The poems and prose writings of Sumner Lincoln Fairfield ::

When the last hues of sunset fade away,
And blend in magic wreaths of light and shade,
And stillness sleeps beside the closing day,
Drinking the music of the breezy glade,
'T is joy to wander forth alone
Through shadowy groves and solemn woods,
And muse of pleasures past and gone,
'Mid nature's holy solitudes:
For then my spirit to its God aspires,
And worships in the light of Love's ascending fires.

Where rocks hang tottering from the mountain's side,
And ancient trees in hoary grandeur wave,
I love to sit, forgetting pomp and pride,
And all the passions that the soul enslave,
And yield my heart to the sweet charm
Of nature in her loneliness,
While soft voiced zephyrs, breathing balm,
The perfumed flowers and shrubs caress,
And the last songbird pours her parting lay
Of love and praise to bless the brightly closing day.

There is a loveliness in nature's smile,
Which fills the heart with heaven's own holy gladness,
Though he, whose heaven is in her charms, the while,
Feels thoughts steal o'er him of surpassing sadness.
When 'mid the perfect works of God,
He muses on the sin and folly
That make man's heart their dark abode,
Oh, who would not be melancholy?
How sad the thought that this fair world should be
The dwellingplace of guilt and helpless misery!

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Yet if his woe be unallied to crime,
And suffering not from evil conscience spring,
To nature's bosom let him come, what time
Flowers ope the bud and birds are on the wing,
And there the fretful world forget
And search the world of his own breast,
Where thoughts, like suns, arise and set,
And whirlwind passions rage unblest;
There let the son of song and sorrow lie
And inspiration catch from nature's speaking eye!

From earliest youth I loved alone to climb
The moss-wreath'd rock, and from the mountain's brow
O'er sea and land, an amplitude sublime,
To gaze when sunk the sun in radiant glow,
And poured o'er quiet vales and hills,
And groves and meads and gushing streams,
Such glory as creation fills,
His last full swell of golden beams.
O ye, who would adore the Eternal Power,
Go forth alone and pray at twilight's hallowed hour!

The spirit then throws off the garb of clay,
Which in the warring world 't is doomed to wear,
And robes itself in beautiful array,
And soars and sings amid the blooming air,
Where in aerial halls of light
Meet kindred spirits pure and good,
And parted souls again unite
Where grief and pain cannot intrude,
And in the radiance of soul-mingling eyes,
Reveal the mystic power of heaven's high harmonies.

I ever was a melancholy child,
Unmirthful and unmingling with the crowd;
The loneliest solitude on me hath smiled
When lightning darted from the rifted cloud;
And I have felt a strange delight
'Mid forests and the cavern's gloom,

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And wandered forth at dead midnight
To muse beside the lonely tomb.
I always loved the light of that dread Eye,
Which flashed upon me from eternity!

I knew not whence such unshared feelings came—
I only knew my heart was full of deep
Emotions vivid—but without a name;
Within my breast they would not—could not sleep,
But swayed me in their giant power
To passion's uncommuning mood,
And drave me from the festive bower
To ruined tower and lonely wood,
Where on my soul ideal glories came,
Fairies and oreads bright, and coursers wrapt in flame.

Oh, how I loved that solitary trance,
That deep upheaving of the bosom's sea,
O'erstrewn with gems that dazzled on my glance,
Like eyes that gleam from out eternity!
Creatures of every form and hue,
Lords of the earth and angels past
In garbs of gold before my view,
Like lightnings on the hurrying blast,
And voices on my inward spirit broke,
And mysteries breathed, and words prophetic spoke.

The child of reverie and the son of song,
A word could wound me or a look depress;
I saw the world was full of ill and wrong
And sin and treachery and sad distress;
And so, e'en in my boyhood's morn,
I fled the haunts that others love,
That I might think why I was born,
And what below and what above
Was due from one thus sent upon the earth
To sow and reap in tears and mourn his mortal birth.

My birthplace was the airy mountain height,
And childhood passed 'mid nature's grandeur wild,

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And still I see by memory's magic light,
How on my soul each Alpine mountain smiled!
Though years have passed since I was there,
And many a change hath o'er me come,
There 's not a scene, or wild or fair,
Around my long forsaken home,
But I could point in darkness out, and tell
The shape and form of things I loved so well.

Trees, birds and flowers were my familiar friends
In boyhood's days—and every leaf that grew
Whispered soft oracles of love;—there blends
With budding thought a spirit from the dew,
That gems each quivering leaf and flower;
And precious to the mind mature
Are memories of that guiltless hour,
When with a worship fond and pure
The soul beheld in every thing below
A God sublime, whom we in works alone can know.

Deep in the soul rest early thoughts, and now
My spirit roams 'mid lonely hills, when night
Her starry veil throws o'er her spotless brow,
And wraps her elfin form in fair moonlight;
Then o'er me come those thoughts again,
Which were my heaven in other years,
And I forget my bosom's pain,
And cease to feel my trickling tears.
Wierd sybils! cease of destiny to prate!
The boy creates for life and ratifies his fate.

Here let me rest—a wanderer tired and faint,
Dear Nature! on thy soft maternal breast,
And learn for others those fair scenes to paint,
Which taught me wisdom and which made me blest!
Fashion and folly still may rove
And seek for pleasure in the throng,
But I will live in thy sweet love,
And blend thy praises with my song,
O holiest daughter of the Holy One,
Whose smile wafts spirits to the heavenly throne!

University of Virginia Library

THE IDEALIST.