Life and Phantasy by William Allingham: With frontispiece by Sir John E. Millais: A design by Arthur H. Hughes and a song for voice and piano forte |
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 | Life and Phantasy |  |
68
W. W.
(April 23rd, 1850).
One April found a Youth on Mona's shore,
With daily prospect of the Cumbrian Hills,
Cloud-wreath'd or sunlit, o'er the Irish Sea.
“A Prince dwells there,” he said, “and I shall walk
Through landscapes that confess him suzerain
Under the Sovereign Lord of earth and men,—
May see the Prince himself, may humbly meet
His venerable eye, may hear his voice.”
And day by day new Spring upon the fields
And waves grew brighter.
With daily prospect of the Cumbrian Hills,
Cloud-wreath'd or sunlit, o'er the Irish Sea.
“A Prince dwells there,” he said, “and I shall walk
Through landscapes that confess him suzerain
Under the Sovereign Lord of earth and men,—
May see the Prince himself, may humbly meet
His venerable eye, may hear his voice.”
And day by day new Spring upon the fields
And waves grew brighter.
One day brought this word—
“The wise old Poet of the mountain-land
Is gone away for ever. You may seek
But never shall you find him crooning song
Among the shadows of the folded hills,
By lonely tarn or dashing rivulet,
Down the green valley, up the windy fell,
In rock-built pass, or under whispering leaves,
Or floating on the broad translucent mere
Between two heavens. You will but find his grave.”
The poet-loving Youth went forth; and clear
“The wise old Poet of the mountain-land
Is gone away for ever. You may seek
But never shall you find him crooning song
Among the shadows of the folded hills,
By lonely tarn or dashing rivulet,
Down the green valley, up the windy fell,
In rock-built pass, or under whispering leaves,
Or floating on the broad translucent mere
Between two heavens. You will but find his grave.”
Stood the far coast across a glittering tide;
But how forlorn those faint-blue rocky tops!
How emptied of its joy the enchanted ground!
He paced the strand, and raised his eyes anew,
And saw as 'twere a halo round the peaks.
Something of Him abides there, and will stay;
Those Mountains were in Wordsworth's soul; his soul
Is on those Mountains, now, and evermore.
| Life and Phantasy | |