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1

1. PART THE FIRST

3

HOUGOUMONT.

I

The air is sweet and bright and hot,
And loaded fruit-trees lean around;
Their black unmoving shadows spot
The twinkling grass, the sunny ground;
No sound of mirth or toil to wrong
The orchard's hush at Hougoumont!

II

And silver daisies simply deck
With meek bright eyes that orchard-plot;
And therein lurks, an azure speck,
The tiny starred Forget-me-not—
Fond type of hearts that love and long
In lonely faith, at Hougoumont.
4

III

At every step the beetles run,
Where none pursue, in vain concealed;
Each mailed coat glistens in the sun,
Where none attack, an idle shield!
And ants unheeded scour and throng
The velvet sward at Hougoumont.

IV

The headlong humble-bee alone
Assaults the old and crumbling wall;
His busy bugle faintly blown,
With many a silent interval;
Unchecked he tries each nook along
The moss-grown wall at Hougoumont.

V

Aloft the moaning pigeons coo,
One gurgling note unvaried still;
The faltering chimes of Braine-le-Heu'
The meads with hollow murmurs fill;
And skylarks shower out all day long
Swift-hurrying bliss o'er Hougoumont.
5

VI

With transport lulled in dreamy eyes,
June woos you to voluptuous ease;
At every turn Love smiling sighs;
Dear Nature does her best to please!
How sweet some loved one's loving song,
Couched in green shade at . . . Hougoumont!

VII

—Oh God! what are we? Do we then
Form part of this material scene?
Can thirty thousand thinking men
Fall—and but leave the fields more green?
'Tis strange—but Hope, be stanch and strong!
It seems so at sweet Hougoumont.
1837.
6

THE FOREST BEAUTIES

Upper Canada, 1834.
Let me their lovely forms recall!
I love them each, I love them all.
The First, she is a maiden tall,
With all the grace that needs must be
Allied to faultless symmetry;
With eyes, serene in mirth or woe,
Mostly in modest dignity
Down-dropt, albeit of loving glow;
A mien so proudly unpretending,
The lofty with the lowly blending!
The Second is a gentle creature,
More rustic, yet as fair of feature;
Reserved, and sparing of her speech;
Yet eloquence no voice could reach
Instils a face whose features fair
7

Seem all absorbed in eyes and hair—
Such large dark eyes—such long dark hair!
Her long dark hair luxuriant, wound
With classic taste her head around;
With taste she knows not of—so rare;
With carelessness surpassing care!
Her eyes—their darkly burning light
Doth overflow the pupils bright;
And when downcast, fills all between
The dark-fringed lids with jetty sheen:
Dear eyes, their earnest tenderness
Not staid reserve can quite suppress!
Oh dearest! for therein you see
Love struggling with timidity!
What though habitually an air
Composed, nay almost grave, she wear,
A rebel glance will now and then
Steal upward from its crystal den,
And tell, in spite of her control
Her deep devotedness of soul!
Her lip—her cheek—oh! words are weak
To paint her lip, her brow, her cheek!
Not formed by perfect rule, yet far
More lovely than more regular!
Who would not change the beauties shown
On canvas oft, so oft in stone,
8

For features fresh wherein may be
A fine peculiarity?
For lineaments in which we trace
A marked, an individual grace,
Something we do not elsewhere find
In loveliest of womankind!
But oh, that something! no one knoweth
From whence it comes, wherein it gloweth!
In conscious strength it seems to sit,
Defying us to fathom it:
Love, curious wonder, and delight
So rouse each other, so excite,
We gaze with joy, again, again,
That almost deepens into pain,
So much we long, yet strive in vain,
The subtle secret to explain!
So torture thought to make it tell,
In w hat consists, wherein may dwell,
The witchery we can feel so well,
The fascination of the spell!
The Third is lively, young and gay;
In form, O what more like a Fay,
With eyes of shyly-glimmering grey,
Whereon long lashes blackly lie
Like fir-tree tops on moonlit sky!
9

Dear maidens! what though you were bred
Where forests like an ocean spread,
Your friends, your models, such as live
In Backwoods where no polish is,
I know few charms dense cities give
Of heart or person that you miss!
So well you know your proper due,
Your own, and that of others too!
Retiring still, still self-possessed;
With unassuming prudence blest,
And cheerfulness, the quietest:
With softness, spirit so combined
As both to rouse and soothe the mind
Is yours; a modesty refined;
And you are simple, frank, and kind!
Of tempers so sedately sweet
That grief or pain you seldom meet:
The thorns that harsher objects tear
Wound not the soft, elastic air!
Content's a thing to you unknown,
Because it is so much your own:
The insect bred within the rose
How sweet its home is, never knows;
Till launched on wings to haunts untried
Wherein no fragrance may abide!
10

Farewell, bright maidens! when alone
Far down beneath the torrid zone,
Dear thoughts of you shall with me glide
Like stars that travel by our side
At midnight when we swiftly ride,
Stop when we stop, observant, true,
And when we move, move onward too!
Farewell! farewell! a foreign shore
I seek, and ne'er shall see you more!
Not see you, but remember still
With love depending not on will;
I could not, if I would, forget
A place I leave with such regret:
I could not coldly call to mind
Dear friends, so beautiful and kind;
No! I shall love, where'er I roam,
Those kind dear friends, that far off home!
11

A GLEE FOR WINTER.

I

Hence, rude Winter! crabbed old fellow,
Never merry, never mellow!
Well-a-day! in rain and snow
What will keep one's heart aglow?
Groups of kinsmen, old and young,
Oldest they old friends among!
Groups of friends, so old and true,
That they seem our kinsmen too!
These all merry all together,
Charm away chill Winter weather!

II

What will kill this dull old fellow?
Ale that's bright, and wine that's mellow!
Dear old songs for ever new;
Some true love, and laughter too;
12

Pleasant wit, and harmless fun,
And a dance when day is done!
Music—friends so true and tried—
Whispered love by warm fireside—
Mirth at all times all together—
Make sweet May of Winter weather!
13

A STAGE-COACH IN THE ALLEGHANIES.

There is a weary listless hour
For those who roam by land or sea,
When most they sink beneath the power
Of travel's dull monotony:
When jarring boat or jolting stage
Have been a torment many a league;
When pleasant views no more engage,
And sights and sounds alike fatigue:
What then can rouse, revive, attract?
'Tis Fancy! her green grafts endue
The worn-out stem of barren Fact,
And bid it bloom with joy anew.
But most of all those day-dreams dear,
Which own the lordship of the will,
Most dear are those which feign thee near,
My love, my fond employment still!
14

Suppose to-day, some cruel fate
Had made that tender frame, those frail
And delicate limbs, the costly freight
Of our rude coach, which crawls like snail
Across the Alleghanies' brow,
Where rocks through flowers their grey heads thrust;
Suppose the searching heat as now
Burn'd on the cheek,—the stifling dust
In yellow clouds obscured the view;
The jolting coach incessantly
From side to side our bodies threw;
And there wert thou alone with me—
O gentle creature! could'st thou bear
The troubles of the painful way?
To see such gentle creature there
Alas! were greater pain than they!
What could I do but make thee rest
Within my arms around thee spread—
What else but make my anxious breast
A pillow for thy precious head!
With planted foot, now here, now there,
Observant meet each sudden shake—
And firm and quick, with cautious care,
The force of each concussion break?
And when the sun's remorseless beam
Had made thee weak and very faint,
15

How would I bless the limpid stream
That still with self-conversing plaint
Survived a six-weeks' summer drought,
And fill'd its streak'd and sandy track
Across the high-road pencilled out,
With spirit neither dim nor slack,
By heat, by thick dust uneffaced—
Fair type of cheerful innocence
That meekly walks misfortune's waste!
And water I would gather thence,
For want of better cup to choose,
E'en in the bright tin pail, I wis,
Which for their horses drivers use
To dip in wayside brooks like this;
And putting back thy raven hair
With tender skill by true-love given,
Would I not bathe thy temples fair,
So white, with veins as blue as heaven?
Nay—make a fan of chestnut boughs,
And bid the winnowing breezes woo
Those soft-sealed lids, those meek-curved brows,
Sweet cheeks, and lips unparted too?
Oh I would nurse thee, I would brood
O'er thy distress with fondness fraught
With searching watchfulness that would
Anticipate thy very thought!
16

With more devoted delicate care
Than mothers give, than infants ask;
Delight so deep, such rapture rare
Would so endear the gentle task!
And I would soothe thee all the while
With broken words of whispered love;
And thou at last would'st faintly smile,
And those full lids would slowly move
Their fringes—and thy languid eyes
Would yield one tender thankful glance,
Then close again; but I would prize
Thy looks revived—thy countenance
Resign'd though faint, in tranquil rest;
Not now exhausted—pallid—sad;
And gazing on those features blest,
How thankful I should be, and glad!
Then would my lips sink down on thine,
For their sweet warmth and softness burning;
And cling until they grew to mine
With thirst as deep, with kindred yearning!
I hear thy heart's thick panting then—
Nay, Fancy! wherefore thus deride me?
The coach has stopped—and worldly men
Are talking politics beside me!
1834.
17

SONG FOR A FAMILY PARTY.

I

Ye whose veins are like your glasses
From the same old vineyard fed
With a racy generous liquor
Which may Time keep running red!
Come, old friends and near relations,
Take the oath we couch in song;
Hand-in-hand come pledge it fairly,
All who've known each other long!

II

Green heads, grey heads, join in chorus,
All who can or cannot sing;
Put your hearts into your voices
Till we make the old house ring!
Let us swear by all that's kindly,
All the ties of old and young,
We will always know each other
As we've known each other long!
18

III

By the house we oft have shaken—
House where most of us were born—
When the dance grew wild and romping,
And we kept it up till morn!
By the old convivial table
Where we oft have mustered strong;
By the glasses we have emptied
To each other's health so long!

IV

By our schoolboy freaks together,
In old days with mischief rife—
Fellowship when youth on pleasure
Flung away redundant life!
By bereavements mourned in common;
By the hopes, a fluttering throng,
We have felt when home returning,
Parted from each other long!

V

By the fathers, who before us,
Silver-haired together grew,
Who so long revered each other—
Let us swear to be as true!
19

Swear no selfish jealous feeling
E'er shall creep our ranks among,
E'er make strangers of the kinsmen
Who have known each other long!

VI

No! whate'er our creed or party,
Riches, rank, or poverty,
With a second home—without one,
True and trusty still we'll be!
Still we'll drink and dance together,
Gather still in muster strong,
And for ever know each other,
As we've known each other long!
1837.
20

A VALENTINE.

That morning of all mornings of my life!
That window of all windows in the world!
Square-mullioned, diamond-latticed, ivy-framed,
How tiger-like I watched it! prowling keen
The balustraded garden moss-o'ergrown,
Darkened with cedars close up to the wall,
That roofed the outside stair, and aisled the straight
Broad shadowy walks about which I had chafed
Restlessly pacing from the peep of day!
And O the happy fever of the heart
When that white obstinate curtain that so long
So ruthlessly immovable had hung,
Lifted a little corner, but enough
To let out bliss how measureless! for she,
She to the window came!
You would have thought
It was some loving sunbeam had been lured
Into her sacred chamber yestereve,
Shut in by chance while loitering there beguiled,
21

All night detained in its delightful prison,
And chose this moment for its bright escape!—
The Morn, so bashful though in robes of pearl
(Like a poor damsel made a rich man's bride)
Stole through a gap in that high cedarn screen,
Stole timidly and sought admittance there!
But most like one in dusky twilight-time
Who comes upon a mirror unawares,
Started to see an image of herself,
With innocent eyes that might have been her own,
And brightlier blushed to find herself forestalled!
O but that blush was by a rosier one
Rivalled in radiant gladness, when the Maid
Peeping so shyly from the window saw
Whose longing 'twas that worshipped her below!—
Could she have hid the gladness that she felt?
Ah no! howe'er she wished it! Then as ever,
Her soul was like a beehive built of glass,
And you could see her sweet thoughts everyone
Like honey-bees at work. For sweetness she
From everything extracted and to all
Dispensed it; never niggard of the stores
Which more for others than herself she kept
In choice abundance hived within her heart
A heart so circled with sincerity
22

Of such transparent and crystalline temper,
A glance would show its inmost cells o'erflowing
With golden love and pure benevolence!
So did she let her guileless joy be seen
That morning; so for many a chequered year
Through the dim paths and highways of this world
She walked—a naked soul—a visible mind
—My Valentine—that morning; and through life.
23

A KISS.

(SAPPHO TO PHAON.)

I

Sweet mouth! O let me take
One draught from that delicious cup!
The hot Sahara-thirst to slake
That burns me up!

II

Sweet breath!—all flowers that are,
Within that darling frame must bloom;
My heart revives so at the rare
Divine perfume!

III

—Nay, 'tis a dear deceit,
A drunkard's cup that mouth of thine;
Sure poison-flowers are breathing, sweet,
That fragrance fine!
24

IV

I drank—the drink betrayed me
Into a madder, fiercer fever;
The scent of those love-blossoms made me
More faint than ever!

V

Yet though quick death it were
That rich heart-vintage I must drain,
And quaff that hidden garden's air,
Again—again!
25

LINES SENT TO ROBERT BROWNING, 1841,

ON A CERTAIN CRITIQUE ON ‘PIPPA PASSES.’

Ho! everyone that by the nose is led,
Automatons of which the world is full!—
You myriad bodies each without a head
That dangle dolt-like from a critic's skull!
Come hearken to a rare discovery made,
A mental marvel notably displayed!
A black squat Beetle, potent for his size,
Pushing tail-first by every road that's wrong,
The dirt-ball of his musty rules along—
His tiny sphere of grovelling sympathies,—
Has knocked himself full-butt with blundering trouble
Against a Mountain he can neither double
Nor ever hope to scale. So, like a free,
Pert, self-complacent Scarabæus, he
Takes it into his horny head to swear—
There's no such thing as any mountain there!
26

An Eagle breasting the bright empyrean,
Up in the fine air musical with stars
Singing full-toned their everlasting pæan;
The air which vibrates to no earthly jars,
Nor trembles at the penny-trumpets' din
Small critics blow—has somehow swooped within
A bustling Cockchafer's astonished ken,
Whose pin's-head peepers, tasked their utmost when
He steers his groping flight on April eves
Through old familiar lime and chestnut leaves,
And finds them perfect for his feat of feats,
To fly against the face—derange the features,
And half put out the eyes, of nobler creatures,—
These dots are straightway set to work to measure
The Eagle's daring rush into the retreats
Of bluest heaven; the skiey whirls he weaves
In the full swing of his imperial pleasure!
But troubled soon and staggering with amaze,
His optics beaten in by the full blaze,
Steadied alone by self-conceit—the pin
Round which fate dooms his fussy brains to spin,
To this conclusion (Genius! oh be dumb!)
The insect wits of him have wisely come.
He holds that Sun-aspiring bird is not
The zenith-king we took him for at all;
27

And since himself can only see a dot
Just like himself, the bird must be as small;
He swears that subtle element is raw,
A mass of clouds through which no eyes e'er saw;
And though some azure gleams he deigns to find,
And half confesses to a Sun behind,
Those gleams are rare, that Sun is weak and dim,
Because so—insupportable by him!
Doubtless the Eagle must henceforward shun
His baths of orient light—his dallyings with the Sun!
28

WITH A KNAPSACK IN THE TYROL.

I

The rain fell fast; the clouds were low;
The mountains grand and dreary;
Beside the Etsch's foaming flow
I wandered wet and weary.

II

A town was reached: now where's an Inn?—
The empty streets I threaded
Past gilded Tigers, Grapes of tin,
And Eagles double-headed.

III

‘Full choice!’ thought I, ‘but which to try
Of all these inns so merry!’
What sight just then was seen hard by—
Quick answer to my query?
29

IV

A Lion, two-tailed, red as blood—
The breeze that slowly swayed in?
Not that! but in the doorway stood
In Tyrol trim, a Maiden!

V

‘O mirth one spies through such disguise—
Lips pouting so demurely!
O lazy archness in such eyes!—
You are resistless surely!

VI

‘Good beds; good cheer; bright lager beer!
Fresh trout!—'tis notice wasted!’
So in I went; and soon, I fear,
The fresh—red lips were tasted!

VII

Nay, think no shame, O spare your blame!
Those simple maidens, trust 'em!
A kiss or two's a trifling claim;
'Twas but the country's custom.
30

VIII

But Nonna mine! take down your sign;
'Tis useless quite, and why, dear?
Look you but out, and rain or shine,
No traveller can pass by, dear!
1837.
31

AT JEFFERSON'S TOMB.

MONTICELLO, 1834.
And said'st thou, Jefferson, ‘All men are free!’
Why then does tyrant Death imprison thee?—
‘All men are equal,’ fondly said'st thou too?
Thy Grave, with mournful mock, proclaims it true!
32

LAKE WALLENSTADT.

I

Lonely, as a place enchanted
Lies the Lake, in silence deep;
Round, as warrior chiefs undaunted
Watch some throneless queen asleep,
Stand the cliffs in stern array!
Fissured piles of strata grey
By the water worn away!—
Your large eyes would larger grow
At their monstrous forms, I know,
With a solemn joy elate,
Were you here, my bonnie Kate!

II

Far above, their blue tops soar,
Spire and tower in outline bold;
All beseamed with snow-streaks hoar,
Solemn, lonely, bright and cold.
33

There the soft clouds as they rove
Pause—and stooping from above
Kiss the crests they seem to love!
You would deem them spirits fair
Playing each one with the hair
Of its giant warrior mate,
Were you here, my lively Kate!

III

Black upon the slopes so green
Swarm the arrow-headed pines;
Here, like troops with steady mien
Who in ordered squares and lines
Wait attack with vantage good;
There like foragers pursued
By a peasant multitude,
In close flight they seem to press
Up the hill, till we could guess
Which their stronghold, what their fate,
Were you here, my winsome Kate!

IV

Balanced on the mountain side,
High in dizzy loneliness,
Oft a daring pine is spied,
Like a cragsman in distress.
34

Where all footing seems to end
Doubtful which way next to wend
If to mount or to descend!
Empty air around, beneath,
It would take away your breath
That sheer depth to calculate,
Were you here, my gentle Kate!

V

Now the gliding vessel passes
Cascades all around us dashing:
Some in downward-pointed masses
Densely smoking, fiercely flashing!
Some upon the slopes recline
Like fixed veins of silver, fine
As the network spiders twine;
Others hang like rippled tresses
Smoothly combed, a Maiden dresses:
You could ne'er your gazing sate
Were you here, my fine-nerved Kate!

VI

Overhead the clouds float by,
But can scarce their way pursue,
For the tall cliffs touch the sky;
Look! from its intensest blue
35

Comes a snowy cascade slipping,
O'er successive ledges tripping;—
'Tis a whitewinged Angel stepping
Down from heaven! Oh you would prize
Those serenely-glowing eyes,
That sweet smile compassionate,
Were you here, my deep-souled Kate!

VII

Faintly sing the thrushes, hark!
Far in yonder air-hung grove;
Pouring bolder notes, the lark
Dots the azure up above!
Lavishly his lays he flings
All around, and as he sings,
Spreads and folds his trembling wings
With uneasy motion, quite
Thrilled, convulsed with his delight!
You would sing with joy as great
Were you here, my sweet-voiced Kate!

VIII

By the ashy rocks below,
Mark, a hermit fisher gray,
How the heron, to and fro,
Slowly flaps his stealthy way!
36

Though alit, his long wings, see,
Still are flapping, as though he
Poised himself unsteadily;
Stirless, then, and gray as well,
As the rocks are—could you tell
Where he sits, his prey to wait,
Were you here, my bright-eyed Kate?

IX

Oft the beetling ramparts ape
Gothic gables, quaintly planned;
Oft seem faced with many a shape
Carved by ancient Coptic hand.—
Watchful, mid the trees aloof
Dark red chalets, weather-proof
With projecting shadowy roof,
Seem to hint how well you may
In this tranquil Eden stay:—
What desire would they create
Were you here, my pensive Kate?

X

Some, depressed to see all kindness
Sunk in ruthless rage for gold;
Sick of party's cherished blindness,
Thus their wishes might unfold:
37

Here, with joys unknown to riot,
Sound repose and simple diet,
Books, and love, and thoughtful quiet,
One might dream a life away,
Always cheerful, often gay!—
You would wish for no such fate,
Were you here, my wiser Kate!

XI

Well you know though Nature waste
Wonders here no words can frame,
Custom dulls the keenest taste,
Use makes even wonders tame!
Leisure has a leaden wing;
Happiness where'er it spring
Always is an active thing;
And whatever it profess,
Solitude is selfishness:—
Homely truths would have their weight,
Were you here, my thoughtful Kate!

XII

Then our dear and noble land
Would present to memory's eye
If no hills, no rocks so grand,
Hearts as firm and minds as high!
38

Nature never has designed
Aught so wondrous as the Mind
Of mysterious humankind:
You would know where Mind is flashing,
Rapid as the cascade dashing!
You would bless your home, your state,
Were you here, my English Kate!
1838.
39

KAMOURASKA.

I

'Twas night; in light caleche we sped
Through Kamouraska's leafy ways;
The silver ‘Sire of Waters,’ spread
Before us, shone through faintest haze.

II

The moonlight, not the moon, was seen;
Cross-furrowed snow o'er all the sky;
Thin, even, channel-netted screen,
Like sands by troubled seas left dry.

III

A carriage passed; a glimpse we had;
One man, and maidens two or three;
His face so grave, theirs sweet and sad,
Sad as the moon, and fair as she.
40

IV

‘English:’ the driver said—no more:
Into the night they passed away.
English! the thought came o'er and o'er—
What special cause for grief have they!

V

I knew the faces English—knew
The beauty by none other worn;
The tint as pure as April dew,
And rosy as the rising Morn.

VI

Yet to this driver, so it seemed,
The sad expression proved the race:
But how, methought, if gloom be deemed
Their special sign, its cause to trace?

VII

They are as free as mountain wind;
They spread their sway from East to West;
The sunbeams run from Ind to Ind,
Yet ever on their red cross rest
41

VIII

Wealth, glory, knowledge, strength are theirs:
Theirs spirit only spurred by foil;
If aught Divine man's essence shares,
'Tis native to their noble soil.

IX

Theirs, like the Roman's soul, erect,
No feebleness of frenzy feels;
In strong self-mastering self-respect
With grand emotions coolly deals.

X

Children of England, choice of men,
Let this your power, be still your pride!
First masters of yourselves, and then
Masters of whom you will beside!

XI

To Reason's laws still proudly bend;
And Passion's rule contemptuous spurn;
Still in the social scale ascend—
But why the mien so sadly stern?
42

XII

Is it the haunting Infinite
That discontents your souls with Earth?
Something that robs of great and bright,
All outward glory, inner worth?

XIII

Something for which Life finds no room,—
Can neither sate nor yet repress,
Which hangs in grandeur and in gloom
About your deepest consciousness?—

XIV

I know not; yet that glimpse so brief,
By Kamouraska's moonlit wave,
Of travellers proudly touched with grief,
To me somehow such impress gave:

XV

Till so construed, this English face
With more attractive meaning glowed,
Than any glory, gift or grace
A partial fancy e'er bestowed.
43

AT TELL'S CHAPEL.

When chains are rent, God's work is done,
And God's avenged in Freedom won!
To Man that God his image gave,
'Tis wronged—'tis outraged in a slave.
Therefore it was a righteous deed,
And worthiest of their Christian creed,
To raise upon the simplest sod
Where William Tell had fought or trod
A holy altar unto God!
1837.
44

A CHRISTMAS HYMN.

(OLD STYLE. 1837.)

I

It was the calm and silent night!—
Seven hundred years and fifty-three
Had Rome been growing up to might,
And now was Queen of land and sea!
No sound was heard of clashing wars;
Peace brooded o'er the hushed domain;
Apollo, Pallas, Jove and Mars,
Held undisturbed their ancient reign,
In the solemn midnight
Centuries ago!

II

'Twas in the calm and silent night!—
The senator of haughty Rome
Impatient urged his chariot's flight,
From lordly revel rolling home!
45

Triumphal arches gleaming swell
His breast with thoughts of boundless sway;
What recked the Roman what befell
A paltry province far away,
In the solemn midnight
Centuries ago!

III

Within that province far away
Went plodding home a weary boor:
A streak of light before him lay,
Fall'n through a half-shut stable door
Across his path. He passed—for nought
Told what was going on within;
How keen the stars! his only thought;
The air how calm and cold and thin,
In the solemn midnight
Centuries ago!

IV

O strange indifference!—low and high
Drowsed over common joys and cares:
The earth was still—but knew not why;
The world was listening—unawares!
46

How calm a moment may precede
One that shall thrill the world for ever!
To that still moment none would heed,
Man's doom was linked no more to sever
In the solemn midnight
Centuries ago!

V

It is the calm and solemn night!
A thousand bells ring out, and throw
Their joyous peals abroad, and smite
The darkness, charmed and holy now!
The night that erst no name had worn,
To it a happy name is given;
For in that stable lay new-born
The peaceful Prince of Earth and Heaven
In the solemn midnight
Centuries ago!
47

A GLIMPSE OF ITALY.

FROM THE STELVIO.

I

Not yet, not yet, Elysian land,
Must we be lured by thy beguiling!
Not yet may bask in skies so bland,
With such deep witchery smiling!

II

Not yet may bless in rapture mute,
Their hyacinthine soft illusion!
Nor breathe the Eden flower and fruit
Perfume in wild profusion;

III

Where purpled vines entwining toy,
Each luscious laden branch pursuing,
Then o'er them stretch in languid joy
The liquid azure wooing,
48

IV

Like wanton snakes with vain caress
Their heads in empty sunshine swaying,
While laughs that coy blue loveliness
And mocks their amorous praying!

V

Where moonlight soothes warm lakes with showers
Of labyrinthine lambent kisses;
And nightingales in noontide bowers
Tune such untimely blisses!

VI

Not yet we seek town, field and stream,
Rose-lit with Art or classic story;
Not yet in dim delight may dream
O'er ground so thick with glory!

VII

From grand regrets, Circean charms
Of soul or sense, we turn our faces,
And seek thy hardier sister's arms—
An Amazon's embraces!
49

VIII

The golden lakes like glittering pages
Around the royal Righi sleeping;
The Faulhorn's band of hoary sages
Their stern cold vigil keeping;

IX

The Gemmi's granite battlements
Hung darkly from the depth of heaven;
And maddening down the mountain rents,
White torrents headlong driven!

X

The glacier's sea of huddling cones,
Its tossing tumult tranced in wonder;
And 'mid mysterious tempest-tones,
The lauwine's sliding thunder.

XI

O joy! to seek bright cliffs—far-spied
O'er morning mist-glooms—silvery-gleaming
Through sun-lit fleece-bars, each beside
Its shadow, slowly steaming!
50

XII

By Lauterbrun; up Meyringen;
Between the flanking walls to wander
And airy turrets of the glen
Of fiercely groaning Kander!

XIII

To thread the green white-speckled vales
Beneath some rampart so high-towering—
Across the clouds its summit sails!—
Then watch black pines low-cowering;

XIV

Or crowding upward, where they pause,
Close-phalanxed storming some great fastness;
Or strew their slain huge trunks like straws
Upon the mountain's vastness!

XV

While Earth and Sky against us fight,
A savage scowling combination,
To struggle up each giant height
In weary exultation!
51

XVI

To climb the skies on mountain sides,
An ocean-waste of peaks commanding;
And drink the gale the eagle rides,
Breast, heart, and soul expanding!—

XVII

This first;—and then aside we fling
Stern toilsome resolution's armour;
And rush where all thy Syrens sing,
Thou everlasting charmer!
52

LILLIE RAYMOND.

I

I think . . . if you saw in a fairy palace
For lamp an Arum as big as a chalice,
Wherein its Queen had chanced to imprison
One beam caught from the Sun new risen—
One fine shaft of blinding white,
And one of tenderest crimson light
Flung off at eve on ocean's shore
With all the kingly robes he wore;
Could you see their brilliant sheening
Mellowed by such intervening
Pure, pellucid, pearly screening;
Why then I think . . . but doubt it rather,
A faint idea 'twere yours to gather
Of the delicate blending of roseate brightness
With sweet Lillie Raymond's diaphanous whiteness;
How sweet Lillie Raymond's fair-blossoming features
Shed a halo like some high-beatified creature's!
53

II

I think . . . in an Arab court somewhere—
Dark-fringed with plants of bloom most rare,
And many a leaf from flesh to hair;
Breathing through the trembling heat
Many a scent, cool, chymic, sweet—
Breathing from that emerald dusk
Camphor and lemon, mint and musk;
If, midst the white piazzas set,
All marble of Morisco fret,
You marked a dainty fountain-jet
Singing up in silver splendour,
Straight as an arrow, straight and slender;
Then watched a cataract's snowy rope,
Lying on a mountain's slope;
Saw the fixed swift-moving veins,
Finely-fibred sinuous skeins
Of foam in milky mazes wandering,
In every curve of grace meandering:
Why then I think . . . in some doubt . . . you could guess
What opposite beauties coalesce,—
What rich waves of loveliness mingle in lightness
With sweet Lillie Raymond's tall wandlike uprightness;
How sweet Lillie Raymond's rich figure so fashioned
Keeps the gaze never sated, Love ever impassioned!
54

III

I think . . . if you saw a Swan slow-swimming
Down a river crystal-brimming—
Not swimming, say, all effort hiding,
In white glory trancelike gliding;
Then if you saw the swaying grace
Of an Emu's stately pace;
And o'er notions gathered thence—
Sweet pride and gentle confidence—
Could diffuse a subtile sense
Of the elastic lively gestures
Of slim gazelles in Syrian pastures,
When Spring and Love lend double joyance,
Each light bound a lighter buoyance:
Why then I think . . . still with a sprinkling
Of doubt . . . you might haply get an inkling
Of the sprightly erectness and ease so endearing
Of sweet Lillie Raymond's fine walk and frank bearing;
How sweet Lillie Raymond in motion and manner
Is as graceful and free as an eddying banner!

IV

I think . . . if you wove the dazzling notion
Of sleek slips of azure ocean,
55

A-gold with sparkles, leaping, linking,
Dallying, dancing, trembling, shrinking;
And the cool calm lustre worn
By the innocent-breaking Morn,
When little waves in snow-fringed bands
Gently lap the yellow sands;
Could you mix such fair bright things
With shy gleams from ravens' wings;
Moon-lit dewdrops shining wet
On ripe black currants' skins of jet;
Or whate'er gives notion fitter
Of brilliant blackness, sable glitter:
Why then I think . . . no, scarcely can deem
Even then you could guess how changefully beam
The mingled bewildering bright and dark flashes
Through sweet Lillie Raymond's black curling eyelashes;
How sweet Lillie Raymond's rare glances can fire us
Through the glow of black pupil, the gleam of blue iris!

V

I think . . . if in wild admiration
You ransacked all God's great creation
For types of beauty, spirit, sweetness,
Fit to paint in clear completeness,
This pearl, this darling, this delight,
This topmost charm of raptured sight;
56

Her cheek—the orient cloud-tint's fineness;
Her eyes, a heaven of blue benignness
Darkening to such weird divineness!
Her breath—fresh wallflowers summer-blowing,
All her timid true-love showing
In its quickened coming—going
Through lips like crimson corn-bells glowing
In sunset's crimson overflowing!
Those lightning-wreaths—swift mantlings gay
O'er chin, cheek, many a dimple's play,
Lips, eyelids, eyes—her sudden smiles!
Her careless witcheries, artless wiles;
Her mirth; her mimic arch simplicities;
Pretty mock pruderies; feigned rusticities;
Large-hearted sympathies that spring
At every thought of suffering,
And run all golden-rippling warm
O'er rigid rule and freezing form!
Yes! if you ransacked all creation
To paint this piquant strange temptation,
Why then I think . . . and do not doubt it,
'Twere loss of time to set about it;
For you never could guess though all types you should tether
What sweet Lillie Raymond is like altogether!—
How sweet Lillie Raymond wins, witches, entrances,
He only who knows her—knows, pictures or fancies!
57

A REVEILLE.—LAKE ZURICH.

I

Azure-cleaving
Hill-tops heaving
Like a sea's great billows drifting!
Snow-plots those blue summits scarring
Like its foam when winds are warring!
Cliffs, whose ruddy ramparts rise up
Gleaming grandly to the skies up,
Where that speck—an Eagle—flies up!
Shining softly—
Shadowed softly,
Lower slopes of green uplifting
Hamlets, fields, and woods that cluster
Richly round the Lake's blue lustre!

II

Fishes leaping
O'er the sleeping
Mirror, where so many a mansion,
58

Many a cottage shyly cowering,
Bosomed soft mid trees embowering,
Peeping out like things suspected,
Or in bolder groups collected,
Are in long white streaks reflected,
Which so lightly—
O so lightly
Hung all round that blue expansion,
Snowy silken fringe resemble—
Shimmeringly hang and tremble!

III

Boats slow-stealing
As if feeling
Their calm way to secret blisses;
Some with sails, tall, white, and doubled
In the water, clear, untroubled;
Some with low-peaked prows advancing,
Dipping oars each moment glancing,
White and scarlet pennons dancing
Only faintly—
Very faintly,
To the languid lazy kisses
Stolen by some tiny toying
Breeze, itself the calm enjoying!—
59

IV

Come then, fairest,
Brightest, rarest!
Be no more by slumber cheated!
See! in sunshine many a boat, love,
Seems to beckon us afloat, love,
Gay with red-striped awning yonder,
To a scene where love might wander
Ever, and grow ever fonder!
Take one, dearest!
—Let us, dearest!—
And my Sylph-queen therein seated,
To these charms of earth and heaven,
What a crowning charm were given!
60

GO TO SLEEP.

I

Good-night, my life's love! go to sleep!
Those simple words how much they mean!
Your darling form I still may keep,
Your head may on my shoulder lean;
The casket my fond arm may clasp—
The jewel—Soul, escapes my grasp!

II

Sleep is a still, enchanted wood
With narrow walks which you must tread
Quite by yourself, whoe'er intrude,
Elf, fairy, goblin, demon dread!—
Dear, may you find, in this your plight,
A pleasant pathway to the light!
61

III

Sleep, sweet one, is an opening door
Into the other world; the hole,
Like urchins at a peepshow poor,
You peer through at the realms of Soul:
But you must look through it alone,
To two at once 'tis never shown.

IV

Sleep is a faithful friend black-stoled,
Who in the hush on tiptoe steals
To break the chains of Sense that hold
The Soul its captive; and reveals
The clime Day's prison-walls shut out
With brightness built all round about.

V

Day is a restless Harlequin
Whose wand half frights the Soul away;
But Sleep the shy recluse can win
To quite forget her house of clay;
From Day to hidden garrets flown,
Sleep brings fair guests to lure her down.
62

VI

Sleep ushers in all Spirit-things;
Our elbow-mates good Angels be;
We hear the rustling of their wings,
We seem to feel Eternity;
Our dead ones greet us; souls we miss
Come from their world to comfort this.

VII

A magic-lantern, Sleep! each slide
A life!—a rich kaleidoscope
That turns and shakes out issues wide
Of folly, fear, hate, kindness, hope:
A garden, where a moment bears
The blossom and the fruit of years.

VIII

Dreams in her Mart are chapmen prime
Who cheaply sell experience rare;
Condemned for murder—foul with crime—
Shame, guilt, remorse, unstained we share;
Uninjured test all dooms of love;
And O, what deadliest perils prove!
63

IX

Pushed o'er a cliff, in wild despair
We cling, and see against the sky
Its trembling grass, through empty air
As sweeps the breeze so faintly by;
We grasp a bush—Ah treacherous stay,
We feel its roots are giving way!

X

Our eyes we shut, our teeth we set,
Like lightning fall—our breath is gone!
But, strange event unheard of yet,
Like thin cascades from vast heights thrown,
Whisked off in mist,—from that dread brink
As on a nurse's lap we sink!—

XI

Crisp sunset-beams green meads enfold;
Brushing the buttercups we range;
‘See, love, your chin reflects their gold!’—
A sudden sense of something strange
At hand—a rumble and a shake—
A lurid gloom our fears awake!
64

XII

Look! pale red rays stand fixed in air,
Shot from the earth that quivering heaves;
The trees turn purple; here and there
A cold light glitters on the leaves
Like faces livid with the flames
Of liquids burnt at Christmas games.

XIII

Then seems the roaring sky one black
And wide rock driving overhead
With many a broad and branching crack!
Our only thought is: ‘We are dead!
Horror! the world is at an end!’
And then—those rocks do not descend!—

XIV

Awake, the coverings of the couch,
Still shuddering, round us close we pull,
Lest we the awful Spirits touch,
Of which the chamber must be full;
It seems so still—so deeply hushed
After that world split, shattered, crushed!
65

XV

O rich, sweet, dreadful Sleep, why mix
Your guests such cups of bootless fright?
Is there a meaning in your tricks?—
Methinks such lessons you indite
To teach us actual Death to view
As such a harmless terror too!
Then go to Sleep, sweet! I must lend
Your Soul to her, whate'er her mood;
Sweet Soul, go seek her, as a friend
Whose wildest freaks will work you good!
And look from those dear windows blue
At morn—and tell all you've been through!
66

A SOUL OF GOODNESS IN THINGS EVIL.

(To M.D., 1841.)

I

Dearest! by laws of their own are the Spirits of all of us governed;
Feelings identical quite, seldom can two of us share;
Lately we proved it a truth, when the blindness of that so revered One,
Mastered by delicate skill, left him a prisoner freed;
When from the rapturous East insupportable Light reapproaching
Came like a conqueror crowned triumphing into his soul,
Entered the long-closed portals, and routing the legions of Darkness,
Gladdened the eyes that of yore gleamed as he oft would recount
Feats of Sea-Captains—our grand ones; or keen as the Chilian eagle's,
Rapid as lynxes that leap over the plains of Thibet,
67

Oft so delightedly sparkled to catch in the offing the white-winged
Wandering homes of the Deep, stealing through sunshine and shade,
Swelling and shrinking so slowly from one to the other horizon—
Spectres that silently rise, silently melt into air!

II

Sad that immurement in sooth; thick-stifling the pall that enveloped
Wholly this exquisite World, making a midnight at noon;
Green-waving Earth with her cities, the luminous purples of Heaven,—
Life's inexhaustible shows, swooned to a desolate blank;
Quenched were the golden enigmas that shine overhead, and the lindens
Blossoming close by the door, felt in faint odours, were gone;
Gone was the innocent archness of beauteous grandchildren's glances;
Dimmed all the splendour that played sunnily over their hair!
Books too, that give to the spirit a foretaste of bodiless freedom.
Argosies floating through Time, charged with the commerce of thought;
Books that enwrap and embalm dead Intellects living for ever—
Sealed up, inanimate, dumb, turned to mere mummies of Mind.
—How, like a Ship dismasted, a log on the limitless Ocean,
Drifts such a lustreless life, breasting the billows of woe!
68

III

Such was the mournful calamity, such and so great the affliction;
Like was our joy when it ceased—only diversely displayed.
Mary! your heart gushed gratefully forth in a passionate stanza
Flung from a fiery soul hundreds of ages ago;
Words which the diademed Minstrel, throned by the mountains of morning,
Chaunted to harpstrings that rung grandly o'er Siloa's chime!
Notable they and familiar, those words of the Warrior-Poet;
Why!—but that therein he dives daringly into the deep—
Into the infinite Darkness which is (for how else can we phrase it?)
Is the ineffable One—cause and substratum of life!
Therein personifies boldly that all-inconceivable Essence;
Scruples no whit to ascribe human affections thereto;
Aye! from his clear deep sense of a conscious ubiquitous presence,
Moulds individual Will, fashions a generous friend;
Dares e'en to ‘bless’ the unspeakable Wonder for ‘tenderest mercies’!—
—Transient bubble of foam blessing the Ocean it specks!

IV

Seems it not idly presuming in mortals to predicate ever
Be what it may as to Him, Him or his ‘feelings’ for us?
Truly, my Mary, 'twere wisest to take with a calm acquiescence
Whether the good or the ill, measureless mysteries both!
69

Tell me, of things but external, what good may not issue in evil,
Tell me the ill, if you can, never productive of good!
Just to this life let us be, with its joys and its sorrows so blended;
Then amid raptures for good, evil will not go unpraised.

V

Ah, when I think of that scene of endurance and anguish and triumph,
And with the eye of the mind picture its phases again—
There in his darkness the Old Man, hoary with seventy winters—
Lionlike—equal to all—lording it sternly o'er pain;
There with his glorious power, the Son of miraculous Science,
Clearing new paths for the light, waving the shadows away;
There too, in depth of suspense—mute—dumb but for glances of trouble,
Dearest relations and friends anxiously waiting apart;
Or, when the crisis was over, with keen unrelaxing affection,
Watching by day and by night, utterly dead to themselves;
Then, can I say how this poor undervalued Humanity straightway
Shining in rainbow light, trembles transfigured, sublime!
Then in my soul I acknowledge the mystical beauty of Evil,
Stimulant, nutriment, cause, precious occasion of all—
Rich dark soil whence arose such ambrosial fruits of the spirit,
Fortitude, patience and hope, science, affection and joy!
70

VI

Well is it, Mary mine, so to regard the afflictions of others—
Well, but far better be sure, so to consider our own
And to remember in sorrow or suffering how much we are feeding
Goodness, and laying up stores Virtues around us require.

VII

Long may the rescued one live in this new light arisen at even,
Strange, as when cloud has obscured darkly the firmament's face,
Haply the curtain is raised, and the red and the richness of sunset,
Tranquilly, tearfully bright, stream at the skirts of the sky!
Nay! not to sunset or evening gleams will we liken that new light;
Cheerfuller symbol therein beings immortal should see!
Call it the faint dawn rather of the infinite Day that awaits us,
Coming Eternity's sun casting its glimmer before,
So to expand and intensify, spite of a moment's relapsing,
Into a noon unconceived, never to darken again!
1841.
71

TWO BANQUETS.

(On the Death of D. C. and S. C., 1854.)

Feast set, lights gleaming, music gushing;
Two blooming boys with happy faces,
On each young breast Hope's rosebud blushing,
Prepare to take their places.
But see, with solemn kindly gesture,
Beckons the Seneschal so hoary:
‘Not yours these seats—this humble vesture;
Not yours this homely glory!
‘Come from a Banquet brief and specious,
Come to a far imperial palace,
Where glows the board with cates more precious,
With richer draughts the chalice.
72

‘There brighter lights and loftier pleasance
And more illustrious guests await you;
There the Great King's pervading presence
With ampler smile shall sate you.
‘Come, young twin hearts, without dejection—
Fair double Star, disparting never,
One halo of divine affection
Shall circle both for ever!’—
Ah! summons to be heard with gladness,
Though Life indeed a feast so gay were
But call it toil and strife and sadness—
How doubly happy they were!
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