The Poetical Works of David Macbeth Moir :: :: University of Virginia Library

Unbridled Spirit, throned upon the lap
Of ebon Midnight, whither dost thou stray,
Whence didst thou come, and where is thy abode?—
From slumber I awaken, at the sound
Of thy most melancholy voice; sublime
Thou ridest on the rolling clouds which take
The forms of sphinx, or hypogriff, or car,
Like those by Roman conquerors of yore
In games equestrian used, by fiery steeds
Drawn headlong on; or choosest, all unseen,
To ride the vault, and drive the murky storms
Before thee, or bow down, with giant wing,
The wondering forests as thou sweepest by!

Daughter of darkness! when remote the noise
Of tumult, and of discord, and mankind,
When but the watch-dog's voice is heard, or wolves
That bay the silent night, or from the tower,
Ruin'd and rent, the note of boding owl,
Or lapwing's shrill and solitary cry,
When sleep weighs down the eyelids of the world,

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And life is as it were not, down the sky,
Forth from thy cave, wide roaming thou dost come,
To hold nocturnal orgies.

Round the pile,
Thou moanest wistfully, of dark abbaye,
And silent charnel-house; the long lank grass,
The hemlock, and the nightshade, and the yew,
Bend at thy tread; and thro' the blacken'd rails
Fleetly thou sweepest, with a wailing voice.
Wayworn and woe-begone, the traveller
Bears on thro' paths unknown; alone he sees
The bright star's fitful twinkling, as along
Night's arch rush sullenly the darksome clouds,
And wilds and melancholy wastes, and streams
Forlorn, and joyless all; no cottage blaze
Strikes through the weary gloom; alone he hears
Thee, awful Spirit! fighting with the stream
Of rushing torrent, torturing it to foam,
And tossing it aloft; the shadowy woods
Join in the chorus, while lone shrieks and sighs
Burst on his ear, as if infernal fiends
Had burst their adamantine chains, and rush'd
To take possession of this lower world.
His bosom sinks, his spirit fails, his heart
Dies in him, and around his captive soul
Dark Superstition weaves her witching spells;
Unholy visions pass before his mind,
Dreams rayless and unhallow'd; spectres pale
Glide past with rustling garments; wormy graves

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Yawn round him; while the dark and nodding plumes
Of melancholy hearses blast his view.

But not alone to inland solitudes,
To pastoral regions wide and mountains high,
Man's habitations, or the forests dark,
Are circumscribed thy visitings: Behold!
Stemming with eager prow, the Atlantic tide,
Holds on the intrepid mariner; abroad
The wings of Night brood shadowy; heave the waves
Around him, mutinous, their curling heads,
Portentous of a storm; all hands are plied,
A zealous task, and sounds the busy deck
With notes of preparation; many an eye
Is upward cast toward the clouded heaven;
And many a thought, with troubled tenderness,
Dwells on the calm tranquillity of home;
And many a heart in supplicating prayer
Breathes forth; meanwhile, the boldest sailor's cheek
Blanches; stout courage fails; young chilhood's shriek,
Awfully piercing, bursts; and woman's fears
Are speechless. With a low, insidious moan,
Rush past the gales, that harbinger thy way,
And hail thy advent; gloom the murky clouds
Darker around; and heave the maddening waves
Higher their crested summits. With a glare
Unveiling but the clouds and foaming seas,
Flashes the lightning; then, with doubling peal,
Reverberating to the gates of heaven,
Rolls the deep thunder with tremendous crash,

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Sublime, as if the firmament were rent
Amid the severing clouds, that pour their storms,
Commingling sea and sky.

Disturb'd, arise
The monsters of the deep, and wheel around
Their mountainous bulks unwieldy, while aloft,
Poised on the feathery summit of the wave,
Hangs the frail bark, its howlings of despair
Lost on the mocking storm. Then frantic, thou
Dost rise, tremendous Power, thy wings unfurl'd,
Unfurl'd, but nor to succour, nor to save;
Then is thine hour of triumph; with a yell,
Thou rushest on; and, with a maniac love,
Sing'st in the rifted shroud; the straining mast
Yields, and the cordage cracks. Thou churn'st the deep
To madness, tearing up the yellow sands
From their profound recesses, and dost strew
The clouds around thee, and within thy hand
Takest up the billowy tide, and dashest down
The vessel to destruction—she is not!
But, when the morning lifts her dewy eye,
And to a quiet calm the elements,
Subsiding from their fury, have dispersed,
There art thou, like a satiate conqueror,
Recumbent on the murmuring deep, thy smiles
All unrepentant of the savage wreck.

Yet sometimes art thou, Demon of the night,
An evil spirit ministering to good!—

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'Mid orient realms, when sultry day hath pass'd,
Breathless; and sunlight, on the western hill,
Dies with a quick decay;

Twilight in tropical countries is of very short duration; the transition from day to darkness being much more rapid than in our northern latitudes.

then, O how dear,
How welcome to the dry and thirsty glebe,
And to the night of woods, where Pagods rise,
And Bramah's priests adore their deity,
From ocean, journeying with an eagle speed,
Come the delightful fannings of thy wing!
The grateful heaven weeps down refreshing dews,
The twilight stars peep forth with glittering ray;
And earth outspreads the carpet of her flowers,
In tenderness exhaling their perfumes,
To lure within their cups thy gelid breath:
There, 'mid the azure landscape, on his roof,
Piazza-girt, watching the evening star,
Among his myrtle blooms, the Indian sits,
Delighted, as with soft refreshing sighs,
Thou wanderest past, lifting his coal-black hair:
The smiles of Vishnoo gleam along the earth;
While by high plantain groves, by limpid streams,
The maidens roam, as subtile Cambdeo lurks

The Indian god of love. By a beautiful allegorical fable, his bowstring is said to be framed of living bees. Vide Southey's Curse of Kehama, for a wonderful tissue of oriental superstition woven into the loom of poetry. Vishnoo, the Preserver, in the Hindoo Pantheon. Meru Mount, the Olympus of eastern mythology, on which the deities are supposed to meet in conclave.—Vide Maurice's Indian Antiquities, Sir William Jones, &c.

Behind a lotus tuft, and, from his string
Of living bees, the unerring arrow twangs:
Malignant Genii lose the power to harm;
From Meru Mount the deities look down,
Well pleased, rejoicing in the general joy.

Nor grateful less, unto the realm where shines
Thy glittering crest, Canopus, on the verge
Of the ungirdled hemisphere, and frown

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The earth-forsaking pyramids sublime:
In Nilus dipping, through the twilight sky,
Thou roam'st excursive; while, on minaret,
In solemn voice the Muezzin calls to prayer
His Moslem devotees. With thirsty beak,
The birds fly panting to the lilied verge
Of Mœris lake, where swans unnumber'd oar
Their snowy way, amid the azure sheet,
To drink refreshment; while, at thy approach,
Through all their countless multitude of leaves,
The forests murmur, like an infant pleased
Beneath a sire's caress; and nightingales
Sing to thee, through the lapses of the night.

Unsocial Power! the realms of solitude
Thou lovest, and where Desolation spreads
Her far-outstretching pinions; hoary weeds,
Like tresses hanging from the pillar'd pride
Of Balbec,

The curious reader would do well to consult Pocoke's Travels, where an accurate account of these wonderful and stupendous ruins will be found. Amid the frigid and formal exaggerations of Darwin's poetry, the description of the desolation of Palmyra in the Botanic Garden will be found at once picturesque and powerful.

thou dost wave with rustling sound,
Wistfully moaning through the column'd shrines,
By men deserted, and to Silence left,
Whose shadows in the moonlight darksome stretch
O'er the dry sands. The jackall from his den,
Where ancient monarchs held their revels high,
Wondering, comes forth, disturb'd, with upturn'd nose
Scenting the breeze.

Or through Arabian plains,
Thou hold'st thy solitary way, the sands
Uptossing high, and mingling earth with heaven:

For descriptions of this Eastern phenomenon, see Park, Bruce, Volney, Niebuhr, and almost every other Oriental traveller.

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'Midst of the desert, on a spot of green
Beside the well, the wearied caravans
Rest; and while slumber weighs their eyelids down,
The mountainous surges o'er their destined heads
Thou heap'st relentless. Long at Cairo wait
Their joyless friends expectant, long in vain,
Till hope deferr'd is swallowed in despair.

Farewell! dark essence of regardless will,
That wander'st where thou listest, round the world
Thine endless march pursuing; o'er the peak
Of Alpine Blanc, or through the streamy dells
Of Morven, or beyond Pacific wave
Climbing the mighty Andes, or the vales
Peruvian chusing rather, there to sway,
With creaking sound, the undulating arch
Of wild cane framed,

The bridges over narrow streams, in many parts of Spanish America, are said to be built of cane, which, however strong to support the passenger, are yet waved in the agitation of the storm, and frequently add to the effect of a mountainous and picturesque scenery.—Note on Gertrude of Wyoming.

and flung athwart the depth
Of gulfy chasms; or, with demoniac howl,
While hazy clouds bedim the labouring moon,
Wafting the midnight Sisters on thy car,
To hold unhallow'd orgies on the heaths
Of northern Lapland.

Spirit! fare-thee-well!
In terror, not in love, we sing of thee!