 | Under Green Leaves |  |
121
THE VOLUNTARY.
The low, soft notes
Trickled upon each other like the drip
Of rain in summer upon trees and flowers,
And lo! I wander'd knee-deep in the grass,
Through the green meadows prankt with buttercups,
Valerian, daisies, and wild hyacinths.
I heard the rippling murmur of a brook,
Whose limpid waters sparkled to the sun;
Upon its brink a troop of children sat,
Fair boys with chubby cheeks and laughing eyes,
And girls with ringlets waving to the wind;
They braided garlands of the meadow flowers,
And tied them up with rushes. I could hear
Their joyous laughter and their artless talk,—
The song of blackbirds in the neighbouring copse,
The trumpet of the gnat,—the bee's loud horn,—
And click of grasshoppers, like meeting spears.
Trickled upon each other like the drip
Of rain in summer upon trees and flowers,
And lo! I wander'd knee-deep in the grass,
Through the green meadows prankt with buttercups,
Valerian, daisies, and wild hyacinths.
I heard the rippling murmur of a brook,
Whose limpid waters sparkled to the sun;
Upon its brink a troop of children sat,
Fair boys with chubby cheeks and laughing eyes,
And girls with ringlets waving to the wind;
They braided garlands of the meadow flowers,
And tied them up with rushes. I could hear
122
The song of blackbirds in the neighbouring copse,
The trumpet of the gnat,—the bee's loud horn,—
And click of grasshoppers, like meeting spears.
Anon the organ pour'd a deeper strain,
And carried me away—far, far away—
From the green meadows, miles and miles adown
A lengthening river, widening evermore.
I saw the towns and cities on its banks,—
I heard the pealing of the holiday bells,
And roar of people in the market-place,
The flapping of the sails of merchant ships
Laden with corn, that with each flowing tide
Came upward to the towns; I heard the creak
Of chains and dropping anchors in the ports,
And chorus, at the capstan, of the crews,
As round and round they trod with measured steps,
And all the bustle of their busy life.
And carried me away—far, far away—
From the green meadows, miles and miles adown
A lengthening river, widening evermore.
I saw the towns and cities on its banks,—
I heard the pealing of the holiday bells,
And roar of people in the market-place,
The flapping of the sails of merchant ships
Laden with corn, that with each flowing tide
Came upward to the towns; I heard the creak
Of chains and dropping anchors in the ports,
And chorus, at the capstan, of the crews,
As round and round they trod with measured steps,
And all the bustle of their busy life.
123
And still away—away—in floods of sound,
Th' unseen musician, sitting at his keys,
Transported me, a willing auditor,
Where'er his fancy would. The deep, full tones
Grew deeper, fuller, louder, more sublime,
Until the waves of music swoll to seas,
Whose angry billows, white with crests of foam,
Rush'd in impetuous thunder on the land.
The Moon withdrew her splendour from the clouds,
And hid herself in darkness; the wind rose,
And roar'd in chorus with th' exulting Sea,
Who answer'd it with thunders of her own.
Rain, hail, and sleet, and avalanche of spray
Broke in succession; wind, and sea, and sky,—
Octave on octave—burst in worlds of sound,
The mighty discords clashing evermore,
Only to melt and fuse in harmonies.
Th' unseen musician, sitting at his keys,
Transported me, a willing auditor,
Where'er his fancy would. The deep, full tones
Grew deeper, fuller, louder, more sublime,
Until the waves of music swoll to seas,
Whose angry billows, white with crests of foam,
Rush'd in impetuous thunder on the land.
The Moon withdrew her splendour from the clouds,
And hid herself in darkness; the wind rose,
And roar'd in chorus with th' exulting Sea,
Who answer'd it with thunders of her own.
Rain, hail, and sleet, and avalanche of spray
Broke in succession; wind, and sea, and sky,—
Octave on octave—burst in worlds of sound,
The mighty discords clashing evermore,
Only to melt and fuse in harmonies.
Anon the lightning flash'd upon the dark,
And thunders rattled o'er the cloudy vault,
As if the chariots of the heavenly host
Drove to the judgment-seat, and Earth's last day
Were sounded by the trumpets of the spheres.
The echoes roll'd through the cathedral aisles,
And died in silence. Lo! the round, full moon
Peer'd from the bosom of a rifted cloud;
The wind sank low—the raging seas grew calm—
While loud, clear voices, from the upper air,
Sang in sweet harmonies, “The Lord is great,
His loving-kindness lasts for evermore.”
And thunders rattled o'er the cloudy vault,
124
Drove to the judgment-seat, and Earth's last day
Were sounded by the trumpets of the spheres.
The echoes roll'd through the cathedral aisles,
And died in silence. Lo! the round, full moon
Peer'd from the bosom of a rifted cloud;
The wind sank low—the raging seas grew calm—
While loud, clear voices, from the upper air,
Sang in sweet harmonies, “The Lord is great,
His loving-kindness lasts for evermore.”
| Under Green Leaves | |