The poetical works of Henry Alford Fifth edition, containing many pieces now first collected |
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WRITTEN UNDER A WATER-COLOUR SKETCH
OF BELIDDEN COVE, CORNWALL,
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 | The poetical works of Henry Alford |  |
333
WRITTEN UNDER A WATER-COLOUR SKETCH OF BELIDDEN COVE, CORNWALL,
TAKEN FROM A LEDGE OF ROCK IN PENOLVER HEAD, JULY 1860.
Here, midway perched between the sea and sky,
Hung I in air. Still was the noon around,
The sun beat fiercely on the glaring rocks,
And lit the blue-green waters from below
With glancing radiance. 'Twas a dizzy task
To paint from such a height: and, as the brush
Moved o'er the work, the baffled eye swam round,
Suggesting thoughts of terror. Still the charm
Bound me, to render with unskilful hand
Those solemn walls of many-tinted rock,
Those emerald waves; and over all to throw
The heavenly stillness of that summer noon.
And so I painted, rueing all the while
The steps that led me thither; and anon
Scanning the giddy ledge, whose narrow path
Must yet be travelled back.
Hung I in air. Still was the noon around,
The sun beat fiercely on the glaring rocks,
And lit the blue-green waters from below
With glancing radiance. 'Twas a dizzy task
To paint from such a height: and, as the brush
Moved o'er the work, the baffled eye swam round,
Suggesting thoughts of terror. Still the charm
Bound me, to render with unskilful hand
Those solemn walls of many-tinted rock,
Those emerald waves; and over all to throw
The heavenly stillness of that summer noon.
And so I painted, rueing all the while
The steps that led me thither; and anon
Scanning the giddy ledge, whose narrow path
Must yet be travelled back.
Even thus, methought,
Is it in life. Our daily walk sometimes
Leads over perilous brinks of depths unknown
To points of aery vision, whence the earth
And common things seem clothed in glorious light,
And steeped in noontide calm of blessed thought.
Yet ever, as the high transfigured mind
Drinks the sweet poison, doth her sight become
Inebriate, and the sober lines of life
Swim in unsteady haze: nor doth she bear
To scan the path which guides her back to truth.
Is it in life. Our daily walk sometimes
Leads over perilous brinks of depths unknown
To points of aery vision, whence the earth
And common things seem clothed in glorious light,
And steeped in noontide calm of blessed thought.
Yet ever, as the high transfigured mind
Drinks the sweet poison, doth her sight become
Inebriate, and the sober lines of life
Swim in unsteady haze: nor doth she bear
To scan the path which guides her back to truth.
| The poetical works of Henry Alford | |