Malvern Hills with Minor Poems, and Essays. By Joseph Cottle. Fourth Edition |
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ROBERT SOUTHEY,
TO
JOSEPH COTTLE.
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 | Malvern Hills |  |
xvii
ROBERT SOUTHEY, TO JOSEPH COTTLE.
(ON THE PUBLICATION OF MALVERN HILLS.)
IS Malvern then thy theme? it is a name
That wakes in me the thoughts of other years,
And other friends. Would I had been with thee
When thou didst wind the heights. I could have loved
To lead thee in the paths I once had trod,
And pointing out the dark and far-off firs
On Clifton's summit, or the spire that mark'd
That pleasant town, that I must never more,
Without some heavy thoughts, bethink me of.
I could have loved to live the past again;
Yet, were I ever more to tread those heights,
Sure it should be in solitude; for since
I travell'd there, and bath'd my throbbing brow
With the drifted snows of th' unsunn'd mountain clift,
Time hath much changed me, and that dearest friend
Who shared my wanderings, to a better world
Hath past. A most unbending man was he,
Simple of heart, and to himself severe,
In whom there was no guile, no evil thought,
No natural weakness. I could not have borne
His eye's reproof; it was to me as though
The inward monitor that God has given
Spake in that glance; and yet a gentler man
Lived not. I well remember on that day,
When first I pass'd the threshold of his door,
The joy that kindled every countenance,
Bidding him welcome home. For he was one
Who in the stillness of domestic life
Was loved and honour'd, rightly deeming that
Best scene of virtue, and partaking there
The happiness he made.
That wakes in me the thoughts of other years,
And other friends. Would I had been with thee
When thou didst wind the heights. I could have loved
To lead thee in the paths I once had trod,
And pointing out the dark and far-off firs
On Clifton's summit, or the spire that mark'd
That pleasant town, that I must never more,
Without some heavy thoughts, bethink me of.
I could have loved to live the past again;
Yet, were I ever more to tread those heights,
Sure it should be in solitude; for since
I travell'd there, and bath'd my throbbing brow
With the drifted snows of th' unsunn'd mountain clift,
Time hath much changed me, and that dearest friend
Who shared my wanderings, to a better world
Hath past. A most unbending man was he,
Simple of heart, and to himself severe,
In whom there was no guile, no evil thought,
No natural weakness. I could not have borne
His eye's reproof; it was to me as though
The inward monitor that God has given
Spake in that glance; and yet a gentler man
Lived not. I well remember on that day,
When first I pass'd the threshold of his door,
The joy that kindled every countenance,
Bidding him welcome home. For he was one
xviii
Was loved and honour'd, rightly deeming that
Best scene of virtue, and partaking there
The happiness he made.
Upon a hill,
Midway, his dwelling stood. The ceaseless stream
That rolls its waters o'er the channell'd rock,
Sent from the glen below such mellow'd sounds
As in the calm and contemplative hour
Invite the willing sense. The ascent beyond
Bounded the sight, that ask'd no fairer view
Than that green copse whence many a blackbird's song
Was heard at morning, and the nightingale
Such sweet and solitary music pour'd,
As, suiting with the twilight's sober thoughts,
Blends with the soul's best feelings. In her dreams
Of purest happiness, my fancy shapes
No lovelier place of resting. But no more
Shall I behold that place of pleasantness:—
Death has been busy there.
Midway, his dwelling stood. The ceaseless stream
That rolls its waters o'er the channell'd rock,
Sent from the glen below such mellow'd sounds
As in the calm and contemplative hour
Invite the willing sense. The ascent beyond
Bounded the sight, that ask'd no fairer view
Than that green copse whence many a blackbird's song
Was heard at morning, and the nightingale
Such sweet and solitary music pour'd,
As, suiting with the twilight's sober thoughts,
Blends with the soul's best feelings. In her dreams
Of purest happiness, my fancy shapes
No lovelier place of resting. But no more
Shall I behold that place of pleasantness:—
Death has been busy there.
And well it is
That thoughts like these should wean us from the world,
Strengthening the heart with wholesome discipline
For life's sad changes. Oftentimes they rise
Uncall'd, but not unwelcome, nor unmix'd
With a deep joy that satisfies the soul.
E'en now, a man contented with the past,
Pleased with my present fate, and looking on
In hope, I sometimes think on that dear Friend,
Who surely, I believe, will welcome me
When I have pass'd the grave, and bless my God
For this belief, which makes it sweet to die.
That thoughts like these should wean us from the world,
Strengthening the heart with wholesome discipline
For life's sad changes. Oftentimes they rise
Uncall'd, but not unwelcome, nor unmix'd
With a deep joy that satisfies the soul.
E'en now, a man contented with the past,
Pleased with my present fate, and looking on
In hope, I sometimes think on that dear Friend,
Who surely, I believe, will welcome me
When I have pass'd the grave, and bless my God
For this belief, which makes it sweet to die.
| Malvern Hills | |