Ballads and Lyrical poems :: :: University of Virginia Library

I saw a crowd of people on the shore
Of a deep, dark illimitable sea;
Pale-faced they were, and turn'd their eyes to earth,
And stoop'd low down, and gazed upon the sands;
And ever and anon they roam'd about,
Backwards and forwards; and whene'er they stopp'd
It was to gather on the weedy beach
The dulse and tangles, or the fruitful shells,
Whose living tenants fasten'd to the rocks
They pluck'd away, and listlessly devour'd.

And when they'd eaten all their fill, they sat
One by the other on the placid shore,
And with much labour and incessant care
Polish'd the shells, until to brightest hues,
Various and intermingling, they were wrought;
And these they hung around their necks and limbs,
And look'd each other in the face, and smiled.
This done, they wander'd on the shore again,
And ate and ate, and drank and drank, and slept,
Day after day—night after night—the same.

Meanwhile the firmament was bright with stars
And from the clouds aërial voices came
In tones of melody, now low, now loud;
Angelic forms were hovering around
In robes of white and azure; heaven itsélf

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Appear'd to open and invite the gaze
Of these poor stooping earth-enamour'd crowds.
But they ne'er look'd, nor heard. Though the deep sea
Flash'd phosphorescent; though dim seen afar,
The white sails and the looming hulls of ships
Gleam'd through the darkness, and the pregnant air
Gave birth to visions swathed in golden fire—
They look'd not. Though the heavenly voices call'd,
And told them of the world of life and light,
Of Beauty, Power, Love, Mystery, and Joy,
That lay beyond, and might be seen of those,
However lowly, that would lift their eyes—
They heeded not, nor heard; but wander'd on,
Plucking their weeds and gathering their shells.
And if they heard the murmur of the sea
That bore them tidings of the Infinite—
They knew it not; but lay them idly down,
Thought of the morrow's food, and sank to sleep.
And when they woke, with their care-deaden'd eyes,
And pallid faces, and toil-burden'd backs,
Began once more their customary search
Upon the bare and melancholy sands;
As if that search were all the end of life,
And all things else but nothingness and void.

But 'mid that low-brow'd multitude were some
Of larger faculties, and foreheads fair,
Laden with knowledge: and of eyes that beam'd
Intelligence, and quick desire to know;—
Who saw the visions teeming in the air;
Who heard the voices breathing in the sky;
Who o'er the illimitable waters stretch'd
Their eager gaze, and through the gloom descried

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Shadows of beauty, which, but half reveal'd
Added a wonder to their loveliness;—
Who heard celestial music night and morn
Play'd in the lap of ocean, or attuned
To every motion of the ceaseless wind;—
Who heard th' harmonious cadence of the stars;
Who saw the angels with their azure wings;
And lifted up their voices in a song
Of praise and joy, that not from them were hidden,
By blinding avarice and worldly care
Of shells and sea-weed, all th' immensity
Of nature—all th' infinitude of heaven—
And all the hope, bright as a certainty,
That here, upon this low and gloomy shore,
Our life is but a germ, that shall expand
To fruit and foliage in a brighter clime.

And all of these spake to the crowd in song
And bade them lift their dull earth-bending eyes,
And see how beautiful were Life and Time;
And bade them listen to the eternal chant
Of Nature, overflowing with its joy,
And the mysterious hymn for ever sung
By Earth to Heaven, of which their words inspired
Were the interpreters to human kind.

And some of these were angry with the crowd,
Who would not listen, and whose ears were vex'd
With all that would distract them from their shells,
And weltering dulse and tangles on the shore.

But one of them with venerable hair,
And a large brow, and face serene as Heaven,
Rebuked them for their wrath with mild sad words,
And said—“Oh brothers, weary not your souls?

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If they are happy with their weeds and shells,
Let them alone:—And if their hearts prefer
Pebbles to stars, and sound of their own feet
Plashing amid the waters, to the song
Of angels, and the music of the spheres—
Let them alone. Why should ye vex yourselves?
Are ye not happy that to your keen sight
Those things are shown which they refuse to see?
Are ye not happy that your ears can hear
The oracles of Nature, mute to them?
That ye are priests and prophets, though contemn'd?
Brothers!—be wise—make music to your minds!
For he who singeth from his own full heart
Has his reward even in the utterance.
Brothers!—be wise—and sing your songs in peace!”