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 | Rhymes of travel, ballads and poems |  |
Insribed to JOHN B. PHILLIPS, OF BOHEMIA MANOR, MD., IN TOKEN OF EARLY FRIENDSHIP UNBROKEN, AND EARLY CONFIDENCE UNBETRAYED.
I.
Rhymes of Travel.
Wohl auf, noch getrunken den funkelnden Wein!
Adè nun, ihr Lieben, geschieden muss sein;
Adè nun, ihr Berge, du väterlich Haus,
Es treibt nach der Ferne mich mächtig hinaus.
Justinus Kerner.
Adè nun, ihr Lieben, geschieden muss sein;
Adè nun, ihr Berge, du väterlich Haus,
Es treibt nach der Ferne mich mächtig hinaus.
Justinus Kerner.
15
THE POET'S AMBITION
A THOUGHT IN WESTMINSTER ABBEY.
No thirst for power, whose fierce and stern desire
Leads on to guilt and wrong,
Moves the pale monarch of the deathless Lyre—
The laureled lord of Song!
Leads on to guilt and wrong,
Moves the pale monarch of the deathless Lyre—
The laureled lord of Song!
Not his the joy, when the trump's braying tells
Of armies overthrown;
When pæans thunder from cathedral bells,
Drowning the captive's groan.
Of armies overthrown;
When pæans thunder from cathedral bells,
Drowning the captive's groan.
No plaudits from the crowding myriads rise
Along his glorious march;—
For him no blazoned banners flaunt the skies—
Stands no triumphal arch!
Along his glorious march;—
For him no blazoned banners flaunt the skies—
Stands no triumphal arch!
But purer, holier, loftier is the aim
Born of his gift divine;
His spirit longs to grasp that crown of fame,
Whose stars forever shine.
Born of his gift divine;
16
Whose stars forever shine.
The love of man—the blessing of the heart
To which his bright words stole,
And breathed the solace of his godlike art,
As to a brother-soul!
To which his bright words stole,
And breathed the solace of his godlike art,
As to a brother-soul!
The prayers of spirits, to whose silent wo
He gives a voice sublime—
And prophet-thoughts, whose lightning pinions go
Beyond the shores of Time!
He gives a voice sublime—
And prophet-thoughts, whose lightning pinions go
Beyond the shores of Time!
In the broad realm of human hearts alone,
He holds eternal sway;
What king sate ever on a prouder throne,
With vassals such as they?
He holds eternal sway;
What king sate ever on a prouder throne,
With vassals such as they?
London, 1844.
20
TO ONE AFAR.
I.
The glorious landscape lay below,No more in Fancy's dreaming seen—
But, basking in the Autumn glow
Stood town and tower and forest green;
Beneath, the sounding Neckar rolled
Through hills which bore him purple wine,
And glimmered like a chain of gold,
Through the dim haze, the winding Rhine!
In breezeless rest, the fisher's sail
Gleamed idly downward with the tide,
And songs of peasants in the vale
Came faintly up the mountain side:
In the blue dimness of the air,
A vague, sweet sense of lingering sound,
Like echoes of the chimes of prayer,
Hallowed the beauty-haunted ground—
21
Lulled by that faint, ethereal strain,
I lay amid the heather flowers
Listening its echoes in my brain;
While, as the slow vibrations died,
My soul went back the Past on Memory's lapsing tide.
II.
Again my timid childhood came,And boyhood's struggling, doubt and tears,
Where one dear hope illumed thy name,
Belovèd of my early years!
And trembled o'er the soul's deep chords
Sweet memories of their earliest tone—
The music of thy gentle words,
The deep devotion of my own!
I heard thy tender, low replies,
Beside the rose's breathing bower,
When o'er us hung the moonlit skies
And angels blest our trysting hour!
I felt the dewy winds, whose kiss
Cooled the quick pulses of my brow,
When thrilling with the voiceless bliss
Of being loved by such as thou—
When o'er the cloudy doubts above
Stood broad and bright the glorious rainbow—Love!
22
III.
The hope which yearned for thee afar,The boyish worship, treasured long,
Dawned on my heart—a morning star
Before the rising orb of Song!
And the lone stream and solemn grove
That knew my spirit's gloom and glee,
Learned the dear secret of my love,
Till all their music spoke of thee!
On the calm midnight's breezy tide
Came the sweet breath of flowers afar;
The sentries of the forest sighed—
On the stream's bosom throbbed the star!
Low murmurs from the holy skies
Haunted, like song, the dreamy air,
And from my heart, the fond replies
Awoke prophetic echoes there;
For boyhood's prayer foretold the hour,
When with fulfillment came the blessing and the power!
IV.
I know not how the world may love—How, in a thousand hearts, the fire
May seem descended from above,
And yet in ashy gloom expire;
23
The lip may speak its holiest vow,
Yet shadows dim the spirit's truth
And pride and coldness change the brow;
I only know, how, from the mist
Of childhood's dreams, thine image grew—
A flower by Passion's sunbeams kissed
And fed by Hope's perpetual dew!
I only know how dear a worth
This restless being wins through thee,
Within whose sunshine, o'er the earth,
All beauty lives eternally!
And if my lays, in after-time,
Should win men's love,—the holiest fame;
If Sorrow's gifts of sweetest rhyme
Should brighten round my humble name—
Thy soul will light my footsteps on,
Up the long path of toil and tears,
And share with me the glory won—
Belovèd of my early years!
Heidelberg, 1844.
24
STARLIGHT IN THE ODENWALD.
The Odenwald, or Forest of Odin, one of the loneliest and wildest
mountain districts of Germany, is little known to foreign tourists. Lying
eastward of the celebrated road from Frankfort to Heidelberg, a wooded
chain of lofty hills separates it from the great plain of the Rhine, and the
Main and Neckar rivers, frequented in summer for the picturesque beauty
of their scenery, only touch its eastern and southern boundaries. In its
deep, secluded valleys, threaded by the clearest of streams and overhung
by mountains of pine where the deer and wild boar are still hunted by the
Counts of Erbach, dwell a rude and simple people, who retain with little
change the customs of three centuries past, and preserve a sincere faith
in the traditions of former times. Among these hills are the crumbling
ruins of Snellert and Rodenstein, between which the Wild Huntsman is
still chased by his pack of demon hounds, at the approach of war. Here
also is the Giant's Column, a massive relic of the old Teuton races, buried
in a wild wood, at the foot of the “Sea of Rocks.” It was on the top
of the Musau Height, a lonely ridge which the author crossed at nightfall,
that the poem was composed.
The Odenwald, or Forest of Odin, one of the loneliest and wildest mountain districts of Germany, is little known to foreign tourists. Lying eastward of the celebrated road from Frankfort to Heidelberg, a wooded chain of lofty hills separates it from the great plain of the Rhine, and the Main and Neckar rivers, frequented in summer for the picturesque beauty of their scenery, only touch its eastern and southern boundaries. In its deep, secluded valleys, threaded by the clearest of streams and overhung by mountains of pine where the deer and wild boar are still hunted by the Counts of Erbach, dwell a rude and simple people, who retain with little change the customs of three centuries past, and preserve a sincere faith in the traditions of former times. Among these hills are the crumbling ruins of Snellert and Rodenstein, between which the Wild Huntsman is still chased by his pack of demon hounds, at the approach of war. Here also is the Giant's Column, a massive relic of the old Teuton races, buried in a wild wood, at the foot of the “Sea of Rocks.” It was on the top of the Musau Height, a lonely ridge which the author crossed at nightfall, that the poem was composed.
Upon the mountain's rugged crest
There lingers still a glow,
But twilight's gathering gloom has drest
The valleys far below;
No wild wind sways the mountain pine,
No breeze bends down the flower,
And dim and faint the star-beams shine
Upon the vesper hour.
There lingers still a glow,
But twilight's gathering gloom has drest
The valleys far below;
No wild wind sways the mountain pine,
No breeze bends down the flower,
And dim and faint the star-beams shine
Upon the vesper hour.
Here, in the fading sunset light,
I breathe the upper air,
And hear the low, sad voice of Night,
Inviting Earth to prayer!
Still deeper through the wide profound
The solemn shadows fall,
And rest upon the hills around
Like Nature's funeral pall.
I breathe the upper air,
And hear the low, sad voice of Night,
Inviting Earth to prayer!
Still deeper through the wide profound
The solemn shadows fall,
And rest upon the hills around
Like Nature's funeral pall.
25
Now comes to break the breathless spell,
In blended evening-hymn,
The chime of many a distant bell
From valleys deep and dim;
And as they fall, the warder-star
That guards the twilight pale,
Looks o'er the eastern hills afar
And dons his silver mail.
In blended evening-hymn,
The chime of many a distant bell
From valleys deep and dim;
And as they fall, the warder-star
That guards the twilight pale,
Looks o'er the eastern hills afar
And dons his silver mail.
The shadows deepen, as I stand—
The rosy glow is gone,
And westward, towards my native land,
The sunset marches on!
Ye stars, with whose familiar glance
My thoughts are mingling free,
Shine, glimmering o'er the wide expanse,
And bear them home for me!
The rosy glow is gone,
And westward, towards my native land,
The sunset marches on!
Ye stars, with whose familiar glance
My thoughts are mingling free,
Shine, glimmering o'er the wide expanse,
And bear them home for me!
Still all is breathless, as in prayer,
But to my spirit-ear
Kind voices float upon the air—
Fond eyes are beaming near.
The love, whose pinions never rest,
Soars, constant, o'er the sea,
And by the thrill within my breast
I know they speak of me!
But to my spirit-ear
Kind voices float upon the air—
Fond eyes are beaming near.
The love, whose pinions never rest,
Soars, constant, o'er the sea,
And by the thrill within my breast
I know they speak of me!
26
The gentle spirit of the hour
Melts in the dew of tears,
And yielding to its spell of power
I muse on vanished years,
Till through the gloom, no more is heard
The solemn evening-chime,
And mourn the pine-boughs, faintly stirred,
The hurrying march of Time.
Melts in the dew of tears,
And yielding to its spell of power
I muse on vanished years,
Till through the gloom, no more is heard
The solemn evening-chime,
And mourn the pine-boughs, faintly stirred,
The hurrying march of Time.
Germany, 1844.
27
A SONG AT DUSK.
I.
Oh, gloomy up the welkin's archThe night in clouds comes striding on,
And gathers Time, on tireless march,
Another day to myriads gone!
The sun, that in his gray robe drest,
Stole down the veiled and dark'ning sky,
Yet shines behind the clouded West,
Where the green hills of childhood lie;
My heart goes with him o'er the sea,
To gaze, with all his beams, on thee!
II.
Turbid and dark with melted snows,The restless waters by me sweep
28
Impatient, to their parent deep;
But when the chafing shores are gone
And the blue ocean-wastes expand,
Perchance some storm will bear them on
To break upon my Fatherland!
With them careering, fast and free,
My heart speeds homeward, love, to thee!
III.
I hear the winds of evening moanThrough ivied towers, decayed and old,
Waving their tresses o'er the stone
In desolation, doubly cold;
Yet when o'er thousand leagues they blow,
Beyond this twilight's dusky line,
Their wings may stoop to waken low
The music of our trysting pine,
And, sighing with them in the tree,
My heart would whisper, love, to thee.
Frankfort, Germany, 1845.
29
THE CRUSADES.
The red-cross banners moulder here to ashes,
And Godfrey's falchion rusts in dull repose,
That pierced the war-cloud with its crimson flashes,
And clove the helmets of his swarthy foes;
These standards once led Europe's knights undaunted,
Their folds upon the winds of Syria flung,
As over plains by holy memories haunted
Their hymns of faith the pilgrim-warriors sung.
In the Imperial Armory at Vienna, are still to be seen the hat, sword, and breast-plate of Godfrey of Bouillon, the Crusader-king of Jerusalem, and the tattered fragments of the banners planted by his knights on the walls of the Holy City. Some of the shreds, cut by lances and mouldering away by age, retain outlines of the Red Cross and the Virgin and Child.
And Godfrey's falchion rusts in dull repose,
That pierced the war-cloud with its crimson flashes,
And clove the helmets of his swarthy foes;
These standards once led Europe's knights undaunted,
Their folds upon the winds of Syria flung,
As over plains by holy memories haunted
Their hymns of faith the pilgrim-warriors sung.
That breastplate once, on Hermon's hallowed mountain,
With dews from soft Judean skies was wet;
Those plumes have waved beside Bethesda's fountain,
And stood with Godfrey on Mount Olivet!
And once the banners, now all rent and shivered,
Waved on the holy walls from Moslems won,
Or by the Lion-hearted king have quivered,
Upon the sands of fated Ascalon!
With dews from soft Judean skies was wet;
Those plumes have waved beside Bethesda's fountain,
And stood with Godfrey on Mount Olivet!
And once the banners, now all rent and shivered,
Waved on the holy walls from Moslems won,
Or by the Lion-hearted king have quivered,
Upon the sands of fated Ascalon!
30
The dreams of Romance, that in days departed
Thrilled through my boyish soul, come back again,
As when the blood unto my brow hath started
At thought of battle on the Syrian plain—
When Richard's glory fired my young ambition,
In sweeping charge to break th' embattled line,
And oft I saw, in dream-enraptured vision,
The deep-blue heaven that burns o'er Palestine!
Thrilled through my boyish soul, come back again,
As when the blood unto my brow hath started
At thought of battle on the Syrian plain—
When Richard's glory fired my young ambition,
In sweeping charge to break th' embattled line,
And oft I saw, in dream-enraptured vision,
The deep-blue heaven that burns o'er Palestine!
They were but dreams; yet this old blade has broken
The spell that bound them in the wondrous Past,
For, long ere this, had other voices spoken,
Nor leaped my heart unto that clarion-blast.
All dust and ruin, let those ages moulder
Like these rent banners crumbling on the wall;
The Earth learns wisdom as she waxes older—
The proudest glory of the Past shall fall!
The spell that bound them in the wondrous Past,
For, long ere this, had other voices spoken,
Nor leaped my heart unto that clarion-blast.
All dust and ruin, let those ages moulder
Like these rent banners crumbling on the wall;
The Earth learns wisdom as she waxes older—
The proudest glory of the Past shall fall!
Not for the land, where dwelt the Meek and Lowly,
Shall knights anointed crowd the battle-sod,
But Earth itself, which God created holy,
And now so long by unbelievers trod!
For Earth, where, Freedom's sepulchre profaning,
A brood of tyrants laugh at Mankind's loss,
They vow to fight, till Wrong's pale crescent, waning,
Forever yield to Freedom's hallowed cross!
Shall knights anointed crowd the battle-sod,
But Earth itself, which God created holy,
And now so long by unbelievers trod!
For Earth, where, Freedom's sepulchre profaning,
A brood of tyrants laugh at Mankind's loss,
They vow to fight, till Wrong's pale crescent, waning,
Forever yield to Freedom's hallowed cross!
31
No more regret o'er chivalry departed—
No dreams of battles on Judea's strand!
The world has need of many a Lion-hearted,
And Truth is gathering her Crusader-band.
I seize the blade the lofty cause will hallow,
And swing the banner in the light of morn,
Through the long march of Life the cross to follow,
Which martyred Freedom's holy hands have borne!
No dreams of battles on Judea's strand!
The world has need of many a Lion-hearted,
And Truth is gathering her Crusader-band.
I seize the blade the lofty cause will hallow,
And swing the banner in the light of morn,
Through the long march of Life the cross to follow,
Which martyred Freedom's holy hands have borne!
Oh! when for ages her Crusade has breasted
Oppression's armies o'er the groaning Earth,
When from the foe her sepulchre is wrested,
And the raised tombstone lets the captive forth,
Will she arise, in beauty such as never
Dawned on the Poet's most ecstatic dream—
A blessing that the soul will clasp forever—
A world renewed in God's eternal beam!
Oppression's armies o'er the groaning Earth,
When from the foe her sepulchre is wrested,
And the raised tombstone lets the captive forth,
Will she arise, in beauty such as never
Dawned on the Poet's most ecstatic dream—
A blessing that the soul will clasp forever—
A world renewed in God's eternal beam!
Vienna, 1845.
43
TO MY MOTHER.
The wind is cold, and dark the sky
That bends, dear mother! o'er thy child,
And cloudy masses, wild and high,
In the night-heaven are piled.
That bends, dear mother! o'er thy child,
And cloudy masses, wild and high,
In the night-heaven are piled.
And, sweeping with a mournful sound,
I hear the swift wings of the blast,
Whose rainy cisterns, poured around,
Fall drearily and fast.
I hear the swift wings of the blast,
Whose rainy cisterns, poured around,
Fall drearily and fast.
Scarce through the midnight's groaning deep
The glimmering lights of Florence shine,
And wintry gusts, incessant, sweep
The shrouded Appenine.
The glimmering lights of Florence shine,
And wintry gusts, incessant, sweep
The shrouded Appenine.
I breathe not Europe's air to-night;
Gone is the pomp Day spreads around—
Lost are the vales and seas of light
In storm and mingling sound!
Gone is the pomp Day spreads around—
Lost are the vales and seas of light
In storm and mingling sound!
44
Loved scenes, amid the gloom are near;
I hear the rush of well-known floods;
The rattling of the rain I hear,
Through gray, primeval woods.
I hear the rush of well-known floods;
The rattling of the rain I hear,
Through gray, primeval woods.
I stand, amid the beating blast,
Where all the haunts of boyhood stand;
To-night the sea's wide waste is passed—
I walk my native land!
Where all the haunts of boyhood stand;
To-night the sea's wide waste is passed—
I walk my native land!
The tide of years rolls backward now,
Dear mother! and I seem to feel
The glow of childhood o'er my brow
And through my bosom steal.
Dear mother! and I seem to feel
The glow of childhood o'er my brow
And through my bosom steal.
This night of storm recalls the hour
I clung for safety to thy side,
When shadows of the thunder-shower
Hung o'er the meadows wide.
I clung for safety to thy side,
When shadows of the thunder-shower
Hung o'er the meadows wide.
I feel that solemn joy again,
Which filled my soul in autumn hours,
When forest-leaves fell like this rain
And hid the dying flowers.
Which filled my soul in autumn hours,
When forest-leaves fell like this rain
And hid the dying flowers.
I seek the window, still, to see
How the wet boughs by storms are tost,
That down the fields go drearily,
Till all the woods are lost.
How the wet boughs by storms are tost,
45
Till all the woods are lost.
Beneath the sheltered beechen copse
I couch on mosses, warm and soft,
Or, lulled by beat of myriad drops,
Dream in the dusky loft.
I couch on mosses, warm and soft,
Or, lulled by beat of myriad drops,
Dream in the dusky loft.
Those days shall be again no more;
I walk amid the world of men,
And childhood's soul must learn a lore
It ne'er foreboded then.
I walk amid the world of men,
And childhood's soul must learn a lore
It ne'er foreboded then.
But in the storm and strife, its wing
Shall find thy love a sheltering bough,
And there with holier trust shall cling
To all it worships now.
Shall find thy love a sheltering bough,
And there with holier trust shall cling
To all it worships now.
Florence, 1845.
55
IMPATIENCE.
This poem was written under the pressure of somewhat trying circumstances, and from the impulse of an impatient spirit. It has been retained for the lesson it bears to the author, rather than any poetic merit.
That the feeling which it expresses is not habitual with him, is shown by
the poem which succeeds it.
This poem was written under the pressure of somewhat trying circumstances, and from the impulse of an impatient spirit. It has been retained for the lesson it bears to the author, rather than any poetic merit. That the feeling which it expresses is not habitual with him, is shown by the poem which succeeds it.
Lift up your heavy wings,
Ye boding shadows, that upon me rest!
Let but a wave from Morn's o'erflowing springs
Steal in upon the bound and struggling breast,
That like a half-fledged bird, impatient sings,
Beating its weary nest!
Ye boding shadows, that upon me rest!
Let but a wave from Morn's o'erflowing springs
Steal in upon the bound and struggling breast,
That like a half-fledged bird, impatient sings,
Beating its weary nest!
Is't not enough to go
Unknown, and scorned perhaps, amid the throng—
The curse of want, twin with mistrust, to know,
That mocks the pride of ever-soaring song,
And drags the soul revolting down, to grow
Familiarized with wrong?
Unknown, and scorned perhaps, amid the throng—
The curse of want, twin with mistrust, to know,
That mocks the pride of ever-soaring song,
And drags the soul revolting down, to grow
Familiarized with wrong?
Is't not enough to feel
The spirit's manhood made a thing of scorn?
To conquer Pride's restraining voice, and kneel
With abject lip before the meaner born,—
But must the gathered shadows still conceal
The mounting rays of morn?
The spirit's manhood made a thing of scorn?
To conquer Pride's restraining voice, and kneel
56
But must the gathered shadows still conceal
The mounting rays of morn?
When mind, and heart, and soul
Thrill, tremble with their new-awakened might,
'Tis hard to view afar the shining goal
And grope beneath in slow-receding night;
But harder yet, when hostile fates control
Life's common beams of light.
Thrill, tremble with their new-awakened might,
'Tis hard to view afar the shining goal
And grope beneath in slow-receding night;
But harder yet, when hostile fates control
Life's common beams of light.
To feel that God-given power
Acknowledged, known at last, would calm the brain,
And for the world, the bright and lavish dower
Of thoughts, long-hoarded, were not given in vain;
But oh, how long must clouds, low-brooding, lower,
And noteless rise the strain?
Acknowledged, known at last, would calm the brain,
And for the world, the bright and lavish dower
Of thoughts, long-hoarded, were not given in vain;
But oh, how long must clouds, low-brooding, lower,
And noteless rise the strain?
London, 1846.
57
ASPIRATION.
Glorious Deep! on the swell of thy surges
My soul from the night of its boding emerges,
Lifting its front to Life's sorrows, unveering—
Boldly as thou to the mad wind's careering!
My soul from the night of its boding emerges,
Lifting its front to Life's sorrows, unveering—
Boldly as thou to the mad wind's careering!
The Past and its burdens from memory I sever,
Buried on shores that have vanished forever!
My soul gathers nerve as the billows grow frantic:
There's strength in thy heaving, oh stormy Atlantic!
Buried on shores that have vanished forever!
My soul gathers nerve as the billows grow frantic:
There's strength in thy heaving, oh stormy Atlantic!
Throned on thy waters, in proud exultation,
I see the dim land of the Mind's new creation;
Looming sublime as a cloud-hidden summit,
That stands in an ocean unsounded by plummet!
I see the dim land of the Mind's new creation;
Looming sublime as a cloud-hidden summit,
That stands in an ocean unsounded by plummet!
Oh, for a place on that mount of the spirit,
Feeling the breath of Eternity near it—
Walking with bards through the spaces Elysian,
Where God only baffles their grandeur of vision!
Feeling the breath of Eternity near it—
Walking with bards through the spaces Elysian,
Where God only baffles their grandeur of vision!
On the Atlantic.
II.
Picturesque Ballads of California.
“Over the hills
Away we go!
Through fire and snow,
And rivers, whereto
All others are rills.
Through lands of silver,
And lands of gold;
Through lands untrodden
And lands untold!”
Festus.
Away we go!
Through fire and snow,
And rivers, whereto
All others are rills.
Through lands of silver,
And lands of gold;
Through lands untrodden
And lands untold!”
Festus.
64
[_]
[Three of of the ballads which follow, originally appeared in the Literary World, under fictitious initials, and accompanied by a letter dated from St. Louis, in which it was stated that they had been translated from the rude songs of California, by a Western naturalist who had resided on the Pacific Coast. This ruse, however, was only partially successful; they were attributed by journals in other cities, to Mr. Hoffman, then Editor of the Literary World, and frequently published under his name. Several other ballads having since been written, the author now corrects this error, so flattering to himself, and gives them together to the public.]
65
EL CANALO.
Now saddle El Canalo
—the freshening wind of morn
Down in the flowery vega, is stirring through the corn;
The thin smoke of the ranches grows red with coming day,
And the steed's impatient stamping is eager for the way!
El Canalo, or the cinnamon-colored, is the name of the choicest breed of the Californian horse. These animals are capable of extraordinary speed and endurance, and between them and their riders exists the same constant friendship which characterizes the Arab and his steed. The noted ride of Col. Fremont from Pueblo de los Angeles to Monterey furnishes an evidence of what these horses have accomplished.
Down in the flowery vega, is stirring through the corn;
The thin smoke of the ranches grows red with coming day,
And the steed's impatient stamping is eager for the way!
My glossy-limbed Canalo, thy neck is curved in pride,
Thy slender ears pricked forward, thy nostril straining wide;
And as thy quick neigh greets me, and I catch thee by the mane,
I'm off with the winds of morning—the chieftain of the plain!
Thy slender ears pricked forward, thy nostril straining wide;
And as thy quick neigh greets me, and I catch thee by the mane,
I'm off with the winds of morning—the chieftain of the plain!
I feel the swift air whirring, and see along our track,
From the flinty-paved sierra, the sparks go streaming back;
And I clutch my rifle closer, as we sweep the dark defile,
Where the red guerilla watches for many a lonely mile!
From the flinty-paved sierra, the sparks go streaming back;
66
Where the red guerilla watches for many a lonely mile!
They reach not El Canalo; with the swiftness of a dream
We've passed the bleak Nevada, and Tulé's icy stream;
But where, on sweeping gallop, my bullet backward sped,
The keen-eyed mountain vultures will circle o'er the dead!
We've passed the bleak Nevada, and Tulé's icy stream;
But where, on sweeping gallop, my bullet backward sped,
The keen-eyed mountain vultures will circle o'er the dead!
On! on, my brave Canalo! we've dashed the sand and snow
From peaks upholding heaven, from deserts far below—
We've thundered through the forest, while the crackling branches rang,
And trooping elks, affrighted, from lair and covert sprang!
From peaks upholding heaven, from deserts far below—
We've thundered through the forest, while the crackling branches rang,
And trooping elks, affrighted, from lair and covert sprang!
We've swam the swollen torrent—we've distanced in the race
The baying wolves of Pinos, that panted with the chase;
And still thy mane streams backward, at every thrilling bound,
And still thy measured hoof-stroke beats with its morning sound!
The baying wolves of Pinos, that panted with the chase;
And still thy mane streams backward, at every thrilling bound,
And still thy measured hoof-stroke beats with its morning sound!
The seaward winds are wailing through Santa Barbara's pines,
And like a sheathless sabre, the far Pacific shines;
Hold to thy speed, my arrow! at nightfall thou shalt lave
Thy hot and smoking haunches beneath his silver wave!
And like a sheathless sabre, the far Pacific shines;
67
Thy hot and smoking haunches beneath his silver wave!
My head upon thy shoulder, along the sloping sand
We'll sleep as trusty brothers, from out the mountain land;
The pines will sound in answer to the surges on the shore,
And in our dreams, Canalo, we'll make the journey o'er!
We'll sleep as trusty brothers, from out the mountain land;
The pines will sound in answer to the surges on the shore,
And in our dreams, Canalo, we'll make the journey o'er!
72
RIO SACRAMENTO.
Sacramento! Sacramento,
Down the rough Nevada foaming,
Fain my heart would join thy water
In its glad, impetuous roaming,
For thy valley's fairest daughter
Watches oft to see thee coming!
Down the rough Nevada foaming,
Fain my heart would join thy water
In its glad, impetuous roaming,
For thy valley's fairest daughter
Watches oft to see thee coming!
Sacramento! Sacramento!
From the shining threads that wove thee—
From the mountain woods that darken
All the mountain heaven above thee,
Teach her ear thy song to hearken
And, for what it says, to love thee!
From the shining threads that wove thee—
From the mountain woods that darken
All the mountain heaven above thee,
Teach her ear thy song to hearken
And, for what it says, to love thee!
Sacramento! Sacramento!
Lead me downward to the glory
Of thy green and flowery meadows;
I will leave the deserts hoary,
For thy grove of quiet shadows
And my love's impassioned story.
Lead me downward to the glory
Of thy green and flowery meadows;
I will leave the deserts hoary,
73
And my love's impassioned story.
Sacramento! Sacramento!
Every dancing rainbow broken
When thy falling waves are shattered,
Is a glad and beckoning token
Of the hopes so warmly scattered
And the vows that we have spoken!
Every dancing rainbow broken
When thy falling waves are shattered,
Is a glad and beckoning token
Of the hopes so warmly scattered
And the vows that we have spoken!
Sacramento! Sacramento!
She, beside thee, waits my coming;
Teach my step thy bounding fleetness,
Towards the bower of beauty roaming,
Where she stands, in maiden sweetness,
Gazing idly on thy foaming!
She, beside thee, waits my coming;
Teach my step thy bounding fleetness,
Towards the bower of beauty roaming,
Where she stands, in maiden sweetness,
Gazing idly on thy foaming!
80
THE LAY OF LAS PALMAS.
A LEGEND OF OLD CALIFORNIA.
High on the summit,
Over the waters,
Fronting the sunset
Lingered the maid;
Below, through the flashing
Of blue billows dashing,
Glided the shallop
Storms had delayed!
Over the waters,
Fronting the sunset
Lingered the maid;
Below, through the flashing
Of blue billows dashing,
Glided the shallop
Storms had delayed!
Ere the white pebbles
On the keel grated,
Leaped the young boatman
Shoreward amain;
And in the blessing
Of love's quick caressing,
Soon were forgotten
Peril and pain.
On the keel grated,
Leaped the young boatman
Shoreward amain;
And in the blessing
Of love's quick caressing,
Soon were forgotten
Peril and pain.
81
Rustled the palm-trees
Low in the twilight;
Night on the waters
Deepened afar;
Under their cover
Clasped she her lover,
While their hearts' throbbings
Answered each star!
Low in the twilight;
Night on the waters
Deepened afar;
Under their cover
Clasped she her lover,
While their hearts' throbbings
Answered each star!
Sad was the parting
Under the palm-trees—
Dark was the midnight
When he had gone!
Tempests uprisen
Burst their cloud-prison;
Under their lightnings, burned
Dimly the dawn.
Under the palm-trees—
Dark was the midnight
When he had gone!
Tempests uprisen
Burst their cloud-prison;
Under their lightnings, burned
Dimly the dawn.
Shattered the palm lay,
Rent by the red bolt,
While its lone brother
Sighed in the gale:
Shattered the shallop
Sank in the surges;
Wild was the maiden's
Desolate wail!
Rent by the red bolt,
While its lone brother
Sighed in the gale:
Shattered the shallop
Sank in the surges;
Wild was the maiden's
Desolate wail!
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Perished the blighted
Palm of the summit;
Faded the maiden's
Life with its own:
Now on the rocky
Front of Las Palmas,
Mourn the wild sea-gusts,
Drear and alone.
Palm of the summit;
Faded the maiden's
Life with its own:
Now on the rocky
Front of Las Palmas,
Mourn the wild sea-gusts,
Drear and alone.
III.
Life-Tones.
“Glissez comme une main sur la harpe qui vibre
Glisse de corde en corde, arrachant á la fois
A chaque corde une ame, á chaque ame une voix!”
Lamartine.
Glisse de corde en corde, arrachant á la fois
A chaque corde une ame, á chaque ame une voix!”
Lamartine.
95
THE ENCHANTED KNIGHT.
In the solemn night, when the soul receives
The dreams it has sighed for long,
I mused o'er the charmed, romantic leaves
Of a book of German Song.
The dreams it has sighed for long,
I mused o'er the charmed, romantic leaves
Of a book of German Song.
From stately towers I saw the lords
Ride out to the feudal fray;
I heard the ring of meeting swords
And the Minnesinger's lay!
Ride out to the feudal fray;
I heard the ring of meeting swords
And the Minnesinger's lay!
And, gliding ghost-like through my dream,
Went the Erl-king with a moan,
Where the wizard willow o'erhung the stream
And the spectral moonlight shone.
Went the Erl-king with a moan,
Where the wizard willow o'erhung the stream
And the spectral moonlight shone.
I followed the hero's path, who rode
In harness and helmet bright,
Through a wood where hostile elves abode,
In the glimmering noon of night.
In harness and helmet bright,
Through a wood where hostile elves abode,
In the glimmering noon of night.
96
Banner and bugle's call had died
Amid the shadows far,
And a misty stream, from the mountain side,
Dropped like a silver star.
Amid the shadows far,
And a misty stream, from the mountain side,
Dropped like a silver star.
Thirsting and flushed, from the steed he leapt,
And quaffed from his helm unbound;
Then a mystic trance o'er his spirit crept
And he sank to the elfin ground.
And quaffed from his helm unbound;
Then a mystic trance o'er his spirit crept
And he sank to the elfin ground.
He slept in the ceaseless midnight cold
By the faery spell possessed,
His head sunk down, and his gray beard rolled
On the rust of his armèd breast!
By the faery spell possessed,
His head sunk down, and his gray beard rolled
On the rust of his armèd breast!
When a mighty storm-wind smote the trees
And the crashing thunder fell,
He raised the sword from its mould'ring ease
And strove to burst the spell.
And the crashing thunder fell,
He raised the sword from its mould'ring ease
And strove to burst the spell.
And thus may the fiery soul, that rides
Like a knight to the field of foes,
Drink of the chill world's tempting tides
And sink to a charmed repose.
Like a knight to the field of foes,
Drink of the chill world's tempting tides
And sink to a charmed repose.
The warmth of the generous heart of Youth
Will die in the frozen breast—
The look of Love and the voice of Truth
Be charmed to a palsied rest!
Will die in the frozen breast—
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Be charmed to a palsied rest!
In vain will the thunder a moment burst
The chill of that torpor's breath;
The slumbering soul shall be wakened first
By the Disenchanter, Death!
The chill of that torpor's breath;
The slumbering soul shall be wakened first
By the Disenchanter, Death!
102
GAUTAMA'S SONG OF REST.
The Hindoo philosopher Gautama, now worshiped under the name of
Buddha, lived in the fifth century before Christ. He taught the unity of
God and Nature, or rather, that the physical and spiritual worlds are merely
different conditions of an Eternal Being. In the spiritual state, this Being
exists in perfect and blissful rest, whose emanations and overflowings enter
the visible world, first in the lowest forms of nature, but rising through
gradual and progressive changes till they reach man, who returns after
death to the original rest and beatitude.
The Hindoo philosopher Gautama, now worshiped under the name of Buddha, lived in the fifth century before Christ. He taught the unity of God and Nature, or rather, that the physical and spiritual worlds are merely different conditions of an Eternal Being. In the spiritual state, this Being exists in perfect and blissful rest, whose emanations and overflowings enter the visible world, first in the lowest forms of nature, but rising through gradual and progressive changes till they reach man, who returns after death to the original rest and beatitude.
How long, oh! all-pervading Soul of Earth,
Ere Thy last toils on this worn being close,
And trembling with its sudden glory-birth,
Its wings are folded in the lost repose!
Ere Thy last toils on this worn being close,
And trembling with its sudden glory-birth,
Its wings are folded in the lost repose!
Thy doom, resistless, on its travel lies
Through weary wastes of labor and of pain,
Where the soul falters, as its Paradise
In far-off mirage fades and flies again.
Through weary wastes of labor and of pain,
Where the soul falters, as its Paradise
In far-off mirage fades and flies again.
From that pure realm of silence and of joy,
The quickening glories of Thy slumber shine,
Kindling to birth the lifeless world's alloy,
Till its dead bosom bears a seed divine.
The quickening glories of Thy slumber shine,
Kindling to birth the lifeless world's alloy,
Till its dead bosom bears a seed divine.
Through meaner forms the spirit slowly rose,
Which now to meet its near Elysium burns;
Through toilsome ages, circling toward Repose,
The sphere of Being on its axle turns!
Which now to meet its near Elysium burns;
Through toilsome ages, circling toward Repose,
The sphere of Being on its axle turns!
103
Filled with the conscious essence that shall grow,
Through many-changed existence, up to Man,
The sighing airs of scented Ceylon blow,
And desert whirlwinds whelm the caravan.
Through many-changed existence, up to Man,
The sighing airs of scented Ceylon blow,
And desert whirlwinds whelm the caravan.
On the blue bosom of th' eternal deep
It moves forever in the heaving tide;
And, throned on giant Himalaya's steep,
It hurls the crashing avalanche down his side!
It moves forever in the heaving tide;
And, throned on giant Himalaya's steep,
It hurls the crashing avalanche down his side!
The wing of fire strives upward to the air,
Bursting in thunder rock-bound hills apart,
And the deep globe itself, complains to bear
The earthquake beatings of its mighty heart!
Bursting in thunder rock-bound hills apart,
And the deep globe itself, complains to bear
The earthquake beatings of its mighty heart!
Even when the waves are wearied out with toil,
And in their caverns swoon the winds away,
A thousand germs break through the yielding soil,
And bees and blossoms charm the drowsy day.
And in their caverns swoon the winds away,
A thousand germs break through the yielding soil,
And bees and blossoms charm the drowsy day.
In stillest calms, when Nature's self doth seem
Sick for the far-off rest, the work goes on
In deep old forests, like a silent dream,
And sparry caves, that never knew the dawn.
Sick for the far-off rest, the work goes on
In deep old forests, like a silent dream,
And sparry caves, that never knew the dawn.
From step to step, through long and weary time,
The struggling atoms rise in Nature's plan,
Till dust instinctive reaches mind sublime—
Till lowliest being finds its bloom in Man!
The struggling atoms rise in Nature's plan,
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Till lowliest being finds its bloom in Man!
Here, on the borders of that Realm of Peace,
The gathered burdens of existence rest,
And like a sea whose surges never cease
Heaves with its care the weary human breast.
The gathered burdens of existence rest,
And like a sea whose surges never cease
Heaves with its care the weary human breast.
Oh! bright effulgence of th' Eternal Power,
Break the worn band, and wide thy portals roll!
With silent glory flood the solemn hour
When star-eyed slumber welcomes back the soul!
Break the worn band, and wide thy portals roll!
With silent glory flood the solemn hour
When star-eyed slumber welcomes back the soul!
Then shall the spirit sink in rapture down,
Like some rich blossom drunk with noontide's beam,
Or the wild bliss of music, sent to crown
The wakening moment of a midnight dream.
Like some rich blossom drunk with noontide's beam,
Or the wild bliss of music, sent to crown
The wakening moment of a midnight dream.
Through all the luminous seas of ether there,
Stirs not a trembling wave, to break the rest;
But fragrance, and the silent sense of prayer,
Charm the eternal slumber of the Blest!
Stirs not a trembling wave, to break the rest;
But fragrance, and the silent sense of prayer,
Charm the eternal slumber of the Blest!
105
THE SOUL'S SONG OF ACTION.
Like the silver wing of starlight, sweeping on its silent race,
Widening forward and forever through eternities of space,
Moves the human soul in longings and in thought and deed sublime,
On from summit unto summit, o'er the solemn hills of Time!
Widening forward and forever through eternities of space,
Moves the human soul in longings and in thought and deed sublime,
On from summit unto summit, o'er the solemn hills of Time!
Earth would sink to Night and Chaos, were that golden draught no more
From the sun's o'erbrimming chalice on the thirsty gloom to pour,
And the spirit-planet darkens in its orbit blind and chill,
When its flaming wings are folded and its pulse of lightning still.
From the sun's o'erbrimming chalice on the thirsty gloom to pour,
And the spirit-planet darkens in its orbit blind and chill,
When its flaming wings are folded and its pulse of lightning still.
Not with sweat of weary labor, as we shed on earthly soil,
But with thrills of power and glory, goes the spirit to its toil—
To the long and eager striving for the grasp of things afar,
Like the throbbing of the firefly for the lustre of the star!
But with thrills of power and glory, goes the spirit to its toil—
106
Like the throbbing of the firefly for the lustre of the star!
Toil and Grief and Self-denial, must its burdened pinions bear,
Beating vainly for the freedom of the far empyreal air;
But above Earth's wail and struggling, like a trumpet in the van,
Through the dim and listening ages, speaks the Destiny of Man!
Beating vainly for the freedom of the far empyreal air;
But above Earth's wail and struggling, like a trumpet in the van,
Through the dim and listening ages, speaks the Destiny of Man!
From the living soul of Nature comes an echo to the heart,
Filled with deep, resistless longing, when the fading beams depart—
When the holy shadows gather and the stars are in the sky,
And a saddened fire of feeling kindles in the dewy eye.
Filled with deep, resistless longing, when the fading beams depart—
When the holy shadows gather and the stars are in the sky,
And a saddened fire of feeling kindles in the dewy eye.
When the noon of night is silent, and the silvery moonlight falls
On the forest's branching columns, on its broken foliage-walls—
Comes that starry presence nearer, hushing all the fearful air,
Till the soul has prophet-glimpses of the glory it shall wear.
On the forest's branching columns, on its broken foliage-walls—
Comes that starry presence nearer, hushing all the fearful air,
Till the soul has prophet-glimpses of the glory it shall wear.
107
Not within the sick wind's sighing, nor in sleeping sea and field—
Outward types of weary toiling—are its oracles revealed;
But in shadows and in whispers from the void and vast Unknown,
And in thoughts whose holy beauty seems to come from God alone.
Outward types of weary toiling—are its oracles revealed;
But in shadows and in whispers from the void and vast Unknown,
And in thoughts whose holy beauty seems to come from God alone.
Far-away appears the gleaming of a radiant star of bliss,
As if that sublime existence were foreshadowēd unto this;
And the spirit, onward speeding, to the summit yet untrod,
Sees the shining path of angels leading upward unto God.
As if that sublime existence were foreshadowēd unto this;
And the spirit, onward speeding, to the summit yet untrod,
Sees the shining path of angels leading upward unto God.
Through the hushed and solemn portal, where a silent warder stands,
Rests its purer gaze, rejoicing, on the shores of better lands;
In the Night it triumphed over, lie the fetters it has worn,
And it floats with wing unshackled on the golden tides of morn!
Rests its purer gaze, rejoicing, on the shores of better lands;
In the Night it triumphed over, lie the fetters it has worn,
And it floats with wing unshackled on the golden tides of morn!
With a kingly grasp of knowledge shall it mount before the sun,
Adding realms of conquered Darkness to the wide dominion won:
There the lore of Truth Eternal shall the angel-mind employ,
And in active being blossom the immortal flowers of Joy!
Adding realms of conquered Darkness to the wide dominion won:
There the lore of Truth Eternal shall the angel-mind employ,
And in active being blossom the immortal flowers of Joy!
108
AN AUTUMN THOUGHT.
Here arches high the forest's golden ceiling,
And hides the heaven of blue,
Save where a dim and lonely ray is stealing
The twining branches through.
And hides the heaven of blue,
Save where a dim and lonely ray is stealing
The twining branches through.
Here mossed with age, stands many a hoary column,
To prop the mighty hall;
Nought breaks the silence, undisturbed and solemn,
Save when the dry leaves fall.
To prop the mighty hall;
Nought breaks the silence, undisturbed and solemn,
Save when the dry leaves fall.
The world's annoyance to the wide air flinging,
Alone I tread its floor;
What joy, to feel a purer thought upspringing,
Within the wood once more!
Alone I tread its floor;
What joy, to feel a purer thought upspringing,
Within the wood once more!
Here, the good angels that my childhood guarded,
Come to my side again,
And by their presence is my soul rewarded
For many an hour of pain.
Come to my side again,
And by their presence is my soul rewarded
For many an hour of pain.
109
The Summer's beauty, by the frosts o'ershaded,
May be with sadness fraught,
Yet, wandering through her long pavilions faded,
I read a joyous thought.
May be with sadness fraught,
Yet, wandering through her long pavilions faded,
I read a joyous thought.
Hopes that around us in their beauty hover,
Fall like this forest-rain;
But, the stern winter of Misfortune over,
They bloom as fresh again!
Fall like this forest-rain;
But, the stern winter of Misfortune over,
They bloom as fresh again!
The spring-like verdure of the heart may perish
Beneath some frosty care,
But many a bud which Sorrow learned to cherish
Will bloom again as fair.
Beneath some frosty care,
But many a bud which Sorrow learned to cherish
Will bloom again as fair.
Keep but the artless and confiding spirit
That beamed on Childhood's brow,
And when thy soul Life's Autumn shall inherit,
Thou shalt rejoice as now!
That beamed on Childhood's brow,
And when thy soul Life's Autumn shall inherit,
Thou shalt rejoice as now!
1845.
110
UPWARD!
Cease your wild fluttering, Thoughts that fill the soul!
Silence awhile, 'tis but the hour of birth!
Spurn not impatiently the mind's control,
Nor seek the clouds ere ye have looked on earth!
Still your strong beating till the day has gone
And starry eve comes on!
Silence awhile, 'tis but the hour of birth!
Spurn not impatiently the mind's control,
Nor seek the clouds ere ye have looked on earth!
Still your strong beating till the day has gone
And starry eve comes on!
Why would you sweep so proudly through the sky,
With fearless wing the snow-crowned hills above,
Where the strong eagle scarcely dares to fly
And the cloud-armies thunder as they rove—
Make in the solitude of storms your path
And tempt the lightning's wrath?
With fearless wing the snow-crowned hills above,
Where the strong eagle scarcely dares to fly
And the cloud-armies thunder as they rove—
Make in the solitude of storms your path
And tempt the lightning's wrath?
Will ye not linger in the earth's green fields
Till the first feebleness of youth is o'er,
Clasp the fresh joy that young existence yields
In the bright Present, and desire no more?
Lulled among blossoms, down Life's morning stream
Glide, in Elysian dream?
Till the first feebleness of youth is o'er,
111
In the bright Present, and desire no more?
Lulled among blossoms, down Life's morning stream
Glide, in Elysian dream?
I pause. In might the thronging Thoughts arise:
Hopes unfulfilled and glory yet afar,
Vague, restless longings, that would seek the skies,
And back in flame come like a falling star.
I hear ye in the heart's loud beating seek
A voice wherewith to speak.
Hopes unfulfilled and glory yet afar,
Vague, restless longings, that would seek the skies,
And back in flame come like a falling star.
I hear ye in the heart's loud beating seek
A voice wherewith to speak.
“Say, can the children of a loftier sphere
Find on the earth the freedom they desire?
Can the strong spirit fold its pinions here
And give to joy the utterance of its lyre?
Can the fledged eaglet, born where sunbeams burn,
Back into darkness turn?
Find on the earth the freedom they desire?
Can the strong spirit fold its pinions here
And give to joy the utterance of its lyre?
Can the fledged eaglet, born where sunbeams burn,
Back into darkness turn?
“Must not the wing that would aspire to sweep
Through realms undarkened by the breath of sin,
Dare in its earliest flight the trackless deep,
Nor faint and feebly on the earth begin—
Mount as a soaring lark, in morning's glow,
And leave the mists below?
Through realms undarkened by the breath of sin,
Dare in its earliest flight the trackless deep,
Nor faint and feebly on the earth begin—
Mount as a soaring lark, in morning's glow,
And leave the mists below?
112
“No soul can soar too loftily, whose aim
Is God-given Truth and brother-love of man;
Who builds in hearts the altars of his fame,
And ends in love what sympathy began.
Spirit, ascend! though far thy flight may be,
God then is nearer thee.
Is God-given Truth and brother-love of man;
Who builds in hearts the altars of his fame,
And ends in love what sympathy began.
Spirit, ascend! though far thy flight may be,
God then is nearer thee.
1845.
IV.
Miscellaneous Poems.
“And many a verse of such strange influence,
That we must ever wonder how and whence
It came.”
Keats.
That we must ever wonder how and whence
It came.”
Keats.
125
“LITTLE PAUL.”
Through the curtains poured the sunlight
With a sudden gush of joy,
Where, upon his bed of weakness,
Lay the dying little boy.
On the rising airs of Evening
Balmy sounds of Summer came,
And a Voice amid their music
Seemed to call him by his name:
And the golden waves were dancing
On the flooded chamber-wall—
On the sunny hair of Florence
And the brow of little Paul!
With a sudden gush of joy,
Where, upon his bed of weakness,
Lay the dying little boy.
On the rising airs of Evening
Balmy sounds of Summer came,
And a Voice amid their music
Seemed to call him by his name:
And the golden waves were dancing
On the flooded chamber-wall—
On the sunny hair of Florence
And the brow of little Paul!
As the sunset's tide, receding,
Ebbed again into the sky,
Passed the faint hue from his features
And the lustre from his eye;
As if up the rosy surges
Of that shining river's flow,
Went his spirit to the Angel
Who had claimed it long ago!
Fonder still, and full of yearning,
Seemed to come her gentle call,
And the throb of life grew fainter
In the heart of little Paul!
Ebbed again into the sky,
Passed the faint hue from his features
And the lustre from his eye;
As if up the rosy surges
Of that shining river's flow,
126
Who had claimed it long ago!
Fonder still, and full of yearning,
Seemed to come her gentle call,
And the throb of life grew fainter
In the heart of little Paul!
But the fond arms of a sister
Like a link around him lay,
Chaining back his fluttering spirit
To the love which was its stay;
And his own weak arms were folded
In a clinging, dear embrace,
Till his cheek and dewy forehead
Rested gently on her face.
Slowly sank his weary eyelids;
One faint breathing—that was all,
And no more the kiss of Florence
Thrilled the lips of little Paul!
Like a link around him lay,
Chaining back his fluttering spirit
To the love which was its stay;
And his own weak arms were folded
In a clinging, dear embrace,
Till his cheek and dewy forehead
Rested gently on her face.
Slowly sank his weary eyelids;
One faint breathing—that was all,
And no more the kiss of Florence
Thrilled the lips of little Paul!
130
RE-UNION.
FROM THE GERMAN OF KARL CHRISTIAN TENNER.
The sun descends—in the chamber
Sit father and mother and boy;
So fondly in love united,
Their hearts run over with joy.
Sit father and mother and boy;
So fondly in love united,
Their hearts run over with joy.
The sun descends—at the portal
What may the knocking be?
Knocking and quietly calling:
“Come, father, come to me!”
What may the knocking be?
Knocking and quietly calling:
“Come, father, come to me!”
The sun descends—and the father
Struggles with fevered pain,
Clasping the mournful mother
And trembling child in vain.
Struggles with fevered pain,
Clasping the mournful mother
And trembling child in vain.
The sun descends—at the portal
What may the knocking be?
Knocking and quietly calling:
“Come, mother, come to me!”
What may the knocking be?
131
“Come, mother, come to me!”
The sun descends—and the mother
Holdeth the boy to her heart,
Closely and warm, as if never
Her fond embrace would part.
Holdeth the boy to her heart,
Closely and warm, as if never
Her fond embrace would part.
The sun descends—there's a whisper
In the leaves of the threshold-tree,
Sadly and quietly calling:
“Come, brother, come to me!”
In the leaves of the threshold-tree,
Sadly and quietly calling:
“Come, brother, come to me!”
The sun descends—and smileth
The boy in the fading beam;
And, folding his small hands meekly,
He sinks to a peaceful dream.
The boy in the fading beam;
And, folding his small hands meekly,
He sinks to a peaceful dream.
The sun descends—in the chamber
'Tis silent, as ne'er before:
There echo the dear home-voices
From lips of love no more.
'Tis silent, as ne'er before:
There echo the dear home-voices
From lips of love no more.
The sun descends—in the darkness
The night-wind, cold and wild,
Sweeps over the gleaming grave-stones
Of father and mother and child.
The night-wind, cold and wild,
Sweeps over the gleaming grave-stones
Of father and mother and child.
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FREEDOM.
Is there no haven, where the heart may restIn the warm folding of its love and truth?
No prairie freedom, where the steed of Youth
Careers at will, by Life's strong curb unprest,
Nor spurred to foam by hot Necessity?
Dare the great soul a lavish largess take
Of Being, and its own brave journey make
O'er grandest hills and by the loudest sea?
Alas! a cruel hand is at the rein,
And the fair heights whose summits lie so near,
In the thick dust of travel disappear,
And the fierce spirit chafes its curb of pain;—
Yet, having thee, all this the heart may dare,
In the unbounded freedom of Love's air.
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EVIL.
O Power of Evil, whatsoe'er thou art,What if I shudder with a freezing dread,
When, heralded by no far-coming tread,
I feel thy sudden shadow on my heart?
What if my being, with a shrinking start,
Cries through the darkness, when thy mocking laugh
Readest each broken Hope's sad epitaph?
Though in their ruin thou hast borne thy part,
They slumber yet in consecrated ground,
Watered by tears my better angel sheds,
And when my soul beneath their cypress treads,
Deem not thy fierce, dark whispers there may sound:
The Good which blessed me, in the very grave
Dug by thy hands, is mighty still to save!
141
THE DEMON OF THE MIRROR.
This poem was suggested by a ballad which appears in a volume of
modern Sicilian poetry, published at Naples in 1845. The author, Antonio Bisazza, is quite young, and unknown out of Italy. The plot of the
story has been materially changed in the present poem, and the language
bears no resemblance to the Italian. For the apparition in the mirror,
however, from which the whole story grew, I freely acknowledge my
indebtedness to the young Sicilian poet.
This poem was suggested by a ballad which appears in a volume of modern Sicilian poetry, published at Naples in 1845. The author, Antonio Bisazza, is quite young, and unknown out of Italy. The plot of the story has been materially changed in the present poem, and the language bears no resemblance to the Italian. For the apparition in the mirror, however, from which the whole story grew, I freely acknowledge my indebtedness to the young Sicilian poet.
Where the orange branches mingled
On the sunny garden-side,
In a rare and rich pavilion
Sat the beautiful Sicilian—
Sat the Count Alberto's bride,
Musing sadly on his absence, in the balmy evening-tide.
On the sunny garden-side,
In a rare and rich pavilion
Sat the beautiful Sicilian—
Sat the Count Alberto's bride,
Musing sadly on his absence, in the balmy evening-tide.
She had grown, in soul and beauty,
Like her own delicious clime—
With the warmth and radiance showered
On its gardens, citron-bowered,
And its winds that woo in rhyme:
With its fiery tropic fervors, and its Etna-throes sublime!
Like her own delicious clime—
With the warmth and radiance showered
On its gardens, citron-bowered,
And its winds that woo in rhyme:
With its fiery tropic fervors, and its Etna-throes sublime!
Near her stood the fair Bianca,
Once a shepherd's humble child,
Who with tender hand was twining
Through her tresses, raven-shining,
Pearls of lustre pure and mild;
And the Lady in the mirror saw their braided gleam, and smiled.
Once a shepherd's humble child,
Who with tender hand was twining
Through her tresses, raven-shining,
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And the Lady in the mirror saw their braided gleam, and smiled.
Falling over brow and bosom,
Swept her dark and glossy hair;
And the flash on Etna faded,
As Bianca slowly braided
With her fingers small and fair,
While a deeper shadow gathered o'er the chamber's scented air.
Swept her dark and glossy hair;
And the flash on Etna faded,
As Bianca slowly braided
With her fingers small and fair,
While a deeper shadow gathered o'er the chamber's scented air.
On the jeweled mirror gazing,
Spake the Lady not a word,
When, within its picture certain,
Slowly moved the silken curtain,
Though the breezes had not stirred,
And its faintly falling rustle on the marble was unheard.
Spake the Lady not a word,
When, within its picture certain,
Slowly moved the silken curtain,
Though the breezes had not stirred,
And its faintly falling rustle on the marble was unheard.
Breathless, o'er her tender musing
Came a strange and sudden fear;
With a nameless, chill foreboding,
All her fiery spirit goading,
Listened she with straining ear;
Through the dusky laurel foliage, all was silent, far and near!
Came a strange and sudden fear;
With a nameless, chill foreboding,
All her fiery spirit goading,
Listened she with straining ear;
Through the dusky laurel foliage, all was silent, far and near!
143
Not a stealthy footfall sounded
On the tesselated floor;
Yet she saw, with secret terror,
Count Alberto, in the mirror,
Stealing through the curtained door,
Like a fearful, shadowy spirit, whom a curse is hanging o'er.
On the tesselated floor;
Yet she saw, with secret terror,
Count Alberto, in the mirror,
Stealing through the curtained door,
Like a fearful, shadowy spirit, whom a curse is hanging o'er.
What! so soon from far Palermo?
Has he left the feast of pride—
Has he left the knightly tourney
For the happy homeward journey
And the greeting of his bride?
Coldly, darkly, in her bosom, the upspringing rapture died!
Has he left the feast of pride—
Has he left the knightly tourney
For the happy homeward journey
And the greeting of his bride?
Coldly, darkly, in her bosom, the upspringing rapture died!
With a glance of tender meaning
On the maid he softly smiled,
And the answering smile, and token
In her glowing blushes spoken,
Well betrayed the shepherd's child:
To her gaze, within the mirror, stood that picture dim and wild!
On the maid he softly smiled,
And the answering smile, and token
In her glowing blushes spoken,
Well betrayed the shepherd's child:
To her gaze, within the mirror, stood that picture dim and wild!
Moved again the silken curtain,
As he passed without a sound;
Then the sunset's fading ember
Died within the lonely chamber,
And the darkness gathered round,
While in passion's fierce delirium was the Lady's bosom bound.
As he passed without a sound;
144
Died within the lonely chamber,
And the darkness gathered round,
While in passion's fierce delirium was the Lady's bosom bound.
Threat'ning shadows seemed to gather
In the twilight of the room,
And the thoughts, vibrating changeful
Through her spirit, grew revengeful
With their whisperings of doom:
Starting suddenly, she vanished far amid the deep'ning gloom.
In the twilight of the room,
And the thoughts, vibrating changeful
Through her spirit, grew revengeful
With their whisperings of doom:
Starting suddenly, she vanished far amid the deep'ning gloom.
In the stillness of the forest
Falls a timid, trembling gleam,
With a ruby radiance sparkling
On the rill that ripples darkling
Through the thicket, like a dream:
'Tis from out the secret chamber, where are met the Holy Vehm!
Falls a timid, trembling gleam,
With a ruby radiance sparkling
On the rill that ripples darkling
Through the thicket, like a dream:
'Tis from out the secret chamber, where are met the Holy Vehm!
I am aware that the name of the Holy Vehm—that dreaded Order of the Middle Ages—belongs properly to Germany; but as branches of it were known to exist in Italy and Sicily, I have thought best to retain the title. The abject obedience to its laws, imposed by this Order on its members, made it one of the most powerful, and at the same time the most dreaded body, which sprang from conditions of society during that period.
Wizard rocks around the entrance
Dark and grim, like sentries, stand;
And within the ghostly grotto
Sits the gloomy Baron Otto,
Chieftain of the dreaded band,
Who in darkness and in secret ruled Sicilia's sunny land.
Dark and grim, like sentries, stand;
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Sits the gloomy Baron Otto,
Chieftain of the dreaded band,
Who in darkness and in secret ruled Sicilia's sunny land.
As in sable vestments shrouded
Sat the ministers of doom,
Came a step by terror fleetened,
And the dank, foul air was sweetened
With the orange-buds' perfume,
And the starry eyes of jewels shone amid the sullen gloom.
Sat the ministers of doom,
Came a step by terror fleetened,
And the dank, foul air was sweetened
With the orange-buds' perfume,
And the starry eyes of jewels shone amid the sullen gloom.
Then uprose the gloomy Otto—
Sternly wrinkled was his brow;
“Why this sudden, strange intrusion
On the holy Vehm's seclusion?
Why thus madly comest thou,
Noble Lady, claiming vengeance from the Brothers of the Vow?”
Sternly wrinkled was his brow;
“Why this sudden, strange intrusion
On the holy Vehm's seclusion?
Why thus madly comest thou,
Noble Lady, claiming vengeance from the Brothers of the Vow?”
“There is one among your Order
Whom I dare to sue for aid:
Will a brother's dagger falter,
When the bridegroom from the altar
Hath his bosom's vow betrayed,
And the princely bride is slighted for a low-born peasant maid?”
Whom I dare to sue for aid:
Will a brother's dagger falter,
When the bridegroom from the altar
Hath his bosom's vow betrayed,
And the princely bride is slighted for a low-born peasant maid?”
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Straight the summoned one departed
Out into the starry air;
Cold the silence seemed, and dreary,
And the moments grew more weary,
While the Lady waited there
With a deep, uncertain anguish, which her spirit scarce could bear.
Out into the starry air;
Cold the silence seemed, and dreary,
And the moments grew more weary,
While the Lady waited there
With a deep, uncertain anguish, which her spirit scarce could bear.
Mingled thoughts of love and vengeance
Madly battled in her brain;
All her bosom's passionate feeling
Struggled with the dread revealing,
Till her eyes o'ergushed in rain—
Then anon they flashed and kindled, and her soul grew stern again!
Madly battled in her brain;
All her bosom's passionate feeling
Struggled with the dread revealing,
Till her eyes o'ergushed in rain—
Then anon they flashed and kindled, and her soul grew stern again!
Once a sweet and happy vision
Nigh her fiery will had won—
When the silver lamp of Hesper
Twinkled through the silent vesper,
And their bosoms beat as one,
Thrilling o'er with too much fervor, like a blossom in the sun.
Nigh her fiery will had won—
When the silver lamp of Hesper
Twinkled through the silent vesper,
And their bosoms beat as one,
Thrilling o'er with too much fervor, like a blossom in the sun.
Olden worlds in music echoed
Through her heart's forsaken bowers;
But its buds of love were rifled,
And the spirit-voice was stifled,
Which would tell of tender hours;
Nevermore might second sunshine bid re-bloom its perished flowers!
Through her heart's forsaken bowers;
147
And the spirit-voice was stifled,
Which would tell of tender hours;
Nevermore might second sunshine bid re-bloom its perished flowers!
Still that dark foreboding lingered
Over all her pride and hate,
Like a stifling mist, that ever
Hangs above a burning river
With its dull and stagnant weight:
Slowly up the spectral Future crept the shadows of her fate.
Over all her pride and hate,
Like a stifling mist, that ever
Hangs above a burning river
With its dull and stagnant weight:
Slowly up the spectral Future crept the shadows of her fate.
Now the eastern stars had mounted,
And the midnight watch was o'er,
When her long suspense was broken
By a hasty watchword spoken,
And a dark form passed the door.
Blood was on his golden scabbard, and the sable robe he wore.
And the midnight watch was o'er,
When her long suspense was broken
By a hasty watchword spoken,
And a dark form passed the door.
Blood was on his golden scabbard, and the sable robe he wore.
“By this blade, most noble Lady,
Have I done thy will aright!”
Then, upstarting from her languor,
Cried she, in returning anger:
“Where reposed the trait'rous knight?
Didst thou tear him from her clasping—strike him down before her sight?”
Have I done thy will aright!”
Then, upstarting from her languor,
Cried she, in returning anger:
148
Didst thou tear him from her clasping—strike him down before her sight?”
“Nay, not so; in bright Palermo,
Where the tourney's torches shine—
In the gardens of the palace,
Did the green earth, from its chalice
Drink his bosom's brightest wine,
And the latest name that faltered on his dying lips, was thine!”
Where the tourney's torches shine—
In the gardens of the palace,
Did the green earth, from its chalice
Drink his bosom's brightest wine,
And the latest name that faltered on his dying lips, was thine!”
With a scream, as agonizing
In its horror and despair,
As if life's last hold were started,
Ere the soul in torture parted,
Stood she, pale and shuddering there,
With her face of marble lifted in the cavern's noisome air.
In its horror and despair,
As if life's last hold were started,
Ere the soul in torture parted,
Stood she, pale and shuddering there,
With her face of marble lifted in the cavern's noisome air.
“God of Heaven! that fearful image,
On the mirror's surface thrown!
Not Alberto, but a demon,
Looked on her as on a leman,
And the guilt is mine alone!
Now that demon-shadow haunts me, and its curse is made my own!
On the mirror's surface thrown!
Not Alberto, but a demon,
Looked on her as on a leman,
And the guilt is mine alone!
Now that demon-shadow haunts me, and its curse is made my own!
149
“See! its dead, cold eyes, are glaring
Through the darkness, steadily;
And it holds a cloudy mirror,
Imaging that scene of terror,
Which was bloody death to thee!
Mocking now thy noble features, turns its fearful gaze on me!
Through the darkness, steadily;
And it holds a cloudy mirror,
Imaging that scene of terror,
Which was bloody death to thee!
Mocking now thy noble features, turns its fearful gaze on me!
“And I see, beneath their seeming,
How the demon features glow!
Ghastly shadows rise before me,
And the darkness gathers o'er me,
With its never-ending wo—
Now I feel, avenging spirits! how your spells of madness grow!”
How the demon features glow!
Ghastly shadows rise before me,
And the darkness gathers o'er me,
With its never-ending wo—
Now I feel, avenging spirits! how your spells of madness grow!”
With a shriek, prolonged and painful,
Through the wood she fled afar,
Where the air was awed and fearful,
And between the boughs the tearful
Shining of a dewy star
Pierced alone the solid darkness which enclosed her as a bar.
Through the wood she fled afar,
Where the air was awed and fearful,
And between the boughs the tearful
Shining of a dewy star
Pierced alone the solid darkness which enclosed her as a bar.
Night by night, in gloom and terror,
From the crag and from the glen
Came those cries, the quiet breaking,
Till the shepherd dogs, awaking,
Bayed in loud and mournful pain,
And the vintager, benighted, trembled on the distant plain.
From the crag and from the glen
Came those cries, the quiet breaking,
Till the shepherd dogs, awaking,
150
And the vintager, benighted, trembled on the distant plain.
Years went by, and stranger footsteps
Rang in castle, bower and hall;
Yet the shrieks, at midnight ringing,
Spoke the curse upon it clinging,
And they left it to its fall,
And an utter desolation slowly settled over all.
Rang in castle, bower and hall;
Yet the shrieks, at midnight ringing,
Spoke the curse upon it clinging,
And they left it to its fall,
And an utter desolation slowly settled over all.
Still, when o'er the brow of Etna
Livid shades begin to roll,
Tell the simple herdsman, daunted
By the twilight, terror-haunted,
How she felt the fiend's control,
And they sign the cross in saying—“God in mercy keep her soul!”
Livid shades begin to roll,
Tell the simple herdsman, daunted
By the twilight, terror-haunted,
How she felt the fiend's control,
And they sign the cross in saying—“God in mercy keep her soul!”
1847.
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