 | The Village Churchyard |  |
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AN EVENING BY THE SEA.
An Evening of Enchantment!—all is laidIn magical quiescence: half afraid
To breathe, I stand; lest all away should pass,
Like winged shadows from a fair, smooth glass;
Or, like the very Fairy-land it seems,
Of Visions, and of Witcheries, and of Dreams;
Lit by the soft Moon's pale, but lovely beams.
Fair salutations to thee, skyey Queen!
Thou chiefest charm and glory of the scene—
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Is faintly, fancifully shadowed now,
By a perplexity of fairy-clouds,
Fine as the gossamer's leaf-folding shrouds:
So soft, so clear, they almost make the light
About thee look more spiritually bright!
Sultana of the Night! this lovely hour
Confesses rapturously thy queenly power!
Thy mighty vassal—the unbounded Sea—
Is worshipping and celebrating thee,
With a most multitudinous melody;
Sustaining, on his splendour-ruffled breast
Thine aspect, imaged in majestic rest!
O'er those hushed waters floats no troubling breath:
Life's radiance there meets the repose of death.
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Doth o'er the mighty Main serenely brood.
Breathless, with some sweet consciousness, appears
That awful Main: a look of peace it wears,
So perfect, that the soul seems lulled to sleep—
Slave of that rich contagion, pure and deep!
But oh, thou Moon!—thou gentlest, loveliest One!
Trust not the Sea! Soon, soon as thou art gone,
All bright reflections of thy vestal grace—
All meek unveilings of thy matchless face—
Thy soft, calm smiles—thy radiant looks serene—
Thy beatific aspect—gracious mien—
The sweet inscriptions of thy pencilling ray—
And every soft memorial of thy sway—
He'll banish from his bosom; and, when Morn,
Midst blooms and splendours, lights and dews, is born;
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Out leaps the winged Angel of the Light—
He will forget those witching charms of thine;
Apostate from thy service and thy shrine!
His tremulously-glistering, wandering waves—
Clear as the crystals of their central caves—
Shall but reflect, empurpled, in the waters,
The blushing clouds — Morn's golden-winged Daughters.
No trace of thee, or thine, shall there remain!
Trust not the Sea—such trust were worse than vain!
Though now, the mighty Hypocrite may seem
To make thee the Idol of his rapturous dream;
Trust not the false, false Sea—thou gentle Moon!
He will forget thee, and deny thee, soon!
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Shall claim his homage, and receive his vow:
Her orient colours, he shall win and wear,
Nor one fond tribute to thy memory spare.
In changeful splendours—gem-like sparkles, drest;
And tremulous lightnings—shall his mighty breast
Outshine: Lo! he shall wear a Kingly Vest!
Luxuriant coruscations, rainbow-hues,
His glittering, quivering surface shall suffuse;
Till in one golden conflagration blent,
Shall seem that pure and liquid element;
And, in those laughing hours of flush and bloom,
Red—rosy red, his waters shall become!
Till on his bosom, every foam-spun wreath
Rival the blushing coral-stems beneath;
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A gem-like brilliance, variable as vain!
Nought but the white pearls, in his deepest deep—
On which thou never shonest—shall calmly keep
A colourless lustre, pale and pure as thine:
Yet, oh! how dreamy, spiritual, divine,
How tender, and how touching was thy Light,
What time the thrilling stars inflamed the night;
And unto Adoration's lifted eye
The mirrors of their Maker's majesty—
The mirrors of his Awful Shadow, even—
Seemed gloriously, enkindling all the Heaven!
Fair Angel of the Night! the Sea shall cease
To proffer homage to thy shrine of peace!
Another Sun, with added fire, that glows,
Shall he appear, in his illumed repose;
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From every wave, from every ripple start,
When the refulgent and triumphal Morn—
Child of that Sun—midst dazzling pomps, is born!
Yet, such inconstancies shall he regret,
When yet, once more, that parting Sun is set;
And thou comest forth, all beautiful and bright—
Even like the shadow of Essential Light!
Then, once again, shall he return to thee,
Murmuring a multitudinous Harmony—
A sound of many sounds—a full, and deep,
And passionate strain; as in a charmed sleep.
Yea! then, once more, shall he to thee return;
And thou shalt dip thy sheeny diamond-urn
In his broad waters, till they trembling catch
Transparent lustres,—not the pearls could match,
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Midst buried gems, and heaps of massy gold,
And wrecks, and long-lost treasures, and rich ore:
A strange and unimaginable store!
Then shall he proudly thine allegiance own;
And grow, while thy sweet splendours burst, fullblown—
One laughing Paradise of silvery lights!
Or where outshine the Orient's lustrous nights;
Or where the Northern Lights swift lances shoot,
With arrowy brilliance, radiant and acute;
Or where the Western skies their glories shed;
Or the deep South's rich, fervid Heavens out-spread.
And thou—thou too, shall thus fresh charms obtain;
And yet more soft, ambrosial beauty gain.
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By that commingling with the stainless Tide:
A tenderer Loveliness shall thee invest—
Mirrored upon the smoothness of his breast—
As thou in sweet Ascendancy art now,
With spirit-radiance on thy orbed brow.
While each wave wins from thee, a luminous boon,
Till the Ocean shines another, vaster Moon!
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