 | Poems Old and New by Charles D. Bell |  |
TARN HAWSE.
A purple glory of clouds
Fills a tender evening sky,
Flushed with the hues of a sun that sinks
Behind the blue hills to die.
Fills a tender evening sky,
Flushed with the hues of a sun that sinks
Behind the blue hills to die.
A silvery crescent moon,
In a tremulous sea of light,
Shines in a beauty which graces the eve,
And gladdens the coming night.
In a tremulous sea of light,
Shines in a beauty which graces the eve,
And gladdens the coming night.
78
One lustrous planet that burns
In the heart of the glowing west,
Large and lambent and all aflame,
Like a jewel on lady's breast.
In the heart of the glowing west,
Large and lambent and all aflame,
Like a jewel on lady's breast.
A billowy sea of hills,
With an outline clear and bold,
Stretches as far as the eye can reach,
In many a wavy fold.
With an outline clear and bold,
Stretches as far as the eye can reach,
In many a wavy fold.
Hills all solemn and grand,
Yet soft in the tender gloom,
Are rich with colour from crown to base,
From the heather's crimson bloom.
Yet soft in the tender gloom,
Are rich with colour from crown to base,
From the heather's crimson bloom.
A tarn at the mountain's foot,
With a fringe of fragrant grass,
Reflects the skies and the clouds and the hills
In waters as still as glass.
With a fringe of fragrant grass,
Reflects the skies and the clouds and the hills
In waters as still as glass.
To the front the fair Bowfel
Rears up its crest on high,
And Wetherlam raises its curving ength
Against the darkening sky.
Rears up its crest on high,
And Wetherlam raises its curving ength
Against the darkening sky.
Round the Langdale Pikes is wreathed
A diadem dark of cloud;
And Scawfell, robed in his mists, looms up
Like a giant in his shroud.
A diadem dark of cloud;
And Scawfell, robed in his mists, looms up
Like a giant in his shroud.
79
Glaramara lifts his head
Out of the valley afar,
And in the dim and quivering light,
Seems to kiss the evening star.
Out of the valley afar,
And in the dim and quivering light,
Seems to kiss the evening star.
I know not in all the land,
Through the country far or near,
A scene of such perfect beauty as this,
With the hills and the little mere.
Through the country far or near,
A scene of such perfect beauty as this,
With the hills and the little mere.
Oft have I watched the scene;
Silence on moor or fell,
Broken alone to the listening ear
By the sound of the far sheep-bell.
Silence on moor or fell,
Broken alone to the listening ear
By the sound of the far sheep-bell.
If this world is so fair, O God,
Ah, what must it be above,
Where are landscapes bathed in the glowing light—
The light of Thy perfect love!
Ah, what must it be above,
Where are landscapes bathed in the glowing light—
The light of Thy perfect love!
For all that is loveliest here,
Splendours of earth and sky,
Are but the shadows of things unseen,
Glories of worlds on high.
Splendours of earth and sky,
Are but the shadows of things unseen,
Glories of worlds on high.
| Poems Old and New by Charles D. Bell | |