 | Poems of "Frank Forester" (Henry William Herbert) |  |
107
THE BEAUTY OF LIBERTY.
“Of all things that have beauty on the earth, there is none that is so comely to man as Liberty.”—
Milton's Prose Writings.
Southward I gazed, and toward the icy North,—
To the sun's cradle, when he rushes forth
With blessings on his broad and burnished brow,—
And, westward thence, to that far, fragrant verge,
Where, stooping headlong to the Atlantic flow,
He bathes his coursers in its lucid surge;
I marked each new, peculiar aspect rise
From earth, and ocean, and the eternal skies:
And beauty was in all,—earth, air, and sea,—
But beauty none like that my spirit pined to see.
To the sun's cradle, when he rushes forth
With blessings on his broad and burnished brow,—
And, westward thence, to that far, fragrant verge,
Where, stooping headlong to the Atlantic flow,
He bathes his coursers in its lucid surge;
I marked each new, peculiar aspect rise
From earth, and ocean, and the eternal skies:
And beauty was in all,—earth, air, and sea,—
But beauty none like that my spirit pined to see.
I marked the freshness of the pearly dawn,
The dappled firmament, and dewy lawn;
The mist-wreaths curtaining the limpid pool;
The shadows fleeting as the tall grass waved;
The rabbit's track, amid the herbage cool;
The matin bird, its early wing that laved
In the clear brooklet; and the rich perfume
From the near bean-field, and the clover's bloom:
And beauty was in morning's sweet repose—
But beauty none like that my spirit's judgment chose.
The dappled firmament, and dewy lawn;
The mist-wreaths curtaining the limpid pool;
The shadows fleeting as the tall grass waved;
The rabbit's track, amid the herbage cool;
The matin bird, its early wing that laved
In the clear brooklet; and the rich perfume
From the near bean-field, and the clover's bloom:
And beauty was in morning's sweet repose—
But beauty none like that my spirit's judgment chose.
I marked the languor of the silent day,
When nature fails beneath the noontide ray,—
The cattle midway in the cooling stream;
The voiceless music humming on the breeze;
The myriad tribes that in the sunlight gleam;
The warblers hushed in the unshaken trees
The sultry haze that shrouds the distant hill;
The ceaseless clacking of the unwearied mill:
And beauty was in summer's panting breast—
But beauty none like that should fill my spirit's quest.
When nature fails beneath the noontide ray,—
The cattle midway in the cooling stream;
The voiceless music humming on the breeze;
The myriad tribes that in the sunlight gleam;
The warblers hushed in the unshaken trees
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The ceaseless clacking of the unwearied mill:
And beauty was in summer's panting breast—
But beauty none like that should fill my spirit's quest.
I marked the breathlessness of eve's decay,
When the dim landscape melts in night away,—
The circling bat that wheels down in the glade;
The plaintive night-hawk's sadly simple strain;
The dews that rustle on the quivering shade;
The distant owl that shrieks along the plain;
The diamond sparks that gem the dark serene;
And crescent moon the fleecy clouds between:
And beauty was in evening's tranquil eye—
But beauty none like that my spirit would descry.
When the dim landscape melts in night away,—
The circling bat that wheels down in the glade;
The plaintive night-hawk's sadly simple strain;
The dews that rustle on the quivering shade;
The distant owl that shrieks along the plain;
The diamond sparks that gem the dark serene;
And crescent moon the fleecy clouds between:
And beauty was in evening's tranquil eye—
But beauty none like that my spirit would descry.
I looked upon the dense and turbid haze
Cleft by the baleful lightning's lurid blaze,—
The big rain plashing on the levelled grain;
The torrents thundering from the mountains hoar;
The giant trunks uptorn with fearful strain,
And the hoarse crashing of the thunder's roar;
The terror of the universal earth,
Reeling and shuddering to the tempest's mirth:
And beauty was in trembling nature's strife—
But beauty none like that my spirit calls to life.
Cleft by the baleful lightning's lurid blaze,—
The big rain plashing on the levelled grain;
The torrents thundering from the mountains hoar;
The giant trunks uptorn with fearful strain,
And the hoarse crashing of the thunder's roar;
The terror of the universal earth,
Reeling and shuddering to the tempest's mirth:
And beauty was in trembling nature's strife—
But beauty none like that my spirit calls to life.
I gazed upon the blue and breezeless deep,
In the hot tropics where the waters sleep,—
The snowy bird, that, on her slumbering pinion,
Hangs unapproached in viewless depths of air,
Sole occupant, sole queen, of high dominion;
The small seas rippling in the sunny glare;
The blue shark glancing on his liquid way,
And changeful dolphins spouting in their play:
And beauty was upon the peaceful waves—
But beauty none like that my restless spirit craves.
In the hot tropics where the waters sleep,—
The snowy bird, that, on her slumbering pinion,
Hangs unapproached in viewless depths of air,
Sole occupant, sole queen, of high dominion;
The small seas rippling in the sunny glare;
The blue shark glancing on his liquid way,
And changeful dolphins spouting in their play:
And beauty was upon the peaceful waves—
But beauty none like that my restless spirit craves.
109
I saw, where round the dark and dreary brow
Of Horn's stern cape the breakers burst in snow,—
The rack low-scudding, and the mist that flies,
Shorn, by the tempest-demon's searching sway,
From the vexed billows, that no more can rise,
But howl, one white expanse of driving spray;
The death-shriek wild, the spars so sadly strewed,
Where late the gallant ship superbly rode:
Yea, beauty was in ocean's tortured hell—
But beauty none like that whereon my soul might dwell.
Of Horn's stern cape the breakers burst in snow,—
The rack low-scudding, and the mist that flies,
Shorn, by the tempest-demon's searching sway,
From the vexed billows, that no more can rise,
But howl, one white expanse of driving spray;
The death-shriek wild, the spars so sadly strewed,
Where late the gallant ship superbly rode:
Yea, beauty was in ocean's tortured hell—
But beauty none like that whereon my soul might dwell.
I gazed where Asia's arid wastes expand,
Boundless and bare, in swells of burning sand,—
The lonely palm-tree and the brackish well;
The shattered reliques of some pillared fane;
The roving Arab with his battle yell;
The caravan slow-winding o'er the plain;
The red simoom; the pilgrim bones that lie
Untombed, and bleaching to the brilliant sky:
And beauty was in those stern solitudes—
But beauty none like that on which my spirit broods.
Boundless and bare, in swells of burning sand,—
The lonely palm-tree and the brackish well;
The shattered reliques of some pillared fane;
The roving Arab with his battle yell;
The caravan slow-winding o'er the plain;
The red simoom; the pilgrim bones that lie
Untombed, and bleaching to the brilliant sky:
And beauty was in those stern solitudes—
But beauty none like that on which my spirit broods.
I dreamed, where round Marengo's conqueror shook
Princedoms and thrones beneath his slightest look,—
Imperial crowns, and royal robes were there,
And canopies of Ind, and Afric's plume;
The sun-bright flash of steel, the trumpet's blare,
All of man's pomp, and all of woman's bloom;
Fronts of dominion, hands of iron might,
And sunny curls and eyes of liquid light:
And beauty was about that glorious place—
But beauty none like that my anxious soul would trace.
Princedoms and thrones beneath his slightest look,—
Imperial crowns, and royal robes were there,
And canopies of Ind, and Afric's plume;
The sun-bright flash of steel, the trumpet's blare,
All of man's pomp, and all of woman's bloom;
Fronts of dominion, hands of iron might,
And sunny curls and eyes of liquid light:
And beauty was about that glorious place—
But beauty none like that my anxious soul would trace.
I gazed upon a face whose gaze doth bless
My wayward soul with sweet forgetfulness
Of all things else, save that most eloquent eye,
Half lustre, languor half and soft desire;
A lip whose taste might woo from halls on high,
And chain to earth some amorous seraph's fire;
A brow, a smile, a form, whose every trace
Showed passion, gentleness, and woman-grace.
And beauty was in her, more bright than all—
Yet beauty none like that my soul must win or fall.
My wayward soul with sweet forgetfulness
Of all things else, save that most eloquent eye,
Half lustre, languor half and soft desire;
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And chain to earth some amorous seraph's fire;
A brow, a smile, a form, whose every trace
Showed passion, gentleness, and woman-grace.
And beauty was in her, more bright than all—
Yet beauty none like that my soul must win or fall.
I gazed upon a nation fair and great,
Fearless of foes, and confident of fate;
Its flag a starry constellation free,
Its crest the young and puissant bird of Rome;
A nation throned beyond the western sea,
The dread of tyrants, and the exile's home:
Mercy and valor there went hand in hand,
Freedom the God, the guardian of the land!
Hers was the beauty I had pined to see—
Earth has no beauty else, to mate with Liberty.
Fearless of foes, and confident of fate;
Its flag a starry constellation free,
Its crest the young and puissant bird of Rome;
A nation throned beyond the western sea,
The dread of tyrants, and the exile's home:
Mercy and valor there went hand in hand,
Freedom the God, the guardian of the land!
Hers was the beauty I had pined to see—
Earth has no beauty else, to mate with Liberty.
| Poems of "Frank Forester" (Henry William Herbert) | |