depths obscure, to fill the loftiest Sphere.
78
[He stands as one to whom all life is vain]
He stands as one to whom all life is vain,And death is terrorless,—the misty dread,
Wherewith the Future veils her awful head,
Hath touched him like the shadow of past pain:
He has no heart to woo Faith's lofty lore,
The aspiring Instincts of his youth have fled,
And even the shining tracks on which they sped
Shall never catch their waning glory more.
O Life! O Sorrow! fare ye well together!
At last Nepenthe comes with healing wings,
And a faint music girds the final sleep;
Alas! he cannot sigh, he cannot weep;
And even the hope this blest deliverance brings,
Falls like a doubtful gleam of Autumn weather.
81
THE GARDEN IN THE CITY.
Here in the City's hot and lurid heart,Embowered with richest green, the Garden lies
Open to each soft influence of the skies,—
A natural brilliant on the breast of Art,
A shrine for quiet fancies 'mid the Mart,
Whose multiplied harsh tumult faints and dies
Adown its still arcades; here Thought may rise
Above base Mammon worship, and take part
In the soul's inmost drama of delight,
Its play of constant hopes, its prophet-powers,
Half shrouded, yet indued with prescient might,
And bathed with sunshine from far future hours,
Calm Meditation merging faith in sight,
And drooping Will made strong in Nature's secret bowers!
82
[O! weary bondage of the clouding clay]
O! weary bondage of the clouding clay,O! prison of base darkness, in whose gloom
Life shows a ghastly spectre, stript of bloom,
And beauty faintly struggles with decay,—
Come Death! with thy kind lightnings, rend away
The crowded shadows, break the charnel doom,
Haunting our years, as vapors haunt a tomb,
Shut from the morning's songs and bliss of day;
Thou Blaster of all hope in hearts of joy,
To ours thou shalt be welcome as a Bride
Of passionate eyes and love-enamoured breath;
The shock of thy sharp summons shall destroy
The hideous thrall upon us, and a tide
Of happier Life gush from the stroke of Death.
83
TO A CELEBRATED ACTRESS.
All moods and feelings,—Sorrow, Love, Delight,Tempestuous Pride, and low-voiced Tenderness,—
The mournful pleadings of a mute Distress,
And regal Passion's fiery-vested might,—
Thou hast embodied to our souls and sight,
Unsealing the deep fountains of our tears,
Or lifting up our spirits from their spheres
In the low Actual to the glorious height
Of some sublime Ideal;—Art in thee,
The genial handmaid of a natural grace,
Moves to a queenly measure, bold and free,
Yet, moulded ever in each perfect part
By that serene and sweet humanity
Which crowns the genius with the loyal Heart!
84
WRITTEN ON A FLY-LEAF OF THE LETTERS AND JOURNALS OF SIR HUDSON LOWE, EDITED BY WILLIAM FORSYTH, M. A.
How vain with pleas like this to quench the hate,The righteous hate, which, following hot and fast,
Like an o'ermastering torrent, whelmed at last
The false Malignant!—he who stooped to sate
His bloodless passions on the fallen Great,—
To wound and sting by every pitiful art
That brave, heroic, sorely-smitten heart,
Pierced to the core with deadly shafts of Fate:
Base spirit! one unanimous voice of scorn
Uprose and rang forever in thine ears,—
A haunting voice, reëchoed down the years;
O! thou didst live detested, die forlorn,—
So racked by Memories fierce, by coward Fears,
'Twere best, methinks, that thou hadst ne'er been born!
85
AFTER THE STORM.
A long, wild swell! a waste of turbulent sea,Thrilled with the storm's last thunders; overhead,
A spectral sky down-glimmering, white and dead,
On the gray billows staring sullenly
Up to the colorless heavens;—the winds so free
But yester-eve, so furious, harsh, and dread,
Have hushed their warring turmoils, and are fled
To ocean-gulfs;—the zephyr's gentle glee
Waits for the lingering sunrise;—while we look,
The clouds, like leaves of some dark-volumed book,
Holding a glorious mystery, roll apart,
A sudden splendor smites the leaden skies,
The waste is all ablaze, the waters start
To rapture 'neath the morning's passionate eyes!
86
[Well spake the Poet, that howe'er the cry]
Well spake the Poet, that howe'er the cryOf frenzied sorrow might call loud on death,
No soul hath prayed that with our transient breath,
The last sad burden of a mortal sigh,
Life—thought—desire—should perish utterly;
O! rather would the spirit bear the yoke
Of torture, if beyond its prison-bars
A glimmer of the feeblest promise broke,
Athwart new heavens, sown thick with happy stars;
O! rather would we hold that doctrine just,
Whereby mankind—save some through Christ set free—
Shall writhe for aye divorced from joy and trust,
Than yield up thus our Immortality,
Quenching THAT HOPE in darkness and the dust.
“Whatever crazy sorrow saith,
No life that breathes with human breath
Has ever truly longed for death.”
Tennyson's “Two Voices.”
No life that breathes with human breath
Has ever truly longed for death.”
Tennyson's “Two Voices.”
87
DEDICATED TO M. H. H.
Her face is very noble, and her mienGracious, and sweet as sunshine; in her eyes
Dwell the deep lights of tender sympathies
Which, from abysses of her soul serene,
Come out like stars from depths of quiet skies
Made lustrous by the night of others' pain;
Her deeds of patient goodness fall like rain
Upon our arid spirits, whence arise
Warm benedictions gladdening all her way
With heavenly music; as her stormy day,
So is her strength; amid earth's bitter woes
The river of her mercy gently flows;
Sick hearts revive, and fading hopes grow green,
And frenzied Passions sink to soft repose.
88
THE ACTOR TO THE THINKER.
Pale Thinker! wed to Monkish solitude!Weaving the subtle substance of thy mind
In flimsy webs of speculation blind,
Fearful lest some bold worldling should intrude;
How false the pride of that self-conscious mood,
Wherein thou claim'st the power to loose, or bind
The car of progress; thou that liest reclined
At lazy length in depths of vernal wood:
Give ME the pulse of action, the fierce hope
Of triumph 'midst the crowding ranks of men
In mart, or field, or temple; let me cope,
Not with vain dreams in some deep-shadowed glen,
But those stern facts which conquered, straight-way ope
The Gates of Fortune to our eager ken!
89
[All day the distant mountain tops have worn]
All day the distant mountain tops have wornA glory caught from the frank August sun,
Steadfast, serene, unwaning,—all save one
Tall peak o'er which a storm-cloud seems to mourn,
Or, oftener still, to threaten, as its torn
And fiery heart, rent by the lightning bolt,
Gleams with a terrible glare o'er heath and holt,
The desolate mountain caves, and dells forlorn:
Why wreaks the storm its fury on that height,
Lonely and rugged, of sweet verdure bared?
Because yon haughty peak alone has dared
To tower above its peers, to grasp the sky;—
Storms, and not sunshine, gird the soul of might,
And barren is all bold supremacy!
90
[The West is one great sea of cloudy fire]
The West is one great sea of cloudy fire,Above the horizon flaming in a flood
Of such thick glory, that the Autumn wood
Towers in the splendor like a burning pyre
Built in the heat of sacrificial ire,
In honor of some fierce Divinity;
Some barbarous God of dreadful brow, and eye
Red with the fumes of slaughter, and the dire
Designs he fosters in his evil might;
It burns, and burns from shadowy mountain base
Slow-smouldering upwards to the loftiest height,
Whereon the feignéd flames with sunset die,
But not in darkness, for the radiant grace
Of Eve, and Eve's calm Planet, shame the Night.
91
MISCELLANEOUS PIECES.
93
QUEEN GALENA;
OR, THE SULTANA BETRAYED.
Hold! let the heartless Perjurer go!
Speak not! strike not! he is my foe,—
From me, me only, comes the blow,—
I will repay him woe for woe;
Look in my eyes! my eyes are dry,
I breathe no plaint, I heave no sigh,
But—will avenge me ere I die.
Speak not! strike not! he is my foe,—
From me, me only, comes the blow,—
I will repay him woe for woe;
Look in my eyes! my eyes are dry,
I breathe no plaint, I heave no sigh,
But—will avenge me ere I die.
Think you that I shall basely rest,
And know the bosom mine hath pressed
Is couched upon a colder breast?
Think you that I shall yield the West,
The Orient soul my nature nurst,
Till the black seed of treachery burst,
And blossomed to this deed accurst?
And know the bosom mine hath pressed
Is couched upon a colder breast?
Think you that I shall yield the West,
The Orient soul my nature nurst,
Till the black seed of treachery burst,
And blossomed to this deed accurst?
My rival! O! her eyes are meek,
Her faltering presence wan and weak
As the faint flush that tints her cheek;
'Tis not on her that I would wreak
Her faltering presence wan and weak
As the faint flush that tints her cheek;
'Tis not on her that I would wreak
96
LINES
ON THE DEATH OF THE REV. J. A. S., THE DISTINGUISHED PASTOR OF THE CHURCH OF ST. PETER, CHARLESTON, S. C.
As those who, sailing in a Tropic Sea,
Through golden calms borne on contentedly,
And yielded to a listless noonday sleep,
Are roused therefrom by thunder on the Deep,
And wake to sudden turmoil and the dread
Of lightning, which has struck a comrade dead,
(Their faithful Pilot laboring at the wheel,)
O! thus we slumbered, and thus burst the peal
Of death's artillery, and the bolt of woe
Which smote his noble Life, and laid it mute and low.
Through golden calms borne on contentedly,
And yielded to a listless noonday sleep,
Are roused therefrom by thunder on the Deep,
And wake to sudden turmoil and the dread
Of lightning, which has struck a comrade dead,
(Their faithful Pilot laboring at the wheel,)
O! thus we slumbered, and thus burst the peal
Of death's artillery, and the bolt of woe
Which smote his noble Life, and laid it mute and low.
Our souls were still—our lives, a summer sea—
When the great God, who worketh fearfully,
Around whose will the shroud of mystery 's thrown,
Whose paths are dim, whose footsteps are not known,
Wrapped in the awful cloud, and darkness came,
And on our shuddering hearts his judgment wrote in flame.
When the great God, who worketh fearfully,
Around whose will the shroud of mystery 's thrown,
Whose paths are dim, whose footsteps are not known,
97
And on our shuddering hearts his judgment wrote in flame.
But what, to our weak sight, is girt about
With mist of grief and chilling shades of doubt,
To him we mourn is very bright and clear,—
His is the joy, and OURS the blight and fear;
His the vast freedom, ours the prison wall;
His the white robe, and ours the bier and pall;
His the calm Height which overtops the spheres,
And ours the Depth of passionate despairs;
Then should we for ourselves and children keep
The bitter human tears 'tis vain for him to weep
With mist of grief and chilling shades of doubt,
To him we mourn is very bright and clear,—
His is the joy, and OURS the blight and fear;
His the vast freedom, ours the prison wall;
His the white robe, and ours the bier and pall;
His the calm Height which overtops the spheres,
And ours the Depth of passionate despairs;
Then should we for ourselves and children keep
The bitter human tears 'tis vain for him to weep
But tears must fall, and sorrowing words be spoken,
And stricken hearts lament, or else—be broken;
'Tis not 'mid bleeding love's late-severed ties,
We thrill to feel the healing Comfort rise,
And catch the inner hymns of Paradise,—
Gently, and as the morn from banks of gloom
Is slowly rounded upward into bloom,
That tender Angel steals upon our being,
And with it comes a harmony, agreeing
With the soft sunshine of its heavenly spell,
And startled Faith returns, and all is well.
And stricken hearts lament, or else—be broken;
'Tis not 'mid bleeding love's late-severed ties,
We thrill to feel the healing Comfort rise,
And catch the inner hymns of Paradise,—
Gently, and as the morn from banks of gloom
Is slowly rounded upward into bloom,
That tender Angel steals upon our being,
And with it comes a harmony, agreeing
With the soft sunshine of its heavenly spell,
And startled Faith returns, and all is well.
98
Then, from the cypress gloom, the darkening sod,
We lift our eyes to the pure light of God,
Where 'mid the shining ranks, absolved from sin,
A perfect spirit hath just entered in,
Felt the keen rapture of its last release,
Received the immortal Crown, and clasped the palm of Peace.
We lift our eyes to the pure light of God,
Where 'mid the shining ranks, absolved from sin,
A perfect spirit hath just entered in,
Felt the keen rapture of its last release,
Received the immortal Crown, and clasped the palm of Peace.
99
THE BATTLE IN THE DISTANCE.
Her dark eyes gleamed amid the gloom,
Slow gathering from the stormy main,
She stood as one who fronts her doom,
And tasks the mystic Fate in vain:
Sudden, a steed with drooping rein,
Burst from the desert's shadowy rim,
And flecked with many a crimson stain,
Paused by the portal, black and grim.
Slow gathering from the stormy main,
She stood as one who fronts her doom,
And tasks the mystic Fate in vain:
Sudden, a steed with drooping rein,
Burst from the desert's shadowy rim,
And flecked with many a crimson stain,
Paused by the portal, black and grim.
She knew the steed,—she marked the cloud
Which rolled across the distant fight,
And strove to pierce the awful shroud,—
But a strange mist o'erhung her sight,
The prospect swayed in doubtful light,
And, idly tottering to and fro,
She shivered 'neath the lurid might
Of prescient Thoughts foreboding woe.
Which rolled across the distant fight,
And strove to pierce the awful shroud,—
But a strange mist o'erhung her sight,
The prospect swayed in doubtful light,
And, idly tottering to and fro,
She shivered 'neath the lurid might
Of prescient Thoughts foreboding woe.
“O, Love! last eve, your head was laid
Close to this warm and tender breast,
And all the thrilling vows we made,
And all I knew, and all I guessed,
Of passion breathed, or unexprest,
Did point to bliss built up on bliss,
An Aidenne of voluptuous rest
New-opened by each burning kiss.
Close to this warm and tender breast,
And all the thrilling vows we made,
And all I knew, and all I guessed,
100
Did point to bliss built up on bliss,
An Aidenne of voluptuous rest
New-opened by each burning kiss.
“But Fate is stern, and men are base,
Wrong creepeth in the dark to smite,—
A caitiff who had seen my face
Once—on El Kalim's castled height,
Swore by the Houris' brows of light
To bear me through his Harem gate,
And yonder strives my Roland's right
With jealous fraud and desperate hate.”
Wrong creepeth in the dark to smite,—
A caitiff who had seen my face
Once—on El Kalim's castled height,
Swore by the Houris' brows of light
To bear me through his Harem gate,
And yonder strives my Roland's right
With jealous fraud and desperate hate.”
But see! the cloud rolls up apace!
But hark! the shouts grow wild and clear!
A sudden whirlwind! and the place
Of strife looms outward everywhere;—
And lo! his proud plume waved in air,
The victor Roland!—a dense throng
With glittering casque, and gleaming spear,
Shouting an ancient knightly song
But hark! the shouts grow wild and clear!
A sudden whirlwind! and the place
Of strife looms outward everywhere;—
And lo! his proud plume waved in air,
The victor Roland!—a dense throng
With glittering casque, and gleaming spear,
Shouting an ancient knightly song
Of triumph, close around their Lord,
And banners flaunt, and trumpets peal,
And thundering on the level sward
Rush the fierce chargers, clad in steel;
The solid feudal bastions reel,
The welkin thrills to brave alarms,
Tumultuous liegemens' fiery zeal,
With clang of hoofs, and clash of arms.
And banners flaunt, and trumpets peal,
And thundering on the level sward
Rush the fierce chargers, clad in steel;
101
The welkin thrills to brave alarms,
Tumultuous liegemens' fiery zeal,
With clang of hoofs, and clash of arms.
That night the bonfires hid the stars,
The mighty wassail bowl foamed high,
And to the deepest dungeon-bars,
Rang the uproarious revelry;
And knights did woo, and ladies sigh,
And minstrels sung, and jesters laughed,
And gayly sped from eye to eye,
Love winged his fairy-feathered shaft.
The mighty wassail bowl foamed high,
And to the deepest dungeon-bars,
Rang the uproarious revelry;
And knights did woo, and ladies sigh,
And minstrels sung, and jesters laughed,
And gayly sped from eye to eye,
Love winged his fairy-feathered shaft.
But in a cloister near the sea,
Shut from the jest, the dance, the tale,
While the low winds breathe mournfully,
And shadows throng, and billows wail,
Bowed by the altar, hushed and pale,
The Lord and Lady court the calm,
Till the last lingering echoes fail
Of solemn prayer and saintly psalm!
Shut from the jest, the dance, the tale,
While the low winds breathe mournfully,
And shadows throng, and billows wail,
Bowed by the altar, hushed and pale,
The Lord and Lady court the calm,
Till the last lingering echoes fail
Of solemn prayer and saintly psalm!
102
TO A FRIEND IN AFFLICTION.
Oh! bitter is this final blow!
Yet shouldst thou strive to battle still,
To calm the heart, to nerve the will,
And overcome the woe;—
Yet shouldst thou strive to battle still,
To calm the heart, to nerve the will,
And overcome the woe;—
Although thou walk'st a desolate path,
Where all the blooms of life seem dead,
And fierce, and threatening overhead,
The thunder speaks in wrath;—
Where all the blooms of life seem dead,
And fierce, and threatening overhead,
The thunder speaks in wrath;—
Yet never, while the sovereign brain
Retains the rule by Nature given,
Should misery shake our trust in heaven,
Or Manhood crouch to Pain!
Retains the rule by Nature given,
Should misery shake our trust in heaven,
Or Manhood crouch to Pain!
Young art thou, and this stormy day,
So cold, so dim, so cheerless now,
May thrill thy brightening soul and brow
With sudden noontide ray;—
So cold, so dim, so cheerless now,
May thrill thy brightening soul and brow
With sudden noontide ray;—
103
Or else, ere Life shall sink to Night,
A golden sunset-calm may rise,
To flush thy spirit's peaceful skies
With blessed evening light.
A golden sunset-calm may rise,
To flush thy spirit's peaceful skies
With blessed evening light.
Whate'er betide, 'tis noblest, best,
Against all earthly ills to cope,
Keep to the last our heart and hope,
And leave with God the rest!
Against all earthly ills to cope,
Keep to the last our heart and hope,
And leave with God the rest!
105
LIFE'S UNDER-CURRENT.
Mankind esteemed him happy! filled with good
Of all things grateful unto youth's desire;
Alas! they neither saw, nor understood
His sorrow's secret fire.
Of all things grateful unto youth's desire;
Alas! they neither saw, nor understood
His sorrow's secret fire.
How could they dream that one whose genial face
Seemed the sure index of a soul at rest,
Watched in the darkening shadow of disgrace,
Fierce torture in his breast?
Seemed the sure index of a soul at rest,
Watched in the darkening shadow of disgrace,
Fierce torture in his breast?
How could they tell that one whose smiles would wake
To such quick radiance of responsive glee,
Unseen tormentors to a viewless stake
Had bound in agony?
To such quick radiance of responsive glee,
Unseen tormentors to a viewless stake
Had bound in agony?
O, shallow wisdom of this world, avaunt!
Thou seest the outward show, the whited tomb,
But there is that within would stir and daunt,
And shake thee as with doom!
Thou seest the outward show, the whited tomb,
But there is that within would stir and daunt,
And shake thee as with doom!
106
Mirth, silvery clear, from breaking hearts may rise,
Gay laughter quiver upon Misery's lips,
'Tis not the whimpering soul that shrinks and sighs,
That most has known eclipse;—
Gay laughter quiver upon Misery's lips,
'Tis not the whimpering soul that shrinks and sighs,
That most has known eclipse;—
For strong hearts, strong in joy, more strong in pain,
Dare to the last the banded hosts of Fate,
And covering o'er their death-wounds, on the plain,
Sink even in death elate.
Dare to the last the banded hosts of Fate,
And covering o'er their death-wounds, on the plain,
Sink even in death elate.
We cannot mould our lives, but can our wills
Gird with keen-steeled resolve to meet our foes,
And he who fights unyielding—he fulfils
A doom to which repose,
Gird with keen-steeled resolve to meet our foes,
And he who fights unyielding—he fulfils
A doom to which repose,
The sordid quiet of your sensual souls
Is mean and tame, as those low lands which lie
'Twixt mountain peaks that swell the thunder-rolls,
The battling eagle's cry.
Is mean and tame, as those low lands which lie
'Twixt mountain peaks that swell the thunder-rolls,
The battling eagle's cry.
109
SONG.
I.
Here, long ago,While the fair River in its spring-time flow,
Murmured with happy voice
“Rejoice! Rejoice!”
While youth's full pulses thrilled within our breasts,
Far from life's hopeless calms, or fierce unrests,
We told our love;
The April sunset heaven was bright above,
The earth below
Most beautiful—but this was long ago,
Long, very long ago.
II.
Here, once again,While the dark River like a soul in pain
Heaves, as it were from depths of human care,
A sigh of lorn despair;
Youth's glorious pulses stilled within our breasts,
The haunt of hopeless calms, or fierce unrests,
110
The angry winter's heaven is wild above,
The earth below
Drear as the hopes that withered long ago,
Long, very long ago.
115
PALINGENESIS.
I dreamed of late a mystic dream!
Methought that Death
Had struck my heart's warm pulses still,
And robbed my breath:
Methought that Death
Had struck my heart's warm pulses still,
And robbed my breath:
This feverish blood, and troubled soul
Were calm and cold;
That which had borne thought, passion, will,
Was—senseless mould;
Were calm and cold;
That which had borne thought, passion, will,
Was—senseless mould;
I saw the mourners round my bed—
I heard their wail;
I knew what heavy tear-storms drenched
My forehead pale:
I heard their wail;
I knew what heavy tear-storms drenched
My forehead pale:
Yet—I was dead, dead, dead, for aye!
My blood was ice,
And crumbled with my crumbling brain
Thought's last device.
My blood was ice,
And crumbled with my crumbling brain
Thought's last device.
122
LINES.
COMPOSED UPON A BEAUTIFUL DAY IN AUTUMN.
How grandly in the mild September rays
Rest the rich forests, and the cloudless sky!
Thou queenliest of the regal Autumn days,
Would that thy happy Hours might never fly!
Rest the rich forests, and the cloudless sky!
Thou queenliest of the regal Autumn days,
Would that thy happy Hours might never fly!
O! that the same calm glory in the air
Might bless forevermore our grateful sight!
O! that the Earth might ever seem as fair
And Nature wear for aye these robes of light!
Might bless forevermore our grateful sight!
O! that the Earth might ever seem as fair
And Nature wear for aye these robes of light!
In the still Present, musing, let me rest,
The Past be banished, and the Future veiled!
Dark fears! yield up your empire in my breast,
Fierce memories! leave my spirit unassailed:
The Past be banished, and the Future veiled!
Dark fears! yield up your empire in my breast,
Fierce memories! leave my spirit unassailed:
This genial morn I give to gentle thought,
Angels of peace and comfort hover nigh;
Sweet Hope, so long an alien, comes unsought,
And Joy resumes her sway, I know not why:
Angels of peace and comfort hover nigh;
Sweet Hope, so long an alien, comes unsought,
And Joy resumes her sway, I know not why:
123
Yet, Heaven! I thank thee for these healthful gleams
Of present bliss, though brief the rapture be;
They pierce the sullen darkness of my dreams,
They bring me near—oh! Father!—unto thee!
Of present bliss, though brief the rapture be;
They pierce the sullen darkness of my dreams,
They bring me near—oh! Father!—unto thee!
124
THE TEMPTER IN THE HOUSE.
The sky is dark with a cloudy pall,
And the earth is dim with rain,
And the ghastly pine trees toss and moan
By the side of the moaning main;
And around the eaves of the desolate Hall
The shrill March winds complain.
And the earth is dim with rain,
And the ghastly pine trees toss and moan
By the side of the moaning main;
And around the eaves of the desolate Hall
The shrill March winds complain.
But a darker pall has shrouded the light
Of the Household Hopes within,
For the troubled hearts that toss and moan
By the terrible verge of sin
Are sorely beset by the Tempter's might,
And the Devil is sure to win!
Of the Household Hopes within,
For the troubled hearts that toss and moan
By the terrible verge of sin
Are sorely beset by the Tempter's might,
And the Devil is sure to win!
125
THE UNPRISONED SPIRITS.
Our prison walls are wrecked and gray;
Cast not a glance behind us,
For forceful fraud has ceased to stay,
And tyrant chains to bind us;
Press onward where his herald-gleams
The Day-God sends in warning,
Shake off the Léthean dew of dreams,
And speed to hail the morning;
Dreary the night, and foul the wrong
That curbed our bold endeavor,
But though the despot held us long,
He could not hold forever.
Cast not a glance behind us,
For forceful fraud has ceased to stay,
And tyrant chains to bind us;
Press onward where his herald-gleams
The Day-God sends in warning,
Shake off the Léthean dew of dreams,
And speed to hail the morning;
Dreary the night, and foul the wrong
That curbed our bold endeavor,
But though the despot held us long,
He could not hold forever.
Brave hearts, and high in Hell's despite
Can ne'er make base surrender
Of THAT which clothes the will with might,
The Genius with its splendor;
The Gods of earth may tempt and blind
The souls that soar above them,
But worthier Fates will seek, and find,
And nobler Masters prove them;
So, when the Tempter's hour is passed,
His bonds are rent asunder,
His dungeon topples in the blast,
And falls before the thunder.
Can ne'er make base surrender
Of THAT which clothes the will with might,
The Genius with its splendor;
The Gods of earth may tempt and blind
The souls that soar above them,
But worthier Fates will seek, and find,
And nobler Masters prove them;
126
His bonds are rent asunder,
His dungeon topples in the blast,
And falls before the thunder.
Then rise the souls he could not tame
To write—in deeds—their story;
To pluck the laurel-wreath from Fame,
And scale the Mount of Glory;
Then, stronger for the deep disgust
Of brief revolt from Duty,
They fight the battle of the Just,
Led on by Truth and Beauty;
Upborne from sun-crowned height to height,
They chase the grand Ideal
Till conquering faith is merged in sight,
The Ideal in the Real!
To write—in deeds—their story;
To pluck the laurel-wreath from Fame,
And scale the Mount of Glory;
Then, stronger for the deep disgust
Of brief revolt from Duty,
They fight the battle of the Just,
Led on by Truth and Beauty;
Upborne from sun-crowned height to height,
They chase the grand Ideal
Till conquering faith is merged in sight,
The Ideal in the Real!
130
SUNSET AND MOONLIGHT.
Here, glancing from this breezy Height,
While the still Day goes slowly down,
And sombre Evening's shadows brown
Close o'er the purple-flushing light.
While the still Day goes slowly down,
And sombre Evening's shadows brown
Close o'er the purple-flushing light.
I mark the softer radiance rest
Of the calm moon, till now unseen,
Along the Ocean tides serene,
Scarce heaving toward the faded West;
Of the calm moon, till now unseen,
Along the Ocean tides serene,
Scarce heaving toward the faded West;
At first there dawns a ghostly ray,
Faint as a new-born infant's dreams,
But soon an ampler glory streams,
And trembling up the lustrous Bay,
Faint as a new-born infant's dreams,
But soon an ampler glory streams,
And trembling up the lustrous Bay,
Long level shafts of silvery glow
Lead upward to the quiet skies,
The radiant paths to Paradise
Revealed when all is dark below.
Lead upward to the quiet skies,
The radiant paths to Paradise
Revealed when all is dark below.
142
FLOWERS FROM A GRAVE.
These flowers are withered, Lady! like the hopesWe buried in the grave from which they sprung;
Yet are the tokens precious; they have voices,
And sad, sad memories of the broken Past;—
O! I could steep them in my bitter tears,
But that the channels of my grief are closed,
And dryer than their petals; those whose hearts
Have wept blood, seldom find their eyelids moist
With dew of milder sorrow;—from her grave
You plucked these blooms in the soft summer dawn;—
Her grave, whose mould lies heavier on our souls
Than e'er on her sweet body; God in Heaven
Reward you for the pure impulsive pity
To which I owe these treasures;—they are dear
To memory as to passion, and though dead,
Are greener than the sapless barren life
Of him who wears them, henceforth, next his heart!
143
BOUGHT AND SOLD.
I have no hope, and I will not cope
Base knave with you!—
A Nabob whose gold remains untold,
What may I do to vanquish you,
And to lift my Love
To a heart above
The bitter, the cruel, the dazzling spell
Which has snared her soul with the snare of Hell?
Base knave with you!—
A Nabob whose gold remains untold,
What may I do to vanquish you,
And to lift my Love
To a heart above
The bitter, the cruel, the dazzling spell
Which has snared her soul with the snare of Hell?
Win her, and wear!
Go to the shrine with a Satyr's leer,
To the holy altar of God
With the vilest thought that the prurient clod,
Miscalled your Heart, can engender;
O! guardian Angels, behold and weep!—
No more in your prayers befriend her,—
For lo! her purity seems to fall
Like a garment off by the chancel wall,
She is yours to keep
No more,—
For a woman, a woman, that's bought and sold
In a mart where the Devil pays down the gold,
Goes forth from the sacred door!
Go to the shrine with a Satyr's leer,
To the holy altar of God
With the vilest thought that the prurient clod,
Miscalled your Heart, can engender;
O! guardian Angels, behold and weep!—
No more in your prayers befriend her,—
For lo! her purity seems to fall
Like a garment off by the chancel wall,
She is yours to keep
No more,—
For a woman, a woman, that's bought and sold
In a mart where the Devil pays down the gold,
Goes forth from the sacred door!
144
PERFECT CALM.
Eternal Quiet were eternal sleep!
“O! we will make,” some fond Enthusiast cries,
“This present weary world a Paradise
O'er which all gentle Thoughts their watch shall keep;
A noiseless calm shall brood above its bowers,
And only Nature's sweet, and tender powers,
Hold genial converse in the charméd shade;”
“O! we will make,” some fond Enthusiast cries,
“This present weary world a Paradise
O'er which all gentle Thoughts their watch shall keep;
A noiseless calm shall brood above its bowers,
And only Nature's sweet, and tender powers,
Hold genial converse in the charméd shade;”
Through the new Eden's golden gates I look,
And lo! stretched listless by a murmuring brook,
Whose silvery lustre glimmers 'mid the glade,
I see the angel Tenant of the place,
Fast by the tree of Life, his placid face
Half hidden in his pinions' downy deep,
The Angel muses, or perchance—he prays!—
Not so, look closer,—he is sound asleep!
And lo! stretched listless by a murmuring brook,
Whose silvery lustre glimmers 'mid the glade,
I see the angel Tenant of the place,
Fast by the tree of Life, his placid face
Half hidden in his pinions' downy deep,
The Angel muses, or perchance—he prays!—
Not so, look closer,—he is sound asleep!
147
FRAGMENT OF AN ODE ON THE DEATH OF A GREAT STATESMAN.
Toll forth, O mournful bells, the solemn dirge;Speak out to the hushed heavens your lamentation,
A deep funereal music, surge on surge,
Timed to the sorrow of a stricken Nation;
For a grand Life hath set,
The last Star in a glorious sky gone down,
And sullen shades of lowering darkness frown,
Where constellated lights of genius met
On the proud summits of our old Renown!
150
JANUARY TO MAY.
I have naught to give thee, lady,—
Love nor gold;
This dull urn of burial-ashes,
This is all I hold.
Love nor gold;
This dull urn of burial-ashes,
This is all I hold.
Wouldst thou wed a soul in ruin,
Clasp a breast,
Where in depth of doubt and darkness
Bides a demon-guest?
Clasp a breast,
Where in depth of doubt and darkness
Bides a demon-guest?
Wouldst thou pour a fervid torrent,
Passion's flood,
On a wrecked and lonely nature,
Chilled in brain and blood?
Passion's flood,
On a wrecked and lonely nature,
Chilled in brain and blood?
O, forbear! thou wert not fated
Thus to yield;—
All thy warmth of love and beauty
Leaves me unannealed.
Thus to yield;—
All thy warmth of love and beauty
Leaves me unannealed.
151
Plant thy roses in the spring-mould,
Not the snow;
And thy precious heart-seeds scatter
Where the seeds may grow!
Not the snow;
And thy precious heart-seeds scatter
Where the seeds may grow!
152
A REMEMBRANCE.
Softly shone thy lustrous eyes
On that silent summer night,
Softly on my wakened heart,
Thrilling into love and light,
Though from the near mountain's height
The shadows wrapt us solemnly.
On that silent summer night,
Softly on my wakened heart,
Thrilling into love and light,
Though from the near mountain's height
The shadows wrapt us solemnly.
Faintly fell the tremulous tones
From thy sweet lips coyly won,—
Dropping with the liquid lull
Of low rivulets, by the sun
Courted from the woodlands dun,
Into pastures, glad and free.
From thy sweet lips coyly won,—
Dropping with the liquid lull
Of low rivulets, by the sun
Courted from the woodlands dun,
Into pastures, glad and free.
Through the mazes of deep speech
Wandered we, absorbed,—apart,—
On the mingled flood of thought
Drawing nigh each other's heart,—
Till we felt the pulses start
Of a mystic sympathy!
Wandered we, absorbed,—apart,—
On the mingled flood of thought
Drawing nigh each other's heart,—
Till we felt the pulses start
Of a mystic sympathy!
153
Ah! those brief, harmonious hours!
When their wingéd music fled,
Discord through all voices ran,
And the universe seemed dead,
Only,—moaning o'er its bed,
I heard the low pathetic sea.
When their wingéd music fled,
Discord through all voices ran,
And the universe seemed dead,
Only,—moaning o'er its bed,
I heard the low pathetic sea.
156
LUCETTE.
A snow-white brow, and tender eyes!
A lip of rich carnation!
A fairy's pace,
And form of grace,
With the still glory on her face
Of virgin meditation!
A lip of rich carnation!
A fairy's pace,
And form of grace,
With the still glory on her face
Of virgin meditation!
A snow-white mind! the tenderest heart
That e'er bore Heaven reflected!
A light, it seems,
Of sacred dreams
(O radiant tide!) about her streams,
The chrism of God's elected.
That e'er bore Heaven reflected!
A light, it seems,
Of sacred dreams
(O radiant tide!) about her streams,
The chrism of God's elected.
I greet her with a conscious thrill,
—A strange and deep confusion,—
As one who knows
His crimes must close
Hope's portal to the Thought which rose,
“Go! win her from seclusion!”
—A strange and deep confusion,—
As one who knows
His crimes must close
Hope's portal to the Thought which rose,
“Go! win her from seclusion!”
157
False am I, yet not false enough
To link my base condition
With her pure state,
Forestalling Fate,
Who lurks with latent Joy in wait
To crown her with fruition.
To link my base condition
With her pure state,
Forestalling Fate,
Who lurks with latent Joy in wait
To crown her with fruition.
158
THE PICTURE OF A BEAUTIFUL DEATH
A FRAGMENT.
They knew that she must leave them! day by day
Her spirit brightened through its veil of clay,
Till that seemed spirit also,—a fair Thing,
Poised for a moment on its luminous wing,
And soon,—oh! not to die,—but melt away
Into the perfect splendor:—
One calm morn,
—A July morn,—just as the sunshine kissed
From the dim summits of the broadening hills
The shadows of the twilight and the mist,
Amidst the faint-heard music of far rills,
With not a sight, nor tone, nor shade forlorn
In earth or heaven,—she rose from mystic dreams
To view once more the golden summer-gleams,
And say “farewell” to Nature;—
Nature smiled,
And with majestic pity drew around
The failing footsteps of her favorite child
Her richest spells of beauty;—not a sound
But came with mellowed murmur,—not an air
That touched her tranquil forehead, and dark hair,
But seemed a Seraph's whisper; the glad birds
Were full of carols, and the loving Sky
Bent, as it were, to clasp her; peaceful herds
Browsed on the distant slopes, and in the vale,
Still as a placid vision, the clear lake
Glassed the blue heaven's divine tranquillity.—
And every verdant shrub and blossoming brake
Glistened with dewy baptism.
[OMITTED]
There she lay
As in the first mild sleep of infancy,
Her face upturned towards the quiet sky,
O'er which a white cloud floated silently,
—Most like an angel;—as the cloud crept on,
It threw a shadow struggling with a gleam
Right on her eyelids; slowly they unclosed
From the deep rapture of some glorious dream,
And the large eyes, clear with immortal life,
Shone out upon her mother;—then she sighed
One transient human sigh,—and so—she died.
Her spirit brightened through its veil of clay,
Till that seemed spirit also,—a fair Thing,
Poised for a moment on its luminous wing,
And soon,—oh! not to die,—but melt away
Into the perfect splendor:—
One calm morn,
—A July morn,—just as the sunshine kissed
From the dim summits of the broadening hills
The shadows of the twilight and the mist,
Amidst the faint-heard music of far rills,
With not a sight, nor tone, nor shade forlorn
In earth or heaven,—she rose from mystic dreams
To view once more the golden summer-gleams,
And say “farewell” to Nature;—
Nature smiled,
And with majestic pity drew around
The failing footsteps of her favorite child
Her richest spells of beauty;—not a sound
But came with mellowed murmur,—not an air
159
But seemed a Seraph's whisper; the glad birds
Were full of carols, and the loving Sky
Bent, as it were, to clasp her; peaceful herds
Browsed on the distant slopes, and in the vale,
Still as a placid vision, the clear lake
Glassed the blue heaven's divine tranquillity.—
And every verdant shrub and blossoming brake
Glistened with dewy baptism.
[OMITTED]
There she lay
As in the first mild sleep of infancy,
Her face upturned towards the quiet sky,
O'er which a white cloud floated silently,
—Most like an angel;—as the cloud crept on,
It threw a shadow struggling with a gleam
Right on her eyelids; slowly they unclosed
From the deep rapture of some glorious dream,
And the large eyes, clear with immortal life,
Shone out upon her mother;—then she sighed
One transient human sigh,—and so—she died.
And years have passed!—spring blooms, and wintry showers,
And gorgeous splendors of Autumnal eves
By turn have glorified, and chilled the spot
Her mortal form hath hallowed;—but the years
Bring no reprieve to memory!—last thou not,
O stricken Mother! ever in thy mind
A vision of thy darling 'mid the leaves
Of the young spring-vines dying?—pale as then,
But oh! so beautiful, so beautiful,
That murmuring to thyself, thou sayst again,
—As in a trance,—“daughter! the angels wait
To bear thee up!”—
Alas! the Eden gate
Hath closed so long upon her, that oftimes
A stress of rayless misery weighs thee down;
Thou hear'st no hymn supernal,—but the chimes
Of funeral bells,—the everlasting crown
Pales by the spectral whiteness of her tomb!—
And gorgeous splendors of Autumnal eves
By turn have glorified, and chilled the spot
Her mortal form hath hallowed;—but the years
160
O stricken Mother! ever in thy mind
A vision of thy darling 'mid the leaves
Of the young spring-vines dying?—pale as then,
But oh! so beautiful, so beautiful,
That murmuring to thyself, thou sayst again,
—As in a trance,—“daughter! the angels wait
To bear thee up!”—
Alas! the Eden gate
Hath closed so long upon her, that oftimes
A stress of rayless misery weighs thee down;
Thou hear'st no hymn supernal,—but the chimes
Of funeral bells,—the everlasting crown
Pales by the spectral whiteness of her tomb!—
There shalt thou mourn through all the coming years,
And there, when Faith is darkened, drop thy tears,
God help thee lady! 'twas the bitterest blow!
Yet other hearts than thine were stricken low,
And other hopes eclipsed, when she departed;
Well, let us lean on Patience! we have done
With earthly gauds; the day is waxing late,
The sunset falls, the shadows are unfurled
About the Future, and I see thee stand,
O Mother! with thy loved one, hand in hand,
Beneath the palm-trees in the Better Land!
And there, when Faith is darkened, drop thy tears,
God help thee lady! 'twas the bitterest blow!
Yet other hearts than thine were stricken low,
And other hopes eclipsed, when she departed;
Well, let us lean on Patience! we have done
With earthly gauds; the day is waxing late,
The sunset falls, the shadows are unfurled
About the Future, and I see thee stand,
O Mother! with thy loved one, hand in hand,
Beneath the palm-trees in the Better Land!
174
THE PESTILENCE.
WRITTEN DURING THE PREVALENCE OF THE YELLOW FEVER IN CHARLESTON, S. C., IN THE SUMMER OF 1858.
How long, O Lord! shall Desolation holdStern empire over us, and wasteful Death
Darken the sunshine, and the life of hope?
Fierce Harvester! Oh! whither stretch the bounds
Of thy permitted vengeance? hast thou not
In thy cold granary heaped the human grain
Sheaf upon sheaf?—is not the harvest ended,
Or nigh its end?—most precious household bonds
Of wifehood, childhood, brotherhood, all ties
Which twine with tenderest thrill around our hearts,
—And parted leave them broken,—thy swift scythe
Hath severed; barren hast thou left the field
Thou found'st so rich in fruitage; spare the rest,
The few, sad, shivering stalks that droop i' th' wind
Mourning their prostrate brethren.
175
How fearful art thou when in cloud and fire,
Thou send'st thy pitiless messengers to smite
The dooméd nations! then this beautiful earth,
Changed to a pestilent charnel, opes her womb
Unutterably loathsome, where Decay
Sits mocking at our motley human pomps,
Our pride, and even the sacred passionate grief
Wherewith we mourn its victims;—hollow masks
Hiding a dark Reality, seem all
Man's shows, conventions, forms, howe'er august.
Death pricks them with his keen Ithurial lance,
And lo! from out of their gilded impotence crawls
“The Conqueror Worm!”
—Hard it is for Earth
Amidst these mortal vapors,—these foul damps
Corrupt, and earthy, to lift up her wings
Dank with sepulchral dew, and win the light
Which still shines calm above them; her fair face,
Furrowed with scathing tears, hath lost its clear
Angelic courage, and her faltering voice,—
Faint as the tremulous accents of fourscore,—
Can only whisper feebly, “Watch, and pray!”
176
RETROSPECTION AND ASPIRATION.
The fiery glow of sunset pales,
And soft adown the deepening vales
The tranquil shadows steal apace;
The winds repose, the waters keep
The stillness of unbroken sleep,
And all the unmeasured realm of space
Between us, and the stars that rise
To crown those rich imperial skies,
Majestic Silence holds in thrall:
Only—the quiet dews that fall
In stealthy dripping from the eaves,
Or some lone bird among the leaves,
Touched by a transient dream of flight,
Stir to the faintest thrill of sound,
The mystery of the Calm profound.
And soft adown the deepening vales
The tranquil shadows steal apace;
The winds repose, the waters keep
The stillness of unbroken sleep,
And all the unmeasured realm of space
Between us, and the stars that rise
To crown those rich imperial skies,
Majestic Silence holds in thrall:
Only—the quiet dews that fall
In stealthy dripping from the eaves,
Or some lone bird among the leaves,
Touched by a transient dream of flight,
Stir to the faintest thrill of sound,
The mystery of the Calm profound.
The peace of Heaven is in my heart!
And if that God would grant me grace,
I could lie down in this sweet place,
Breathe Nunc Dimittis!—and depart!
I stand forlorn, where last the light
Of her mild beauty blessed my sight;—
Oh! she, so generous in her trust,
So queenly in her maiden pride,—
(The pride of perfect womanhood
That crowneth with its regal sweetness
All meaner creatures' incompleteness,)
Was near to blend the brightening charm
Of her entrancing human eyes
With Nature's beauty, and make warm
With whisperings of a human love—
Born of all tender sympathies—
The else cold pulses of the air.
And if that God would grant me grace,
I could lie down in this sweet place,
Breathe Nunc Dimittis!—and depart!
177
Of her mild beauty blessed my sight;—
Oh! she, so generous in her trust,
So queenly in her maiden pride,—
(The pride of perfect womanhood
That crowneth with its regal sweetness
All meaner creatures' incompleteness,)
Was near to blend the brightening charm
Of her entrancing human eyes
With Nature's beauty, and make warm
With whisperings of a human love—
Born of all tender sympathies—
The else cold pulses of the air.
Soul! thou alone art altered here!
Around me sways the orange grove,
The self-same grove that heard our vows,
And waved its glad melodious boughs,
Setting to music all she said,
And showering on her gracious head
White flowers, as if to crown a bride:
Around me sways the orange grove,
The self-same grove that heard our vows,
And waved its glad melodious boughs,
Setting to music all she said,
And showering on her gracious head
White flowers, as if to crown a bride:
Just on an eve like this, she died—
So still and fair—I saw her die,
Bound by a spell of misery
Too bitter for the balm of sighs,—
That froze the tears within mine eyes,
The currents of my brain and blood;
The while, as statue-wan, I stood
As one who in the lonely trance
Of some unearthly dark Romance,
Hath heard a ghostly voice of doom
Wailing above an open tomb.
So still and fair—I saw her die,
Bound by a spell of misery
Too bitter for the balm of sighs,—
That froze the tears within mine eyes,
178
The while, as statue-wan, I stood
As one who in the lonely trance
Of some unearthly dark Romance,
Hath heard a ghostly voice of doom
Wailing above an open tomb.
Love! lift me to thy radiant clime,—
I sicken on the waste of Time,
And burn to breathe a subtler breath
Than that which haunts these realms of death;
For round about me float and stir
Foul vapors from the sepulchre,
Rising,—a monstrous gloom,—to blight
The glory of the inner sight—
Shrouding phantasmal shapes of ill,—
But thou, the same sweet Angel still,
Thou canst not leave me thus forlorn,
And exiled from the gates of Morn!
I sicken on the waste of Time,
And burn to breathe a subtler breath
Than that which haunts these realms of death;
For round about me float and stir
Foul vapors from the sepulchre,
Rising,—a monstrous gloom,—to blight
The glory of the inner sight—
Shrouding phantasmal shapes of ill,—
But thou, the same sweet Angel still,
Thou canst not leave me thus forlorn,
And exiled from the gates of Morn!
Within my soul a vision glows,
A vision of the peace to be,
The undivined serenity,
In whose clear depths the angels dwell:
Through many a fiery-circled Hell
Of self-inflicted woe and pain,
Through many lives—(for still I hold
That not in vain above us rolled,
The mighty Planets whirl in space,—
Each is the destined dwelling-place
Of souls, fresh-winged in every star,—)
We struggle toward the holy Height,
The consummation infinite,
Whereto the groaning Ages tend:
A vision of the peace to be,
The undivined serenity,
In whose clear depths the angels dwell:
Through many a fiery-circled Hell
Of self-inflicted woe and pain,
Through many lives—(for still I hold
179
The mighty Planets whirl in space,—
Each is the destined dwelling-place
Of souls, fresh-winged in every star,—)
We struggle toward the holy Height,
The consummation infinite,
Whereto the groaning Ages tend:
A prescient Voice foretells the End
O Voice that fallest faint and far,
Sound on through all our dreary night;
O Voice that fallest faint and far,
Sound on through all our dreary night;
“From height to height the soul aspires,
Reluming its mysterious fires
Through the vast worlds which gird the way
Up to the immemorial Day
Of primal Immortality!”
Reluming its mysterious fires
Through the vast worlds which gird the way
Up to the immemorial Day
Of primal Immortality!”
Ah! that I then may meet with thee
In that serene Eternity!
May feel that human love can shine
Unwavering 'midst the Love Divine,
May rise on Rapture's eagle wing,
And hear the spheral music ring,
And that great Song the Seraphs sing
Peal round the Godhead's Mystery,—
And mark, where grosser systems trace
Their orbits in the outcast space,
Earth with its transient agonies
Sink from the height of those calm skies
Down to a gulf so dim and low,
They flicker to a fire-fly glow,
Myths of a million years ago!
In that serene Eternity!
May feel that human love can shine
Unwavering 'midst the Love Divine,
May rise on Rapture's eagle wing,
And hear the spheral music ring,
And that great Song the Seraphs sing
Peal round the Godhead's Mystery,—
And mark, where grosser systems trace
180
Earth with its transient agonies
Sink from the height of those calm skies
Down to a gulf so dim and low,
They flicker to a fire-fly glow,
Myths of a million years ago!
183
[Vainly a hostile world may strive to tame]
Vainly a hostile world may strive to tameThe Poet's soul through Love, and Grief made strong;
Unfettered still, he soars to heights of Song,
Whence his clear genius sheds a starlike flame.
Deaf to the captious sneer, the ignorant blame,
He sings of heavenly Right, and mortal Wrong,
Of faith and sufferance, that by birth belong
To noble spirits,—and that final fame
Which crowns their shining brows with Amaranth bloom:
No shallow discontent, with fretful moan,
Mars his brave utterance,—no unmanly gloom
Shadows his heart wherein Hope reigns alone;
For rebel Doubts his nature hath no room,
Scorning to be thus basely overthrown!
184
[Moments there are when most familiar things]
Moments there are when most familiar thingsSeem strangers to us; when 'round heart and head
The mists of unreality are spread,
From which our keenest searching, baffled, brings
Unformed conceptions, vague imaginings,
Tinged with the doubtful hues of a half-truth;
Chiefly in age, or in our dreaming youth
This phase of contemplation sternly wrings
Our bosoms with the thought,—“the soul is blind!”
Unfathomed meanings, beauty most divine,
Lie round about us,—but we cannot see;
In sky and forest burns a spirit's sign
Unrecognized, and in the whispering wind
Breathes a low undertone of mystery!
227
FUGITIVE VERESES.
[Through dismal nights, and long laborious days]
Through dismal nights, and long laborious days,A weary Workman at the forge of Thought,
He toils, till brain and spirit overwrought,
Sink to enforced inaction, and the maze
Of troublous dreams;—no nimble Fancy plays
Her necromantic tricks which lead to naught
But stale delusions; bitter years have taught
His heart the hollowness of casual praise;
And yet, even this poor boon's denied him now;—
Bound by Convention's hard and galling rule,
He must subdue his nature, smooth his brow,
List meekly while an ignorant Pedant speaks,
And though the hot blood boils from soul to cheeks,
Pay homage to a tyrant, and a fool!
237
A LIFE-HISTORY,—BRIEFLY TOLD.
I.
In the saddening light of the Autumn stars,Half hidden behind those lattice-bars,—
I mark the flush of her ringlets bright
Gleam faintly forth on the misty night;
II.
Her face is pale, and I barely seeThat her looks are bended mournfully
On what, perchance, is the image of One,
Who, dying,—left her hopes undone!
III.
Poor girl! she had given her best, her all,—And now her heart like a funeral pall
Holds only a thought of the silent dead,
Of the grace that is lost, and the love that's fled.
238
TO G. C. H.
I.
I know not where thou art my Friend,But tender thoughts arise, and wend
Their way to thee, where'er thou art;
No distance chills the loyal heart.
II.
If ocean breezes fan thy cheek,Oh, may their breath be mild and meek,
And every wind that stirs the sea
Come like a mother's kiss to thee!
III.
Or if, the mighty billows past,Thy eager feet have touched at last
That glorious realm which filled thy dreams,
While pondering by our Western streams,
IV.
May all those antique scenes be brightAs when beheld in Fancy's light,
239
To wander still with old Romance.
V.
Once, the delicious hope was mineTo blend a traveller's joys with thine,
From farthest frith of Northern sea,
To the fair fields of Italy:
VI.
But Fate stepped in with stern command,And bound me to this barren land;—
What matter?—though by Fate denied,
No Power can keep me from thy side.
| Avolio ; a legend of the island of Cos | |