 | England |  |
237
CONCLUDING ADDRESS.
TO MARGARET W---.
Seraph of Heaven! too gentle to be human,
Veiling beneath that radiant form of woman,
All that is insupportable in thee,
Of light, and love, and immortality!
Sweet benediction in the eternal curse!
Veil'd glory in this lampless universe!
Thou moon beyond the clouds! Thou living form
Among the dead! Thou star above the storm!
Thou wonder, and thou beauty, and thou terror!
Thou harmony of nature's art! Thou mirror
In whom, as in the splendour of the sun,
All shapes look glorious which thou gazest on.
Veiling beneath that radiant form of woman,
All that is insupportable in thee,
Of light, and love, and immortality!
Sweet benediction in the eternal curse!
Veil'd glory in this lampless universe!
Thou moon beyond the clouds! Thou living form
Among the dead! Thou star above the storm!
Thou wonder, and thou beauty, and thou terror!
Thou harmony of nature's art! Thou mirror
In whom, as in the splendour of the sun,
All shapes look glorious which thou gazest on.
------ A star
Which moves not in the moving heavens alone;
A smile amid dark frowns. A gentle tone
Amid rude voices. A beloved light;
A solitude; a refuge; a delight.
A lute, which those whom love has taught to play,
Make music on, to soothe the roughest day,
And lull fond grief asleep. A buried treasure.
A cradle of young thoughts of wingless pleasure.
A violet-shrouded grave of woe. I measure
The world of fancies, seeking one like thee,
And find—alas! mine own infirmity.
—Shelley's Epipsychidion.
Which moves not in the moving heavens alone;
A smile amid dark frowns. A gentle tone
Amid rude voices. A beloved light;
A solitude; a refuge; a delight.
A lute, which those whom love has taught to play,
Make music on, to soothe the roughest day,
And lull fond grief asleep. A buried treasure.
A cradle of young thoughts of wingless pleasure.
A violet-shrouded grave of woe. I measure
The world of fancies, seeking one like thee,
And find—alas! mine own infirmity.
“So sweet, that the very senses ache at her.”
—Othello.
—Othello.
“Not in those lands where I have late been straying,”
Have I beheld a creature like to thee;
A countenance so much of peace betraying;
So much of gentleness and charity;
Such natural human sweetness, such humility.
Have I beheld a creature like to thee;
A countenance so much of peace betraying;
So much of gentleness and charity;
Such natural human sweetness, such humility.
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O, there is good and beauty everywhere!
Bright eyes and lovely faces throng the earth.
This world is peopled with the pure and fair!
Stars are there in the south and in the north:
But no one equals thee in loveliness and worth.
Bright eyes and lovely faces throng the earth.
This world is peopled with the pure and fair!
Stars are there in the south and in the north:
But no one equals thee in loveliness and worth.
Such dear and dazzling eyes, within whose orb
Untrodden worlds repose, of thought and bliss;
Passions that brighten, feelings that absorb,
And spiritual depths of love and tenderness,
That with a glance can chain, and with a glance can bless.
Untrodden worlds repose, of thought and bliss;
Passions that brighten, feelings that absorb,
And spiritual depths of love and tenderness,
That with a glance can chain, and with a glance can bless.
Rich golden hair, that like the sunbeams lie
Along thy neck, and on thy bosom's white;
Curling like sunny wreaths upon the sky,
Wav'd by the breezes, motions of delight;
Or, like the golden harvest in the summer bright.
Along thy neck, and on thy bosom's white;
Curling like sunny wreaths upon the sky,
Wav'd by the breezes, motions of delight;
Or, like the golden harvest in the summer bright.
And thou hast silken eyebrows, lightly spread
Upon thy snowy chin, and cheeks most fair,
Matching the richest colours ever wed
With nature; or, when morn and eve compare;
As if a rose-leaf red should with the snow-wreath pair.
Upon thy snowy chin, and cheeks most fair,
Matching the richest colours ever wed
With nature; or, when morn and eve compare;
As if a rose-leaf red should with the snow-wreath pair.
Motions are thine, glad as the mountain breeze;
Free as the Antelope that bounds in pride;
Joyous as dalliance of the leafy trees.
And thou dost wear a majesty beside,
That might with any queen her sovrantie divide.
Free as the Antelope that bounds in pride;
Joyous as dalliance of the leafy trees.
And thou dost wear a majesty beside,
That might with any queen her sovrantie divide.
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And, 'neath the snowy mirror of thy brow,
Sleep thoughts, and mind, and sweet philosophy;
Not crabb'd and harsh, but as the river's flow;
Calm and refin'd, and full of harmony;
Scatter'd like lovely tints upon the evening sky!
Sleep thoughts, and mind, and sweet philosophy;
Not crabb'd and harsh, but as the river's flow;
Calm and refin'd, and full of harmony;
Scatter'd like lovely tints upon the evening sky!
Hence do I swear, that in no other land
Lives one to match with thee—so pure and fair—
With loveliness and wisdom on thy hand,
And innocence, that spreads her gentle care,
And clothes thee in her robes, and decks thy golden hair.
Lives one to match with thee—so pure and fair—
With loveliness and wisdom on thy hand,
And innocence, that spreads her gentle care,
And clothes thee in her robes, and decks thy golden hair.
O say, did earthly parents send us here
This blessed shape? Or came she from on high
Among those quiet isles that blossom clear
In untouch'd calmness? Came she from the sky
Among those golden gleams that from morn's portals fly?
This blessed shape? Or came she from on high
Among those quiet isles that blossom clear
In untouch'd calmness? Came she from the sky
Among those golden gleams that from morn's portals fly?
Or is she from the caverns of the sea—
The grots of gems, and pearls, and gold below
The snowy foam, and the green waters free—
Sitting, with lovely shapes, beneath the flow
Of the clear mountain springs that through these hollows go?
The grots of gems, and pearls, and gold below
The snowy foam, and the green waters free—
Sitting, with lovely shapes, beneath the flow
Of the clear mountain springs that through these hollows go?
Or herded she with some sweet fairy queen,
In halls and palaces beneath the flowers?—
Beneath the fertile vales and rings of green,
And wandering with her, through enchanted bowers,
To sip from magic cup, and wile the summer hours?
In halls and palaces beneath the flowers?—
Beneath the fertile vales and rings of green,
And wandering with her, through enchanted bowers,
To sip from magic cup, and wile the summer hours?
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Or is she of the shape that vision views?—
Glories, in snow-white robes, with dazzling eyes,
That stand before the sleeper in bright hues,
With messages, sent downward from the skies
Of memory and love, and hope that ever flies?
Glories, in snow-white robes, with dazzling eyes,
That stand before the sleeper in bright hues,
With messages, sent downward from the skies
Of memory and love, and hope that ever flies?
Oh, no!—and why should fancy e'er compare
That lovely maid with ought but earthly state!
Sufficeth that of earth she is most fair;
That earthly worshippers upon her wait;
That all the human virtues with my Margaret mate!
That lovely maid with ought but earthly state!
Sufficeth that of earth she is most fair;
That earthly worshippers upon her wait;
That all the human virtues with my Margaret mate!
Liken her to a star, or to a flower,
Perishing soon—to ought that's beautiful
On earth; but let not fancy ever shower
Its shapes unreal, with which the brain is full.
Liken her to herself!—From her the image cull!
Perishing soon—to ought that's beautiful
On earth; but let not fancy ever shower
Its shapes unreal, with which the brain is full.
Liken her to herself!—From her the image cull!
She came to me a spirit, in the night
Of care and grief! She came, and she is gone!
She came, a vision beautiful and bright,
When I was wandering in my woe, alone—
'Tis past, and memory sits as on a shatter'd throne!
Of care and grief! She came, and she is gone!
She came, a vision beautiful and bright,
When I was wandering in my woe, alone—
'Tis past, and memory sits as on a shatter'd throne!
Crying aloud, from solitude, to thee,
As to a shiver'd idol!—A delight
That's vanish'd—a sweet joy no more to be!
Mourning for that which was serene and bright;
A beauteous vision past upon remorseless night!
As to a shiver'd idol!—A delight
That's vanish'd—a sweet joy no more to be!
Mourning for that which was serene and bright;
A beauteous vision past upon remorseless night!
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I'll think of thee, beloved, when young morn
Wakes from his golden couch, and o'er the main
Wanders irradiate. When, all unshorn,
The peak'd mountains glitter in his train,
And the rich glittering dews shine brightly on his reign!
Wakes from his golden couch, and o'er the main
Wanders irradiate. When, all unshorn,
The peak'd mountains glitter in his train,
And the rich glittering dews shine brightly on his reign!
I'll think of thee at noon, when, hot and bright,
The sun shines forth, and, wandering far away
In lonely woods, I rest me from his light;
Hearing the hill-bee 'mid the wild-flowers stray,
Or the dim ocean sounding to each distant bay!
The sun shines forth, and, wandering far away
In lonely woods, I rest me from his light;
Hearing the hill-bee 'mid the wild-flowers stray,
Or the dim ocean sounding to each distant bay!
I'll think of thee at evening, when the day
Is past, and when rich bars of burning gold,
Like chariot-wheels, meet heaven's declining ray;
When the huge mountains, glorious to behold,
Stand radiant, and like the inspired hills of old!
Is past, and when rich bars of burning gold,
Like chariot-wheels, meet heaven's declining ray;
When the huge mountains, glorious to behold,
Stand radiant, and like the inspired hills of old!
I'll think of thee at night, when, o'er the sky,
The moon, like a lost lady, wanders forth!
When the loud nightingale makes minstrelsy;
And, marching forth, the streamers of the north
Veil the effulgent heavens, and startle the dim earth!—
The moon, like a lost lady, wanders forth!
When the loud nightingale makes minstrelsy;
And, marching forth, the streamers of the north
Veil the effulgent heavens, and startle the dim earth!—
And when the stars sleep quietly, and when
The clouds are pillow'd up, and every isle
Of heaven lies still to angels and to men;
And love and joy in hallow'd slumbers smile;
And lovers, in deep bliss, their earthly curse beguile!
The clouds are pillow'd up, and every isle
Of heaven lies still to angels and to men;
And love and joy in hallow'd slumbers smile;
And lovers, in deep bliss, their earthly curse beguile!
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I'll think of thee, sweet Margaret, when the spring
Comes forth in beauty, and the flowers are out;
And when the wild-birds in the forests sing;
And when the hills and fields with music shout;
And sylphs and fairies dance in many a mazy rout.
Comes forth in beauty, and the flowers are out;
And when the wild-birds in the forests sing;
And when the hills and fields with music shout;
And sylphs and fairies dance in many a mazy rout.
I'll think of thee in summer, when each bough
Murmurs deep love, and every bird is singing
Each to his mate, that in her nest sits low;
When hill, and field, and pleasant vale are ringing
With the loud hymns of joy and bliss around them winging.
Murmurs deep love, and every bird is singing
Each to his mate, that in her nest sits low;
When hill, and field, and pleasant vale are ringing
With the loud hymns of joy and bliss around them winging.
I'll think of thee in autumn, and will find,
Among the golden woods, thy simile;
The drooping woodbines, gorgeously entwin'd—
The hare-bell—all bright things, I'll like to thee,
And, with enraptur'd names, commend them thus to be!
Among the golden woods, thy simile;
The drooping woodbines, gorgeously entwin'd—
The hare-bell—all bright things, I'll like to thee,
And, with enraptur'd names, commend them thus to be!
And, even in chilling winter, there is snow
That with thine innocent bosom may compare;
And radiant stars, upon the heaven's brow,
To match thine eyes; and splendours, rich and rare,
To shew thy radiant soul, and with thy fancy dare!
That with thine innocent bosom may compare;
And radiant stars, upon the heaven's brow,
To match thine eyes; and splendours, rich and rare,
To shew thy radiant soul, and with thy fancy dare!
Yea, in my noble ecstacies thou art;
My sweetest visions do partake of thee;
Thou art a tenant of my brain and heart;
The creature of my soul's idolatry;
The messenger of love, and truth, and liberty!
My sweetest visions do partake of thee;
Thou art a tenant of my brain and heart;
The creature of my soul's idolatry;
The messenger of love, and truth, and liberty!
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If thou shouldst die, thou wouldst not die to me.
All beauteous things would chant thy elegy;
All fair and gentle shapes would sing of thee!
Sweet music would ascend into the sky,
And sorrow fill the earth that one so good should die!
All beauteous things would chant thy elegy;
All fair and gentle shapes would sing of thee!
Sweet music would ascend into the sky,
And sorrow fill the earth that one so good should die!
The cypress-tree should emblem our deep grief;
The violet weep with dew-drops in the shade;
The drooping birch-tree keep us in belief
Of thy dear virtues; and, in every glade,
Trees, wild-flowers, mossy nooks, lament our lovely maid!
The violet weep with dew-drops in the shade;
The drooping birch-tree keep us in belief
Of thy dear virtues; and, in every glade,
Trees, wild-flowers, mossy nooks, lament our lovely maid!
The plaining streams, to which thy walks were wed,
Floating in peacefulness and joy along,
Should hymn aloud of the beloved dead.
Thy cherish'd birds would weave a dirge and song,
And echo in the shade thy memory prolong.
Floating in peacefulness and joy along,
Should hymn aloud of the beloved dead.
Thy cherish'd birds would weave a dirge and song,
And echo in the shade thy memory prolong.
I should imagine thee amid the mist—
The sunny mist of dreams; and see thy hair
Downfalling in rich threads, by south winds kiss'd,
And view in ecstasy thy forehead fair—
Thy innocent cheeks and eyes—thy shape beyond compare.
The sunny mist of dreams; and see thy hair
Downfalling in rich threads, by south winds kiss'd,
And view in ecstasy thy forehead fair—
Thy innocent cheeks and eyes—thy shape beyond compare.
And I should list thy sphere-like voice ascend,
In melody melodious; and arise
To catch the strains celestial, and bend
Uupward into the heavens my rapturous eyes,
Gazing, as if some spirit warbled from the skies.
In melody melodious; and arise
To catch the strains celestial, and bend
Uupward into the heavens my rapturous eyes,
Gazing, as if some spirit warbled from the skies.
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Or seek thee in each well-accustom'd place.
Shapes, fairer than Diana in her glee;
Beauty, beyond the sylph's or naiad's face,
In the deep woods would come and tell of thee,
And bear my sorrowing soul to rapturous ecstacy.
Shapes, fairer than Diana in her glee;
Beauty, beyond the sylph's or naiad's face,
In the deep woods would come and tell of thee,
And bear my sorrowing soul to rapturous ecstacy.
Margaret—beloved—thou can'st never die,
For thou art of my heart, and soul, and brain:
Deep fix'd within the roots of memory,
Thou never canst depart from me again,
But live in endless light with memory's saintly train.
For thou art of my heart, and soul, and brain:
Deep fix'd within the roots of memory,
Thou never canst depart from me again,
But live in endless light with memory's saintly train.
Thou wert my theme by moonlight—when, alone,
I dwelt in sorrow and the bar of pain;
When ofttime the dim midnight heard me moan,
Thy presence took away the curse of Cain,
And, like an angel's hand, I felt it on my brain!
I dwelt in sorrow and the bar of pain;
When ofttime the dim midnight heard me moan,
Thy presence took away the curse of Cain,
And, like an angel's hand, I felt it on my brain!
Yea, in my boyish youth, and when I sung
“The wandering bard,” thou wert my constant theme.
Thou wert the hope, the burthen of my song,
‘The glory and the splendour of my dream,
And still I strove to make thee holy and supreme!
“The wandering bard,” thou wert my constant theme.
Thou wert the hope, the burthen of my song,
‘The glory and the splendour of my dream,
And still I strove to make thee holy and supreme!
'Twas thou that cloth'd me with poetic fire,
Upheld my song, supported every mood,
And struck the sluggish silence of my lyre;
Thy radiant shape enliven'd solitude,
Or walking on the hills, or in the silent wood.
Upheld my song, supported every mood,
And struck the sluggish silence of my lyre;
Thy radiant shape enliven'd solitude,
Or walking on the hills, or in the silent wood.
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And when of this, my great and glorious land,
I chose to sing, still did I cling to thee!
Thou didst inspire me; thou didst hold command;
Thou mad'st my harp that it was bold and free;
And thou didst bear it high to truth and liberty!
I chose to sing, still did I cling to thee!
Thou didst inspire me; thou didst hold command;
Thou mad'st my harp that it was bold and free;
And thou didst bear it high to truth and liberty!
And still thou bear'st me onward!—They are o'er,
The strains that have upheld me!—they are gone!
Perchance I never may resound them more;
But thou shalt still remain my theme alone,
Thou still wilt linger near—my bright, my only one!
The strains that have upheld me!—they are gone!
Perchance I never may resound them more;
But thou shalt still remain my theme alone,
Thou still wilt linger near—my bright, my only one!
Hunted and persecuted I have been,
Upheld by none, amid my bitter woe;
But thou, celestial presence, o'er the scene
Of desolation wand'rst to and fro,
And thou didst drive away each wrong and every woe.
Upheld by none, amid my bitter woe;
But thou, celestial presence, o'er the scene
Of desolation wand'rst to and fro,
And thou didst drive away each wrong and every woe.
Scorning them all, I cling to none but thee!
Hating them all, who, in my time of need,
Left me to pine and strive in misery—
With grief, dependence, and their bitter breed—
Margaret, I lean to thee, even like a broken reed.
Hating them all, who, in my time of need,
Left me to pine and strive in misery—
With grief, dependence, and their bitter breed—
Margaret, I lean to thee, even like a broken reed.
Could I be daunted, when an angel stood
Before me? Could I feel a doubt or care
Near one who was so excellent and good?
O thou, who art so pure, and kind, and fair,
Heaven clothe thee sweetly round; with thee its blessings share.
Before me? Could I feel a doubt or care
Near one who was so excellent and good?
O thou, who art so pure, and kind, and fair,
Heaven clothe thee sweetly round; with thee its blessings share.
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Eternal blessings, and great joy be thine!
In all thy doings, may heaven bless thee still!
May every virtue round thy dwelling shine,
And, roaming by deep vale or solemn hill,
Mayst thou of glorious thoughts and raptures take thy fill.
In all thy doings, may heaven bless thee still!
May every virtue round thy dwelling shine,
And, roaming by deep vale or solemn hill,
Mayst thou of glorious thoughts and raptures take thy fill.
“Farewell—a word that hath been and must be!”
Farewell—my strain is over—I must go
Out to the world, and leave thy praise and thee!
Where cities stand in noisy pomp and woe,
Far from thy side, these feet must wander to and fro.
Farewell—my strain is over—I must go
Out to the world, and leave thy praise and thee!
Where cities stand in noisy pomp and woe,
Far from thy side, these feet must wander to and fro.
The songs of “England” cease, and I am done!
'Twas my delight to sing her lofty praise,
Even though unnoticed—heeded not—alone!
She was my theme, the darling of my lays,
And she hath been my solace and my sought-for bays.
'Twas my delight to sing her lofty praise,
Even though unnoticed—heeded not—alone!
She was my theme, the darling of my lays,
And she hath been my solace and my sought-for bays.
And I have told the tyrant and the slave
That she's the chosen home of liberty!
That liberty is cradled on the wave,
And on the cliffs, and on the mountains free—
That despots cannot thrall us by their tyranny.
That she's the chosen home of liberty!
That liberty is cradled on the wave,
And on the cliffs, and on the mountains free—
That despots cannot thrall us by their tyranny.
I have upheld the altar and the state,
Defended where defence was just and true;
Warning the people what will be their fate,
If the old deeds of wrong they do renew,
And with red-reeking blood, our fertile fields imbue!
Defended where defence was just and true;
Warning the people what will be their fate,
If the old deeds of wrong they do renew,
And with red-reeking blood, our fertile fields imbue!
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Yea, I have shewn how England was a spot
Of rocks and cliffs surrounded by the sea.
A few barbarians held her, owning not
Religion, thought, nor arts, nor liberty,
Clothed all in savage garbs, in savage nature free.
Of rocks and cliffs surrounded by the sea.
A few barbarians held her, owning not
Religion, thought, nor arts, nor liberty,
Clothed all in savage garbs, in savage nature free.
That still proud valour rul'd in every breast,
And, from their snow-white cliffs, they scatter'd back
The rude invader, that disturb'd their rest;
Leaving upon the snowy foam the track
Of blood;—how of the brave and virtuous was no lack.
And, from their snow-white cliffs, they scatter'd back
The rude invader, that disturb'd their rest;
Leaving upon the snowy foam the track
Of blood;—how of the brave and virtuous was no lack.
How Boadicea did avenge her dead!
How high Caractacus in haughty Rome
Would bow not to stern tyranny his head;
But bore himself as on his mountain home;
Disdaining for their wealth, to fill a traitor's tomb!
How high Caractacus in haughty Rome
Would bow not to stern tyranny his head;
But bore himself as on his mountain home;
Disdaining for their wealth, to fill a traitor's tomb!
Of virtue, household truth, and piety,
Honour and noble deeds, I still have sung,
Striving to bear this fallen nation high!
And if they have a heart, it must be wrung—
But now my harp is still, and on the willows hung.
Honour and noble deeds, I still have sung,
Striving to bear this fallen nation high!
And if they have a heart, it must be wrung—
But now my harp is still, and on the willows hung.
Oh, she is great, majestical, and free—
A noble theme!—Not in another land,
Oh England, have mine eyes seen ought like thee!
Not where the vineyard waves in sunny band—
Not where majestic rivers roll in proud command!
A noble theme!—Not in another land,
Oh England, have mine eyes seen ought like thee!
Not where the vineyard waves in sunny band—
Not where majestic rivers roll in proud command!
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Rich are thy golden sunsets, Italy,
And blue thy moonlit heavens! Rich and bright,
O Greece, art thou, and memory clings to thee.
Egypt hath holy names, and dwells in light,
Beneath where towers and pyramids stand forth in might.
And blue thy moonlit heavens! Rich and bright,
O Greece, art thou, and memory clings to thee.
Egypt hath holy names, and dwells in light,
Beneath where towers and pyramids stand forth in might.
Over the Atlantic waves, in pomp and pride,
Great cities in their splendour meet the sky:
But, O, methinks, not in the nations wide,
Stands any land, so pure, and great, and high
As thou, the chosen seat of truth and liberty!
Great cities in their splendour meet the sky:
But, O, methinks, not in the nations wide,
Stands any land, so pure, and great, and high
As thou, the chosen seat of truth and liberty!
Greece, Egypt, Italy, are trod by slaves—
But freedom on thy mountains wanders free;
We sooner far would sink into our graves
Than bow the abject neck to tyranny—
Slaves ne'er shall tread thy soil—unchain'd thou aye shalt be!
But freedom on thy mountains wanders free;
We sooner far would sink into our graves
Than bow the abject neck to tyranny—
Slaves ne'er shall tread thy soil—unchain'd thou aye shalt be!
My hymn is over; many a summer day
I now have sung:—in many a changeful mood
And changeful place I still have tun'd my lay!
Sometimes in cities; sometimes solitude,
Loving at every time, upon my theme to brood!
I now have sung:—in many a changeful mood
And changeful place I still have tun'd my lay!
Sometimes in cities; sometimes solitude,
Loving at every time, upon my theme to brood!
Thou, Margaret, only didst with this divide
My soul; and ye were rivals kind and fair.
I leant to each with almost equal pride,
Thinking and dreaming on ye everywhere—
Now ye are past away—I have no thought nor care!
My soul; and ye were rivals kind and fair.
I leant to each with almost equal pride,
Thinking and dreaming on ye everywhere—
Now ye are past away—I have no thought nor care!
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Yet am I loth to part, and still would cling
To every line; and still new thoughts start forth;
And still your praise and beauty I would sing.
New inspirations as I write take birth,
And I am borne away to you from this dull earth.
To every line; and still new thoughts start forth;
And still your praise and beauty I would sing.
New inspirations as I write take birth,
And I am borne away to you from this dull earth.
Margaret, farewell! I still shall think of thee
In this sad world, and murmur still thy name.
Perchance, this book will make thee think of me,
As one who, like a cloud, before thee came—
Or like, perchance, a stain upon the heavens of fame.
In this sad world, and murmur still thy name.
Perchance, this book will make thee think of me,
As one who, like a cloud, before thee came—
Or like, perchance, a stain upon the heavens of fame.
Or, may I hope it, like a vanish'd strain;
A sweet Æolian murmur past away;
A music sent at midnight from the main;
A melody upon a summer day—
No more—'tis over now—no more have I to say!
A sweet Æolian murmur past away;
A music sent at midnight from the main;
A melody upon a summer day—
No more—'tis over now—no more have I to say!
JOHN WALKER ORD.
October 10th, 1834.
| England | |