University of Virginia Library

EVENING THOUGHTS, WRITTEN NEAR GENEVA, BY THE RHONE.

JULY, 1833.

Not one least leaf is stirring: in the sky
Yon lazy-flakëd clouds hang stilly, where
The wind first wafted them, as if the air,
With its last breathings, faint and sleepily,
Had urged them thither—softly tinted by
The sinking sun, their edges glow, like gold
That, unconsuming, melts—those mountains old,
Which, but a moment past, seemed pale and cold,
Like giant spectres, fixed with stony stare,
Steeped in the crimson splendor, red-hot burn,
Like antediluvian ashes in the urn
Of some old, fire-wasted world! and, lo!
One after one, they pale—their tops of snow
Piercing the heavens, sharp and frostily,
As if their molten summits, suddenly,
Had from intensest Cold, at fiercest glow,
Congealed to giant icicles—such as
At each pole hang, and in whose icy glass
Eternal Frost stares fixedly! yet there
Still linger the rich colors of the sky,
Beneath, by which those old trees, that upbear,
Column-like, their leafy masses, and which were
Erewhile in shade, are steeped, so lovelily,
In crimson tints, which kindle now, now die,
And fade and change, and mingle in supreme
And endless loveliness, dazzling the eye
With beauty, while the waters through them gleam
And kindle, and with liquid gold flow by,
Gilding the cloddy bank, so fairily,
Beneath them: and soft mists begin to rise
Around their stems, like veils of many dyes,
Silver and gold: and, quiet as a dream,
This soft work of enchantment mirrored lies,
In the broad surface of yon' slumbering stream!
No longer know I where I am, mine eyes
Swim with delight: I myself feel and seem
Dissolved into the elements, a beam
Of purple sun-light, blent with this fair Whole.
Oh that I might be ever thus: my soul
Like yon' calm stream: the mirror in my breast
Giving the semblance of its inward rest
To all reflected in it, and seen through
Its mediúm, from its true point of view:
E'en to the troubled and the fleeting forms
Without, life's passing clouds and sudden storms!
Until this rude, hard world, there in its true
Intent reflected, should show fair as do
The clouds and landscape in this water here!
Which shows all as it is, and yet more clear,
Soft, and transparent, with a magic hue,
Which its own depth and crystal pureness gives!
So too, in thy soul's depth and purity,
May be reflected truly all that lives,
Like the reflection of yon' quiet sky!
And, even when more dark and troublous forms
Cast their deep shadows on it, though they be
Gloomy without, and there foretell of storms,
Yet their reflection, by the light in thee
Transparent made, enables thee to see,
Through them, the calm and cloudless sky behind,
Abiding: when the eye of Day seems blind
With sudden fury, and its light is drear:
And men awhile, thereat, lose heart and cheer!
And, though the storm should burst without, that is
No reason why it should disturb thy bliss;
Without, it is a storm, but in thy mind
A calm reflection only: and who e'er
Was by a picture really moved to fear?