 | England |  |
47
THE ABORIGINES.
“A silvan life till then the natives led,
In the brown shades and greenwood forests lost,
All careless, rambling where it pleas'd them most.”
Thomson.
In the brown shades and greenwood forests lost,
All careless, rambling where it pleas'd them most.”
Thomson.
O, Happy people! honest, brave, and true,
How sweetly did your life-time flow along!
Your laws were high and pure, and did embue
Your deeds with freedom—ye, in freedom strong:
Yours was the patriot's thought, the patriot's song!
Amid your quiet homes no stranger came;
Ye never put the hostile helmet on:
Ye sought but rural sport and healthful game;
Ambition held no charms—ye had no heed for fame.
How sweetly did your life-time flow along!
Your laws were high and pure, and did embue
Your deeds with freedom—ye, in freedom strong:
Yours was the patriot's thought, the patriot's song!
Amid your quiet homes no stranger came;
Ye never put the hostile helmet on:
Ye sought but rural sport and healthful game;
Ambition held no charms—ye had no heed for fame.
Within no narrow cot your children dwelt,
But in the forest depths had housing wide;
Ye chas'd the red-deer, on the cliff-stones knelt,
And with your arrows stopp'd the eagle's pride,
And hunted through the deserts, side by side.
Love was as free as air, and 'mid the trees
Would roam, or by the mountain streamlets glide:
Pure passion then had sunk not to the lees,
And life's sweet dream flow'd on, calm as a summer breeze.
But in the forest depths had housing wide;
Ye chas'd the red-deer, on the cliff-stones knelt,
And with your arrows stopp'd the eagle's pride,
And hunted through the deserts, side by side.
Love was as free as air, and 'mid the trees
Would roam, or by the mountain streamlets glide:
Pure passion then had sunk not to the lees,
And life's sweet dream flow'd on, calm as a summer breeze.
48
Yours was the liberty of heart and limb—
To bear hard toil, or, in soft idlesse, sleep;
Ye had your worship 'mid the forests dim,
Where bloom the wild-flowers—where the sweet dews weep,
And where the glad birds do their matins keep:
What need had ye of richly blazon'd pile?
The painted window, or the organ deep?
The morning star gave worship through heaven's aisle;
And God was in the winds and waves that girt your isle!
To bear hard toil, or, in soft idlesse, sleep;
Ye had your worship 'mid the forests dim,
Where bloom the wild-flowers—where the sweet dews weep,
And where the glad birds do their matins keep:
What need had ye of richly blazon'd pile?
The painted window, or the organ deep?
The morning star gave worship through heaven's aisle;
And God was in the winds and waves that girt your isle!
Did not the lion, in his awful lair,
Or, as along the hills, he bounded on—
Did not the plumage, glancing through the air—
The wonders of the sun, and stars, and moon—
The glories of the heavens at night and noon—
The grass, the trees, the flowers—each scent and hue—
Did these not lift your spirits late and soon?
Teaching your souls a worship, strange and new—
The unerring awe of Power—the instinct ever true?
Or, as along the hills, he bounded on—
Did not the plumage, glancing through the air—
The wonders of the sun, and stars, and moon—
The glories of the heavens at night and noon—
The grass, the trees, the flowers—each scent and hue—
Did these not lift your spirits late and soon?
Teaching your souls a worship, strange and new—
The unerring awe of Power—the instinct ever true?
War's burning foot had not yet scorch'd the land,
Nor swept the forests with his helm and plume;
Nor touch'd the harvests with his fiery hand—
Whilst death and desolation lit the gloom,
And orphan children wail'd their ruin'd home:
The hungry pant of avarice was not;
Revenge lay gibbering on no bloody tomb:
But love, and hope, and joy, rejoic'd each spot,
And to immortal deeds, did elevate the thought!
Nor swept the forests with his helm and plume;
Nor touch'd the harvests with his fiery hand—
Whilst death and desolation lit the gloom,
And orphan children wail'd their ruin'd home:
The hungry pant of avarice was not;
Revenge lay gibbering on no bloody tomb:
But love, and hope, and joy, rejoic'd each spot,
And to immortal deeds, did elevate the thought!
49
We had no ships upon the roaring waves,
That, then, were all untramp'd, uncurb'd, and free,
Without a ghost in any of their caves:
We had no carved domes, where night might see
Her moon and stars eclips'd—where minstrelsy,
Dance, feast, and wine-cup, made red riot sound—
But, naked, with high spirits, and great glee,
Each painted savage sought the forest bound,
Where simplest pleasures made their solemn depths resound.
That, then, were all untramp'd, uncurb'd, and free,
Without a ghost in any of their caves:
We had no carved domes, where night might see
Her moon and stars eclips'd—where minstrelsy,
Dance, feast, and wine-cup, made red riot sound—
But, naked, with high spirits, and great glee,
Each painted savage sought the forest bound,
Where simplest pleasures made their solemn depths resound.
The leaper's anxious toil, and rapid move—
The wrestler's furious pull, or nimble play—
The archer's contest, all for pride or love,
The race that beat the wild-deer wild each day:
And when they met, and held their holiday,
Far fairer maids than crowd the lighted hall,
Danc'd with their lovers in the evening ray—
The trees, the nodding plumes that grac'd their ball,
And the blue heavens, the roof that spread above them all.
The wrestler's furious pull, or nimble play—
The archer's contest, all for pride or love,
The race that beat the wild-deer wild each day:
And when they met, and held their holiday,
Far fairer maids than crowd the lighted hall,
Danc'd with their lovers in the evening ray—
The trees, the nodding plumes that grac'd their ball,
And the blue heavens, the roof that spread above them all.
Pure were their spirits, as their duties pure:
The crimes that haunt where cities have their root,
These could these savage natures not endure:
Still Mammon, Fear, and Pride were kept without:
Seduction had not dar'd to plant its foot
With them, nor lust, deceit, and perjury.
Oft when the mind's most polish'd, there the fruit
Of death and passions do most rankly lie;
For knowledge caus'd the deed, that drove us from the sky.
The crimes that haunt where cities have their root,
These could these savage natures not endure:
Still Mammon, Fear, and Pride were kept without:
Seduction had not dar'd to plant its foot
With them, nor lust, deceit, and perjury.
Oft when the mind's most polish'd, there the fruit
Of death and passions do most rankly lie;
For knowledge caus'd the deed, that drove us from the sky.
50
No gaudy show of gold, and pearl, and gem—
Of robes of state, the purple, and the pall—
The sceptre, and the glittering diadem,
Then walk'd in state from its embroider'd hall:
Pride had no myrmidons to list its call;
Strength, might, and deed, dwelt only with the good:
The pure of soul were fenc'd as with a wall;
And the fair flowerets bore no stain of blood,
Whilst yet the human heart retain'd its milder mood.
Of robes of state, the purple, and the pall—
The sceptre, and the glittering diadem,
Then walk'd in state from its embroider'd hall:
Pride had no myrmidons to list its call;
Strength, might, and deed, dwelt only with the good:
The pure of soul were fenc'd as with a wall;
And the fair flowerets bore no stain of blood,
Whilst yet the human heart retain'd its milder mood.
The young man went him forth; his bold bright eye
Undimm'd by wild excess, nor fear'd the wave
That vice and madness roll o'er this our sky;
The old man, still in pride of honour brave,
Fear'd not the gathering blossoms of the grave:
Upon the sunshine of the waters fair
The drop of blood had fallen not, where they lave
Green pastures, and the wild-flowers blooming there;
Nor the hot breath of lust, had poison'd all the air.
Undimm'd by wild excess, nor fear'd the wave
That vice and madness roll o'er this our sky;
The old man, still in pride of honour brave,
Fear'd not the gathering blossoms of the grave:
Upon the sunshine of the waters fair
The drop of blood had fallen not, where they lave
Green pastures, and the wild-flowers blooming there;
Nor the hot breath of lust, had poison'd all the air.
Thou, red sun, walking o'er the marbled floor,
Beneath the spangled roof—beheld no stain:
The sparry caverns, by rude waves run o'er,
Heard nought of storms upon the upper main:
And thou, fair moon, with thy celestial train,
Wert startled not by midnight revelry:
Ye stars, that saw your faces shining plain
Among the mountain brooklets, running free,
Veil'd not your lustrous eyes from man's indignity.
Beneath the spangled roof—beheld no stain:
The sparry caverns, by rude waves run o'er,
Heard nought of storms upon the upper main:
And thou, fair moon, with thy celestial train,
Wert startled not by midnight revelry:
Ye stars, that saw your faces shining plain
Among the mountain brooklets, running free,
Veil'd not your lustrous eyes from man's indignity.
51
Men were as lords and emperors, and trod
Their own domain, as would a conqueror:
They knelt them down to no man's sov'ran nod—
Free as the hills their footsteps wander'd o'er—
Free as the waves that beat against their shore:
They held their Freedom, as a King his crown;
It lit his forehead, and his wild eyes more;
It sounded in his steps; and earthly frown
Could never damp his soul, or break his strong heart down.
Their own domain, as would a conqueror:
They knelt them down to no man's sov'ran nod—
Free as the hills their footsteps wander'd o'er—
Free as the waves that beat against their shore:
They held their Freedom, as a King his crown;
It lit his forehead, and his wild eyes more;
It sounded in his steps; and earthly frown
Could never damp his soul, or break his strong heart down.
O, blessed sun, that had no sight of woe—
O, blessed moon and stars, without a stain—
O, giant sea, that any where might go,
When will ye look on earthly clay again
As, long ago, with angels in your train?
And ye, ye mountains, when will ye awake
Once more your seraph voices to the plain?
And ye, ye valleys, when again shall break
Your songs and hymns aloft, until the mountains quake?
O, blessed moon and stars, without a stain—
O, giant sea, that any where might go,
When will ye look on earthly clay again
As, long ago, with angels in your train?
And ye, ye mountains, when will ye awake
Once more your seraph voices to the plain?
And ye, ye valleys, when again shall break
Your songs and hymns aloft, until the mountains quake?
These times are o'er; but yet there is a tongue
In the immortal harp to hymn them still:
These virtues cannot fail whilst they are sung,
Nor faint, whilst yet the harp-strings have their fill:
Ours is a mighty hope—a mighty will!
And if we know to bend a brighter sky,
And throw a fairer rainbow on the hill—
And make old deeds that they can never die,
We still must wield the spell—the magic glories try.
In the immortal harp to hymn them still:
These virtues cannot fail whilst they are sung,
Nor faint, whilst yet the harp-strings have their fill:
Ours is a mighty hope—a mighty will!
And if we know to bend a brighter sky,
And throw a fairer rainbow on the hill—
And make old deeds that they can never die,
We still must wield the spell—the magic glories try.
52
O, joy divine, to have been one of these,
And thou, my Margaret, wandering by my side!
What rapture, roaming 'mid th' embowering trees,
Or where the rivers roll'd their treasures wide;
Or, 'mong the wild flowers, by the mountain side!
How pure thine eyes, as Nature told her tale—
How rich those profuse ringlets' golden tide—
How most divine that face, so fair and pale—
How goddess-like that form, as flow'd the evening gale!
And thou, my Margaret, wandering by my side!
What rapture, roaming 'mid th' embowering trees,
Or where the rivers roll'd their treasures wide;
Or, 'mong the wild flowers, by the mountain side!
How pure thine eyes, as Nature told her tale—
How rich those profuse ringlets' golden tide—
How most divine that face, so fair and pale—
How goddess-like that form, as flow'd the evening gale!
But as it is, in this most changed land,
What hath this heart to do but bleed and pine?
I ne'er can hope to win that beauteous hand,
Nor ever call that heavenly body mine:
Nor win to mine earth's nature, thee divine?
Five hundred miles divide us, hundreds more
By man set up, and custom's laws assign,
Divide our beating hearts, with grief run o'er—
For I am as a ship that never gains the shore.
What hath this heart to do but bleed and pine?
I ne'er can hope to win that beauteous hand,
Nor ever call that heavenly body mine:
Nor win to mine earth's nature, thee divine?
Five hundred miles divide us, hundreds more
By man set up, and custom's laws assign,
Divide our beating hearts, with grief run o'er—
For I am as a ship that never gains the shore.
Heaven's sweet voice bless thee, heavenly Margaret!
May never griefs like mine fasten to thee!
He—who hath dwelling beyond suns that set,
And beareth in his hand the eternal sea—
Love, guard thee, make thy goings glad and free!
I seek no hope or solace—through my breast,
The dart is fixed, and cannot loosen'd be:
But thou shalt still rejoice in constant rest,
'Mid happy, happy dreams—like sunbeams from the west!
May never griefs like mine fasten to thee!
He—who hath dwelling beyond suns that set,
And beareth in his hand the eternal sea—
Love, guard thee, make thy goings glad and free!
I seek no hope or solace—through my breast,
The dart is fixed, and cannot loosen'd be:
But thou shalt still rejoice in constant rest,
'Mid happy, happy dreams—like sunbeams from the west!
53
Past! and is that blessed time, indeed, no more—
Gone the bright green of gold, gone the delight
By lone caves murmur'd—gone the songs of yore—
Gone the immortal hues that were so bright—
The half-known sounds, then heard, of the starr'd night:
And do we view at length the visible face
Which the veil cover'd—sorrow, fear, and blight—
Sin, lust, deceit, that run a constant race,
The Dead-Sea fruit—the stain—that nought can e'er efface.
Gone the bright green of gold, gone the delight
By lone caves murmur'd—gone the songs of yore—
Gone the immortal hues that were so bright—
The half-known sounds, then heard, of the starr'd night:
And do we view at length the visible face
Which the veil cover'd—sorrow, fear, and blight—
Sin, lust, deceit, that run a constant race,
The Dead-Sea fruit—the stain—that nought can e'er efface.
They had their forests—these are sunk away—
And the red heath-bells by their tomb-stones glow:
The mighty creatures that upheld their sway,
In lonely sounding caves and rocks, below
Huge cliffs, do rest in peace and quiet now:
Their heroes and their mighty men are dead,
And the high deeds they did are buried low;
All chang'd, save the blue heavens above our head,
Their stars then bright as now, and by the same hand led.
And the red heath-bells by their tomb-stones glow:
The mighty creatures that upheld their sway,
In lonely sounding caves and rocks, below
Huge cliffs, do rest in peace and quiet now:
Their heroes and their mighty men are dead,
And the high deeds they did are buried low;
All chang'd, save the blue heavens above our head,
Their stars then bright as now, and by the same hand led.
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