University of Virginia Library

It was the morning of the merry day
Of Midsummer;—the sun was not yet up,
But the blithe larks were looking out for him;
The swallows twitter'd on the cottage thatch;
The cocks in neighbouring farm-yards clapp'd their wings,
Answering each other's challenge.

All the night
I had not slept. The casement, open'd wide,
Let in the pleasant night air; and the sound
Of softest waves that linger'd on the beach,
Washing the sands so gently, 'twas more like
The slow and quiet breath of one who slumbers,
Than the strong voice of the great deep. And still,
As I look'd out upon the night, the sea
Was flat and motionless as glass; and throng'd
With bright stars, as it were another sky.
A ship lay on the dark and smooth expanse,
Still as a rock.—There was no ripple seen,
No gentlest swell;—yet, ever and anon,
The slow, soft pulse of ocean heavily
Threw on the beach a sleepy wave;—then sank
To rest again. The dark, dim, lofty cliffs
Hung o'er the deep like drowsy sentinels.
All nature was in gentle sleep;—but I
Wish'd not to sleep. The air was fresh and pure,
Yet of luxurious warmth; and luscious scents
From the new hay, and fields of flowering beans,
Borne on the slow wings of the unfelt wind;
And woodbines from the cottage porch beneath,
And wall-flowers, whose dark heads were bent with dew,
Floated with sweetest interchange.

It seem'd
Ingratitude to all beneficent nature
To shut out such delicious sights, and sounds,
And smells, and wrap my senses in dull sleep;—
So at my window I had sat all night,
Silently revelling in that pure bliss.

But, when the sounds of day-break came, I rose
To climb the loftiest cliff, and watch from thence
The glorious God of light and heat spring up
From the blue deep to ride his highest course
Along the heavens; resolved this joyful day
To track him from his rising to his fall.
This day, said I, I will forget the world,
Its cares, and guilt, and passions, and will live
In sunshine and in beauty. So I went
Through fields and green-bank'd lanes, where the spring flowers
Live on till summer; now enveloped quite
With hedges over-arching, whose low roof
And sides, as with a thousand tiny fingers,
Had from the passing hay-cart pluck'd away
Its fragrant burthen: catching now through gap
Or uncouth gate a glimpse of some far vale,
Steep'd in the grey mist;—now of some bold cliff
Standing alone, with nought but the blue sky
Behind it:—now of the dim quiet sea.

Soon I began with eager foot to climb
The high cliff, from whose top I might behold
The glorious spectacle. The short soft grass
Had caught a plenteous dew: the mountain herbs
Repaid my rude tread with sweet fragrance: long
The ascent and steep; and often did I pause
To breathe and look around on the rich vales
And swelling hills, each moment brightening.
Thus with alternate toil and rest I climb'd
To the high summit, then walk'd gently on,
Till by the cliff's precipitous edge I stood.
O, then what glories burst upon my sight!
The interminable ocean lay beneath
At depth immense;—not quiet as before,
For a faint breath of air, ev'n at the height
On which I stood scarce felt, play'd over it,
Waking innumerous dimples on its face,
As though 'twere conscious of the splendid guest,
That ev'n then touch'd the threshold of heaven's gates,
And smiled to bid him welcome. Far away
To either hand the broad, curved beach stretch'd on;
And I could see the slow-paced waves advance
One after one, and spread upon the sands,
Making a slender edge of pearly foam
Just as they broke;—then softly falling back,
Noiseless to me on that tall head of rock,
As it had been a picture, or descried
Through optic tube leagues off.

A tender mist
Was round th' horizon, and along the vales;
But the hill tops stood in a crystal air;
The cope of heaven was clear and deeply blue,
And not a cloud was visible. Towards the east
An atmosphere of golden light, that grew
Momently brighter, and intensely bright,
Proclaim'd the approaching sun. Now—now he comes:—
A dazzling point emerges from the sea;
It spreads;—it rises:—now it seems a dome
Of burning gold:—higher and rounder now
It mounts—it swells:—now like a huge balloon.
Of light and fire, it rests upon the rim
Of waters; lingers there a moment;—then—
Soars up.—

Exulting I stretch'd forth my arms,
And hail'd the king of summer. Every hill
Put on a face of gladness; every tree
Shook his green leaves in joy: the meadows laugh'd;
The deep glen, where it caught the amber beams,
Began to draw its misty vale aside,
And smile and glisten through its pearly tear
The birds struck up their chorus; the young lambs
Scour'd over hill and meadow;—all that lived
Look'd like a new creation, over-fill'd
With health and joy; nay, ev'n the inanimate earth
Seem'd coming into life.

But glorious far
Beyond all else the mighty God of light
Mounting the crystal firmament: no eye
May look upon his overwhelming pomp:
Power and majesty attend his steps;
Ocean and earth adoring gaze on him:—
In lone magnificence he takes his way
Through the bright solitude of heaven.

The sea
Was clear and purely blue, save the broad path
Where the sunbeams danc'd on the heaving billows,
That seem'd a high-road, paved with atom suns,
Where, on celestial errands, to and fro,
'Tween heaven and earth might gods or angels walk.
Here, drinking in with rapture every sight,
And sound, and odorous smell, from point to point
Of precipice or rock I walk'd;—now look'd
At the white, dazzling cliffs that stood out clear
And sharp-edged in that bright light, tinted o'er
With shrubs and flowers;—now towards some distant village,
With its white cottages and simple church
Half hid in trees:—now on some peak or mount
Tip-toe I stood, catching with eager sense
The faint sweet perfume of a neighbouring hill,
From base to summit all emblazon'd thick
With golden gorse flowers: now upon the brink
Of the steep cliff I stood, and look'd below,
Where lay gigantic ruins, rock on rock
Up-piled in mimickry of wall and spire;
Till, dizzy with contemplating that depth,
I almost long'd to start and plunge below.
Now looking forth I saw the playful salmon
Leaping from out the waves; the mackerel shoals
Ruffling the surface; or the unwieldy porpus
Throwing his huge bulk high from out the waters
That, as he fell, recoil'd, and flash'd, and rock'd
In trembling widening circles. Here and there
The various sea-fowl floated smoothly on,
Or dived at times to snatch their prey. And now
The fishermen upon a distant beach
Were launching their dark boats. Some, just push'd off,
Went gliding on like swans: sail after sail
Rising to catch the scarcely-breathing wind:
Some they were dragging down the shelving sands
With measured pull: their hoarse and long-drawn shouts
Came faintly up the steep. Now on the waves
The prow is lifted: now the sailors leap
Hastily in,—save one, who at the stern
Stands yet a moment, with his utmost force
To give the last strong push that makes the keel
Slide from the grating sands:—he too leaps in:
The oars are snatch'd,—they flash into the water:—
The white sails one by one are spread,—and now
Slowly and steadily they steal along.

Soon from a dale below I heard the sound
Of cheerful voices, and the whetted scythe.
O! many a merry joke there seem'd to pass,
For they laugh'd out right heartily and long;
Then bent them to their task; and all was still,
Save the scythe's measured hiss; and, oft between,
The sharp, clear ringing of the whetted blade,
Much interrupted for some pleasant word,
Or side-convulsing laugh, and many a call
To milkmaid tripping by, and piping loud
Some merry tune to some disastrous lay:—
A sweeter music in the early morn,
Than stirs the haggard dancer's jaded limbs,
In the unhealthful ball-room, to try yet
One dear, delightful, toilsome pleasure more.

This day, said I, no roof shall cover me
But that majestic vault of heaven: no couch,
No table shall be mine, but the green earth:
In those fields will I take my simple food,
And look abroad, and see continually
The glorious aspects of rejoicing nature,
And feel her unalloyed presence. Then
Down to the vale I went, and, as I hoped,
Met hearty welcome. Frothing milk, just drawn,
And savoury brown-bread were my morning meal.
That done, awhile I bask'd amid the hay;
Suck'd from the clover-flowers the honey; traced
The shining-coated insects in the grass
Threading their beautiful labyrinth; or the bee
Eagerly rifling the fallen flowers, to catch
Their fragrance ere the hot sun drink it up;
Listen'd the little chorus of the gnats,
And flies innumerous wheeling round and round
In the warm sunbeam. Now, stretch'd out at length,
I watch'd the many-colour'd birds that sail'd
With various flight in the ethereal air:
The lark with quivering wing mounting aloft
Till my strain'd eye had lost him; though even then
His ceaseless song came down, mellow'd and fine,
And fainter, and yet fainter, till it died:
The swallow darting to and fro: the hawk,
Round, and yet round, with slow and wary course
Gliding; or hanging like a cloudy speck,—
Or sinking slow with gently tremulous wing,—
Or like an arrow rapidly darting down.
The linnet, and the red-breast, and the thrush,
The goldfinch, and the little wren, all birds
That sing and frolic in the sun were there.
I mark'd their differing motions; listen'd oft
To their dissimilar songs, all sung at once,
Yet without discord. Sometimes far above
The heron flew with long, slow-flapping wings;
Sometimes the cooing wood-pigeon came near;
The crow, and sea-gull with his plaintive cry.

Thus long I lay 'mid all delightful sights,
All lovely sounds: the sun and shade-tinged fields;
The gently quivering leaves; the flower-fill'd hedges;
The hills and vales; the blue immense of sky;
The songs of birds; the softly whispering wind,
As it brush'd lightly o'er the bowing grass;
The far off sighings of the languid waves
Fainting away on the warm sands; the scent
Of the new hay, of clover, and sweet herbs,—
Wild roses, honeysuckles, eglantines,
All breathing out their sweet souls to the sun.

Unsatiated with these, yet wishing still
To taste that day all nature's luxuries,
I left those pleasant meadows, and went down
To bathe me in the bright and tempting waves,—
My daily wont from earliest morn of spring
Till lingering autumn's last.

O! ye who go
Surcharged with meat and wine, to a hot bed,
At midnight, or perchance at early morn;
Lie in a gross and apoplectic sleep
Till the bright sun hath journey'd half the sky;
Then rise with trembling limbs and heavy head,
To talk of “shatter'd nerves” and “wretched health;”
To pour down drugs into your palled stomachs,—
Ask the grave doctor's counsel, and bemoan
Your sickly frames;—would you indeed be heal'd,
There's a physician who exacts no fee,
Who gives no nauseous drugs, and who still warns
And counsels you; but ye attend her not.
'Tis Nature! she prescribes you temperance
And exercise. Have ye indulged in foods
Or slothfulness? she visits you with pain
Or sickness. Have your meals been simple, few,—
Not eaten to delight a pamper'd palate,
But satiate hunger earn'd by exercise
In the pure air?—why then she gives you strength,—
A clear and active mind,—a spirit free
As school-boy's on a holiday,—a foot
Ready to start for far-off hill or dale;
For walk by hushing moonlight, or beneath
The brilliant, burning noon-tide sun; a feat
To overpower the feeble-footed sluggard,
Or bloated epicure. If ye love not
Your indigestions and your bilious aches,—
Up, sluggard, and gross feeder, with the sun;
Or in the morning's prime, while yet the dews
Jewel the meadows:—to the brook repair,
Or the sea-side; plunge boldly in, for health
Is there, like gold within the mine; but both
Lie underneath the surface. Then set forth
With brisk tread for the fields, or up the rocks;
No languid lady's saunter, often check'd
That she may breathe, and rest her delicate limbs,
Tired with some half mile's journey; but with step
Rapid and unabating, till the heart
Sends the warm life-stream dancing through the veins;
Flushing the cheek, and brightening up the eye.
Then for a simple, but a hearty meal,
Grateful, thus earn'd, and wholesome:—next with books,
Or friends, an hour or two; then exercise
Again, and plain repast:—thus through the day;
And let night find you early at your rest,
Unheated by full meals, or beds of down:—
So shall pure slumbers visit you; and health,
And buoyant spirits, wake with you at morn.

As I approach'd the hot and steaming beach,
The waves, that from the cliff's top had appear'd
Small as the circles on a quiet pond
Made by a dipping fly, were now of strength
To make an anchor'd boat rock to and fro
With slow, full swing: the pleasanter to him
Who loves to dally with them, and to ride
Their swelling backs. There is a luxury
That city feasters, and room-keeping souls,
And those that shiver if a breath of air
Thread their close folded garments, cannot know;
When on a summer's day, morn, noon, or eve,
The bather stands retired beside clear stream,
Or ever-whispering beach, and, one by one,
Throws off his heating garments, stopping oft
To cool, and watch the swelling waves, or stream
Crisping and sparkling; till, the last thin screen
Cast by, he stands an instant, free as first
Adam, ere sin brought shame; then he looks down
A moment on the enticing waters; longs
To leap, yet almost wishes to delay
The certain joy;—now a few steps retires;—
Draws one full breath;—bounds lightly on, and springs.

Then for the plunge—the sinking down—the boom
Of waters closing o'er his head—the rise
To air and light again—the quick rebound
Of the dash'd waves;—and then the outstretch'd limbs,
Easily poising him, or oaring on,
As fancy wills:—now motionless he floats,
With arms thrown back, and swelling chest, and eyes
Gazing awhile upon the glorious sky,—
A double pleasure;—now with quick stroke turns;
On this side, and on that, cuts smoothly on;—
Now prone, and now supine:—with head erect
He treads the waters now as on the land;
Now plunges down, and dives along beneath
The waves, that tell not of his track below;
Anon emerges at some distant spot
To take fresh breath, and wanton o'er and o'er,
Till, satiate and cool, he comes at last
Dripping and glistening to the shore or bank.

How different then his healthy glow from heat
Of a late morning bed, or smoky fire
That dries the wholesome juices up, and stains
The once clear cheek like the Egyptian mummy;
Or the dry heat by wine, or ardent drinks,
Given to the cold, dull mass of diseas'd clay!
How different the warmth, when the pure blood
Dances away through vein and artery,
Driven by a healthy, natural impulse
From the free beating heart to every nerve!
From head to foot all is delicious glow;
The lungs breathe deep and clear; the eye is bright;
The spirits bounding; every muscle braced
For toil or boisterous exercise: the mind
Sees not as through a fog, but through the clear,
Warm, painting sunshine: every object takes
A renew'd beauty: hill, and vale, and flower,
Green, shady lane, and twilight wood at noon;
Close bower for study, or high mountain's top,
To look abroad upon the expanding earth,
With soul expanding also,—lake and river,
And ocean with its ever-varying face,
And the magnificent vaulted roof of Heaven;—
All take renew'd and intense loveliness,
Such as in life's first years they had, when all
We saw or felt was joyous, all to come
Was bright and happy.—

What the bather feels
In his most favour'd hours of luxury,
Was mine that morning.—

Satisfied at length,
I left the pleasant pastime, and return'd,
Refresh'd and light, to the cliff's highest top.
Thence I look'd out again with new delight
On the unbounded glittering sea. White sails
On every side were bellying to the breeze:
Like spirits of the element, they went
On their smooth, noiseless way, gliding. Sea-fowl
Were wafting on the water's very face,
Seeming to touch it; or, as if asleep,
Rested their soft breasts on the softer waves,
That breathed their lullaby. Beside the shore
Others walk'd stately, pausing oft to pick
Amid the watery sands their food. The gulls
Couch'd in the crannies of the cliffs, or stood
Erect on rocky shelf, or jutting point,
Looking with mild eye and inclining head
Above, below, around; headforemost then
One plunges—then another—down the abyss,
Uttering sweet sounding cries that die away
As they descend; till, with long, curving sweep,
And nicely balancing wings, into the waves
They drop down gently.

Over the blue vault
Some delicate white clouds came slowly swimming,
And threw their gliding shadows on the deep,
Like fairy islands floating by a spell:
Nay, the bright sea itself, the rocks and sky,
Seem'd an enchanted vision,—beautiful,
And grand, and gorgeous more than common earth.

The sunbeams, now intolerably bright,
Glancing and quivering on the restless waves,
Seem'd there creating star-like suns as bright—
Created in a moment, and extinct:—
Myriads at once flash'd on the dazzled eye;
Myriads were quench'd at once, and myriads more
Blazed suddenly here—there—and every where.
Nought seem'd substantial in this intense light
But light itself: the wide expanse of earth,
And wider ocean, seem'd unweighty things,
Buoy'd on another ocean circumfused
Of dense light;—nay, the very dome of heaven
Seem'd floating like an ark on that bright flood.
The hill tops, and the surface of the plains,
And dim horizon's outline, waved and trembled
Beneath the hot rays like a rippling stream.

It was the hour of noon: the God of day
Stood on the summer's pinnacle; from thence
With each succeeding morning to descend
Till he sink down in winter's lowest vale:
For ever changing, yet, to healthy minds,
Bringing with every change a new delight.
Such love the summer's brilliant morn, hot noon,
And balmy evening, and perfumed night;
They love beginning autumn, with its fruits
And golden harvest fields;—they love its fall,
Its chilly evenings, and its dropping leaves,
Bringing soft melancholy thoughts;—they love
The winter's cheerful fire-side eve, its bright,
And crisp, and spangled fields in morning frost;
Its silent-dropping snows, its pelting showers,
The mighty roaring of its tempests, heard
At midnight, waking from a gentle sleep,
Glad to be so awaked; for solemn thoughts,
And pleasing awe, come then upon the soul.
And infant spring they love; its delicate flowers,
Its tender springing grass, and swelling buds,
Its soft rains, and its flitting clouds, and glints
Of joyous sunshine.

But of all most sweet
That lovely time when spring and summer meet,
Delightful May, and the young days of June;
When all the bloom and freshness of the spring
Meet all the summer's bright voluptuousness,
Forming a climate such as in the fields
Of unpolluted Eden.

O! to breathe
The nectar'd air of a clear morn in May,
Treading the gorgeous meadows; or to sit
In blissful meditation, drinking deep
The warm, rich incense of a night in June,
Is earth's least earthly joy!

And such a night
Is even now. The sun an hour ago
Went down without a cloud; and, sinking, saw
His gentle partner in the eastern heaven,
Rising with radiant brow: and now she pours
Her golden light on the thick-foliaged trees,
And brightens the far hills that girdle round
This most enchanting valley . A light mist,
So light 'tis almost viewless, gathers o'er
Those meadows, crowded with spring flowers: I hear
A hundred nightingales, remote and nigh.
How beautiful!—here, in a poplar bower,
Entwined thick with jessamine and rose,
Clymatis, and the sweet-breath'd honeysuckle,
I sit alone in a luxurious gloom;
And close above my head one joyous bird
Pours fearlessly a loud triumphant song;
And, as he pauses, far away I hear
Unnumber'd delicate answerings, jocund trills,
And low, soft breathings; and the swell and fall
Of gently-talking waters. O! this hour
Is worth a thousand days in gaudy courts,
Or noisy cities.

Every season thus
Hath for the healthy mind its proper charm;
But to the soul diseased by avarice,
Worthless ambition, cankering envy, guilt,
Or fashion's paltry follies, nature shows
No beauties. If the splendid July sun
Burn in the cloudless heaven,—why—then they wear
Cool dresses:—if a fragrant May-shower fall,
They know 'tis well to carry their silk screen,
Lest they be wetted:—does the thunder lift
His awful voice?—they stir not then abroad,
For lightning sometimes kills:—is the night dark,
And still, and solemn?—'tis to them a sign
That lanterns will be needed:—does the wind
Rock the strong trees, and battle in the sky,
Rolling the ponderous clouds, and making shake
Houses to their foundations?—then they fear
Chimneys may fall, or ships be wreck'd, and goods
Go to the bottom.

O, unhappy men!—
Ye drain the lees, and smack your lips; then scoff,
Or, may be, pity him who quaffs the wine:—
Ye rake the kennels for the glittering earth,
Deeming yourselves wise, prudent, thriving men;
And marvel such should be who love sweet air,
And rambles on the hills, and by the brooks,
And beds on the new hay. What, if the fields
Are studded, thick as stars on frosty night,
With violets, primroses, daffodils,
Gold-cups, or sweetest cowslips,—what is this
To you? will't raise the price of stocks? invent
Some gaudy fashion? make your mortgage safe?—
Will't blast some envied rival's fame, or keep
Your victim in your clutches?—No.—What then
Can these import to you?—Ye see them not,
For ye haunt noisy streets, or factories,
Markets, guildhalls, heated assembly rooms,
Or Babel-like exchanges:—if ye tread
The spangled fields, most likely 'tis to slay
The innocent birds, or hunt the timid hare,—
And that is sport:—the diamond-studded grass
But wets your shoes; and all that gorgeous show
Of flowers you say is not good food for cattle!—

Mistaken men!—too prudent to be wise;
Too thriving to be rich in real wealth;
Too fond of heartless levities to be gay;
Consent to throw your gravity aside,
Your ledgers, and your idle fopperies
Awhile each day:—get out into the air,
And smell the flowers, and climb upon the hills:—
Take books into the woods, and leave your guns;
The birds will give you music, and the leaves
Will whisper wisdom to you:—sit you down
On the sweet grass, or on some bending branch,
And watch the twinkling crystal of the brook,
Where the sun pierces the o'erhanging boughs:—
Look at the silvery glitter of the fish,
That dart, and flash, or rest their elegant shapes
With outspread, poising fins, floating asleep
In some still, sunny pool:—but take not there
The cruel angle-rod:—they feel like you
Pain from the tearing steel; like you they love
To feed and play in their own element.
Do thus, and know, if your last testament
Give to your thankless heirs a thousand less,—
Or if your name at morning visitings,
Or evening gossip, be less mix'd with talk
Of the last fashion'd coat or gown, yet you
Will have been healthier, happier, better men.

It was the hour of noon: the God of day
Stood on the highest pinnacle of heaven,
Glorious, majestic, inexpressibly bright.
His torrid beams seem'd as they would dissolve
The solid earth, and drink the ocean up:
The herbs and flowers bow'd down their fainting heads;
The cattle lay asleep beneath the shade
Of drooping trees:—the distant rocks, and hills,
And fields, were cover'd with a shining mist;
The gossamer trail'd its lazy length along:
All sounds came through the hot, thick, steaming air,
Deaden'd and indistinct. It was an hour
Voluptuously to give up all the soul
To the intoxicating sense of life
Pervading the whole frame, whose every atom
Seem'd with a separate consciousness endow'd,
And drinking in delight.—To breathe, to look,
To move, were acts of pleasure; to lie still,
Feeling at every pore the sunny warmth,
And the rich breezes, like an odorous bath
Of softest, lightest waters, playing round
The happy limbs; or loitering in the hair;
Or in the echoing porches of the ear
Breathing a thousand gentle whisperings,
Or sighs most musical; or tiny laughings;
Or beautiful babblings, as of airy tongues
Heard from afar:—O, it was all delight!
And thus I lay on the soft, fragrant grass;
A purple heath-flower bush beneath my head;
The bright sun shining on me; far below
The languid billows to the silent air
Making faint moans. I gazed on the pure sky
With half-shut eyes awhile, travelling in thought
Th' infinitude of space, and had attain'd
To other worlds, and other suns and stars,
When suddenly a deep sleep fell upon me,
And thus I dream'd.