Nugae Canorae Poems by Charles Lloyd ... Third Edition, with Additions |
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127
STANZAS.
LET THE READER DETERMINE THEIR TITLE.
Written 27th and 28th June, 1819.
“I have, of late, lost all my mirth, foregone all
custom of exercise; and, indeed, it goes so heavily
with my disposition, that this goodly frame,
the earth, seems to me a sterile promontory;
this most excellent canopy, the air, this brave
o'erhanging, this majestical roof, look you, fretted
with golden fires, why, it appears no other thing
to me than a foul and pestilent congregation of
vapours.”—Shakspeare.—Hamlet.
Oh, that a being in this latter time
Lived such as poets in their witching lays,
Feigned were their demi-gods in nature's prime!
The Dryad sheltered from noon's scorching rays
By leafy canopy;—the Naiad's days
Stealing by gently wedded to some spring,
In pure connatural essence;—while the haze
Of twilight in the vale is lingering,
The Oread from mountain top the sun-rise welcoming.
Lived such as poets in their witching lays,
Feigned were their demi-gods in nature's prime!
The Dryad sheltered from noon's scorching rays
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Stealing by gently wedded to some spring,
In pure connatural essence;—while the haze
Of twilight in the vale is lingering,
The Oread from mountain top the sun-rise welcoming.
Oh, that a man might hope to pass his life,
Where through lime, beech, and alder, the proud sun
His leafy grot scarce visited;—where strife
Is known not;—to absolve—to impeach him none;—
His moral life, and that of nature, one:—
Where fragrant thyme, and crisped heath-bells prank
The ground, all memory of the world to shun,
And piercing, while his ears heaven's music drank,
Nature's profoundest depths, the God of Nature thank.
Where through lime, beech, and alder, the proud sun
His leafy grot scarce visited;—where strife
Is known not;—to absolve—to impeach him none;—
His moral life, and that of nature, one:—
Where fragrant thyme, and crisped heath-bells prank
The ground, all memory of the world to shun,
And piercing, while his ears heaven's music drank,
Nature's profoundest depths, the God of Nature thank.
To drink the pure crystalline well, to lave
His strong limbs in some Naiad haunted stream,
On that sod, which one day might be his grave,
To shelter him from noon-tide's scorching beam,
In cool recess;—and thus, while he might dream
His life away, his appetite assuaged
By kernell'd fruits with which the earth doth teem;—
Forget that he hath been where men engaged
In civilized contention, foamed and raged.
His strong limbs in some Naiad haunted stream,
On that sod, which one day might be his grave,
To shelter him from noon-tide's scorching beam,
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His life away, his appetite assuaged
By kernell'd fruits with which the earth doth teem;—
Forget that he hath been where men engaged
In civilized contention, foamed and raged.
Oh, that the wild bee, who, with busy wing,
Hums, as she travels on from flower to flower:
Oh, that the lark that now is carolling
Above yon ancient ivy-mantled tower;
Oh, that the stock-dove from her secret bower,
The gurgling fall of waters; the deep sound
Of pines, whose film-like leaves scarce own the power
Of panting breeze, most like the voice profound
Of ocean, when its roar, by distance, is half-drowned:
Hums, as she travels on from flower to flower:
Oh, that the lark that now is carolling
Above yon ancient ivy-mantled tower;
Oh, that the stock-dove from her secret bower,
The gurgling fall of waters; the deep sound
Of pines, whose film-like leaves scarce own the power
Of panting breeze, most like the voice profound
Of ocean, when its roar, by distance, is half-drowned:
Oh, that the bleat of lambs, the shepherd's reed,
The tinkling bell which warns the flock to fold;
Oh, that the harmonies we little heed,
Eternal harmonies, and manifold,
Throughout God's works in pathless mazes rolled,
All concords that in heaven and earth delight,
Sweet to the sense of hearing, as we hold
The form of beauty to the lover's sight,—
Oh! that in one vast chorus these would all unite!
The tinkling bell which warns the flock to fold;
Oh, that the harmonies we little heed,
Eternal harmonies, and manifold,
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All concords that in heaven and earth delight,
Sweet to the sense of hearing, as we hold
The form of beauty to the lover's sight,—
Oh! that in one vast chorus these would all unite!
My God! this world's a prison-house to some;
And yet to those who cannot prize its treasure,
It will not suffer them in peace to roam
Far from its perturbation and its pleasure.
No! though ye make a compact with its measure,—
Except to one or two by fortune blest!—
'Twill only mock your efforts; thus your leisure,
Yielded to her, becomes a sad unrest;—
It pays the fool the least that worships her the best.
And yet to those who cannot prize its treasure,
It will not suffer them in peace to roam
Far from its perturbation and its pleasure.
No! though ye make a compact with its measure,—
Except to one or two by fortune blest!—
'Twill only mock your efforts; thus your leisure,
Yielded to her, becomes a sad unrest;—
It pays the fool the least that worships her the best.
Yet, on the other hand, if ye forego
Her haunts, and all her trammels set aside,
Though 'tis her joy ungratefully to throw
Scorn on her slaves, her vassals to deride,—
“Hewers of wood, drawers of water,” plied
With daily drudgery know this truth full well—
She will from pole to pole, through time and tide,
Still follow you with persecuting spell,
And by her whispers foul, make solitude a hell.
Her haunts, and all her trammels set aside,
Though 'tis her joy ungratefully to throw
Scorn on her slaves, her vassals to deride,—
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With daily drudgery know this truth full well—
She will from pole to pole, through time and tide,
Still follow you with persecuting spell,
And by her whispers foul, make solitude a hell.
Therefore breathed I this prayer, that, as in years
Long parted, beings were supposed to live
Exempt from human ties;—from human tears,
And human joys;—endowed with a reprieve
From friends to flatter, or foes to forgive;—
So it might fare with me!—Oh, Liberty,
I ask for thee alone;—with thee to weave
Quaint rhymes, to breathe the air, were heaven to me;
To dream myself the only living thing, save thee!
Long parted, beings were supposed to live
Exempt from human ties;—from human tears,
And human joys;—endowed with a reprieve
From friends to flatter, or foes to forgive;—
So it might fare with me!—Oh, Liberty,
I ask for thee alone;—with thee to weave
Quaint rhymes, to breathe the air, were heaven to me;
To dream myself the only living thing, save thee!
When Heaven has granted thought and energy,
Passion, Imagination, Fancy, Love,
Pleasures and pains, hopes, fears, that will not die,
'Tis surely hard to be condemned to rove
In a perpetual wilderness; to move
Unblest by freedom, and humanity;—
I blame not those for whom the world hath wove,
Spells that to them are bèst reality—
Some are there 'twill not serve, nor yet will let them fly.
Passion, Imagination, Fancy, Love,
Pleasures and pains, hopes, fears, that will not die,
'Tis surely hard to be condemned to rove
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Unblest by freedom, and humanity;—
I blame not those for whom the world hath wove,
Spells that to them are bèst reality—
Some are there 'twill not serve, nor yet will let them fly.
Oh! for an island in the boundless deep!
Where rumour of the world might never come;
Oh, for a cave where weltering waves might keep
Eternal music!—round which, night-winds roam
Incessantly, mixed with the surging foam;
And from their union bring strange sounds to birth;—
Oh, could I rest in such an uncouth home,
No foes except the elements;—the earth,
The air;—though sad, I'd learn to make with them strange mirth.
Where rumour of the world might never come;
Oh, for a cave where weltering waves might keep
Eternal music!—round which, night-winds roam
Incessantly, mixed with the surging foam;
And from their union bring strange sounds to birth;—
Oh, could I rest in such an uncouth home,
No foes except the elements;—the earth,
The air;—though sad, I'd learn to make with them strange mirth.
I'd learn the voices of all winds that are;
The music of all waters: and the rude
Flowers of this isle, although both “wild and rare,”
Should be by me with sympathy endued.
I would have lovers in my solitude;
Could animal being be sustain'd, the mind
Such is her energy, would find all good;
And to her destiny eftsoons resigned,
In solitude would learn the infinite to find.
The music of all waters: and the rude
Flowers of this isle, although both “wild and rare,”
Should be by me with sympathy endued.
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Could animal being be sustain'd, the mind
Such is her energy, would find all good;
And to her destiny eftsoons resigned,
In solitude would learn the infinite to find.
Oh! thou first Cause, thou giver of each blessing,
E'en were I cursed, so vain a thing I'm not
As to suppose nothing is worth possessing;—
That misery's the universal lot.
A cold hand lies on me;—a weight;—from what,
Whence, where, or how,—boots it not here to tell:
I only wish that I could be forgot,
And that I might inherit some small cell,
With blessings short of heaven, and curses short of hell.
E'en were I cursed, so vain a thing I'm not
As to suppose nothing is worth possessing;—
That misery's the universal lot.
A cold hand lies on me;—a weight;—from what,
Whence, where, or how,—boots it not here to tell:
I only wish that I could be forgot,
And that I might inherit some small cell,
With blessings short of heaven, and curses short of hell.
This medium is my prayer. Thought, gift divine!
When first—like Alpheus, sung by bards of old,
Who sank into the earth, that he might join
The adored Arethuse;—the bedded hold
Through which thy rich and copious treasures roll'd,
Is shaken with the tempest of despair;
And when first sapped by sorrows manifold,
Thy streams no longer murmur clear and fair,
Buried in silent caves of agony and care;
When first—like Alpheus, sung by bards of old,
Who sank into the earth, that he might join
The adored Arethuse;—the bedded hold
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Is shaken with the tempest of despair;
And when first sapped by sorrows manifold,
Thy streams no longer murmur clear and fair,
Buried in silent caves of agony and care;
When first, instead of each translucent rill,
Fed by thy parent fount, which issued forth,
Wandering playfully “in its own sweet will;”
Instead of dimpling brooks, whose voice was mirth;
Clear waves, that to and fro upon the earth
Ran amid grass, and flowers, and plume-like ferns,
As they were free by charter of their birth;
Or clear tide lapsing from thy copious urns,
So calm, the bending grass but tells one where it turns;
Fed by thy parent fount, which issued forth,
Wandering playfully “in its own sweet will;”
Instead of dimpling brooks, whose voice was mirth;
Clear waves, that to and fro upon the earth
Ran amid grass, and flowers, and plume-like ferns,
As they were free by charter of their birth;
Or clear tide lapsing from thy copious urns,
So calm, the bending grass but tells one where it turns;
When first, instead of such prodigious wealth,
Waters that stray through meads, and while they stray,
So silently they flow, and with such stealth,
The richer green—the lustier flowers betray
Alone, the secret of their noiseless way:
While others take a more fantastic course,
And with such involutions sing and play
'Twixt sandy banks, or with a note more hoarse,
O'er rocks and sparry beds, forgetful of their source,
Waters that stray through meads, and while they stray,
So silently they flow, and with such stealth,
The richer green—the lustier flowers betray
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While others take a more fantastic course,
And with such involutions sing and play
'Twixt sandy banks, or with a note more hoarse,
O'er rocks and sparry beds, forgetful of their source,
That one might deem they were without a law,
Lawless as winds, if winds could be, or ere
The Almighty architect impressed an awe
On nature's wildest freebooters;—or were,
Like as is sung of the crystalline sphere,—
Involved in maze of such perplexity,
That e'en that skill which made intention clear,
So intricate was it, one might deny
The very law itself from its transcendency.
Lawless as winds, if winds could be, or ere
The Almighty architect impressed an awe
On nature's wildest freebooters;—or were,
Like as is sung of the crystalline sphere,—
Involved in maze of such perplexity,
That e'en that skill which made intention clear,
So intricate was it, one might deny
The very law itself from its transcendency.
When first, I say—I've played the truant long,
From the theme I had espoused—the streams of thought
Are poisoned at their source; the bosom wrung
With tempests that contained them,—care distraught,
Man prays for death; he cannot then be brought
To meek submission:—all is auarchy
Within;—with insurrection fraught,
His state is like a kingdom, where the die
Is hazarded, of sacrilegioùs victory.
From the theme I had espoused—the streams of thought
Are poisoned at their source; the bosom wrung
With tempests that contained them,—care distraught,
136
To meek submission:—all is auarchy
Within;—with insurrection fraught,
His state is like a kingdom, where the die
Is hazarded, of sacrilegioùs victory.
But, let hours, days, weeks, months, and years pass by,
A sullen acquiescence then succeeds,
And the first proof of nature's sanity
Is, that the mind its own condition heeds:
Though it be choaked with thorns, and clogged with weeds,
A parent's fondness still it 'gins to feel
For its own creations; and to this succeeds
Strongest imagination;—the barbed steel
From foes has pierced too deep for other men to heal.
A sullen acquiescence then succeeds,
And the first proof of nature's sanity
Is, that the mind its own condition heeds:
Though it be choaked with thorns, and clogged with weeds,
A parent's fondness still it 'gins to feel
For its own creations; and to this succeeds
Strongest imagination;—the barbed steel
From foes has pierced too deep for other men to heal.
137
No! still betwixt him and his fellow men
The irrepassible gulph, when once passed, gapes;
Yet, though his thoughts, that creep as in a den
The slimy insect, e'en in all their shapes
Have nothing reconciling, yet escapes
Nought that is harmful; like the bloated toad,
They are dark, they are dreary, loathsome: human apes
Thence deem them poisonous: they are a weary load;
And not the less since undeservedly bestowed.
The irrepassible gulph, when once passed, gapes;
Yet, though his thoughts, that creep as in a den
The slimy insect, e'en in all their shapes
Have nothing reconciling, yet escapes
Nought that is harmful; like the bloated toad,
They are dark, they are dreary, loathsome: human apes
Thence deem them poisonous: they are a weary load;
And not the less since undeservedly bestowed.
But oh, mistake them not!—They are free from ill!
The seven-months' babe, whose little hand's at rest,
While his warm lips imbibe the milky rill,
Cushioned upon his mother's well-known breast,
Is not more innocent of feeling, drest
In any garb of hatred or of ire,—
I speak of one I've known; earth hath no rest
For such as he:—no correspondent wire
In any human breast can recognize the lyre,—
The seven-months' babe, whose little hand's at rest,
While his warm lips imbibe the milky rill,
Cushioned upon his mother's well-known breast,
Is not more innocent of feeling, drest
In any garb of hatred or of ire,—
I speak of one I've known; earth hath no rest
For such as he:—no correspondent wire
In any human breast can recognize the lyre,—
138
Like the lorn harp of Tara on the walls,
Swept by the invisible breathings of the wind,
When as that harp had ceased in Tara's halls,
To pour the soul of harmony refin'd—
That tells his fate. Strange melodies assigned
To it, harsh discord seem to th' ears of all:
Yet not a note doth breathe from it designed
To give a pang: it mayn't be musical:—
Well may a shattered lyre, a shattered bard befall.
Swept by the invisible breathings of the wind,
When as that harp had ceased in Tara's halls,
To pour the soul of harmony refin'd—
That tells his fate. Strange melodies assigned
To it, harsh discord seem to th' ears of all:
Yet not a note doth breathe from it designed
To give a pang: it mayn't be musical:—
Well may a shattered lyre, a shattered bard befall.
Tones untranslateable should it discourse,
When by its master touched; oh, deem not ye,
Because ye know them not, and think them hoarse,
That in those tones no mystery may be,
Such as unravelled might give harmony
To its wild cadences!—Then let him sing;
And though his song please not, yet still if he
Feels, while it floats around, as though a wing
Protected him with tremulous faint o'er shadowing.
When by its master touched; oh, deem not ye,
Because ye know them not, and think them hoarse,
That in those tones no mystery may be,
Such as unravelled might give harmony
To its wild cadences!—Then let him sing;
And though his song please not, yet still if he
Feels, while it floats around, as though a wing
Protected him with tremulous faint o'er shadowing.
'Tis more than naked skies, and naked stars,
'Tis more than Heaven's canopy bestows,
'Tis more than storms, and elemental wars,
And murky clouds, winds, rain, sleet, hail, and snows,
Think
not that I blame these. They are not my foes.
I seek communion, covet sympathy,
E'en with their wildest moods:—they suit my woes—
I meant to say when souls from agony
A little respite feel, souls will self-questioned be.
'Tis more than Heaven's canopy bestows,
'Tis more than storms, and elemental wars,
And murky clouds, winds, rain, sleet, hail, and snows,
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I seek communion, covet sympathy,
E'en with their wildest moods:—they suit my woes—
I meant to say when souls from agony
A little respite feel, souls will self-questioned be.
And now, oh God! e'en let my wish once more,
Ere this lay cease, be to thy love confessed,
Grant me to vegetate on some wild shore;
Since I cannot be happy, as the best
I e'er can hope to be, let mine own breast
Be to itself its sole companion;—there,
Though much of wretchedness, and much unrest
Be housed, at least there need be no despair
From that which I once deemed sole source of cureless care:
Ere this lay cease, be to thy love confessed,
Grant me to vegetate on some wild shore;
Since I cannot be happy, as the best
I e'er can hope to be, let mine own breast
Be to itself its sole companion;—there,
Though much of wretchedness, and much unrest
Be housed, at least there need be no despair
From that which I once deemed sole source of cureless care:
That in my poor thought was malignity,—
I never wished to harm a living thing,—
Pain was a frightful mystery to me;
I've often shudder'd at the moth's scorched wing;
Oft from the path the snail or worm would fling,
Doomed to the tread of careless passenger:—
How little dreamt I then this shuddering,
From the heart's nice calculation, whence we infer
Futurity, was my fate's harbinger.
I never wished to harm a living thing,—
Pain was a frightful mystery to me;
I've often shudder'd at the moth's scorched wing;
Oft from the path the snail or worm would fling,
140
How little dreamt I then this shuddering,
From the heart's nice calculation, whence we infer
Futurity, was my fate's harbinger.
No!—no!—Oh God!—If there be one beneath
The cope of Heaven; or e'en in Heaven enshrin'd,
Who, with accusing voice, could dare to breathe
That pang of body, or that pang of mind,
From me resulting, were to them assign'd,
With perverse wilfulness, when next I look
Towards the starry vault, may I be blind!
Blot out my name from thy eternal book!
A shelter for my head let earth afford no nook!
The cope of Heaven; or e'en in Heaven enshrin'd,
Who, with accusing voice, could dare to breathe
That pang of body, or that pang of mind,
From me resulting, were to them assign'd,
With perverse wilfulness, when next I look
Towards the starry vault, may I be blind!
Blot out my name from thy eternal book!
A shelter for my head let earth afford no nook!
But since, on the other hand, I may proclaim
That “peace on earth, and good-will towards men,”
Have, save through inadvertence, been the aim
Which governed heart, and tongue, and act, and pen;
Why should I not, oh Father, once again
Find that some peace is yet in store for me?
Leave to me thought, oh leave to me a den,
And then from agony to be set free
Sufficeth for the heart broken by agony.
That “peace on earth, and good-will towards men,”
Have, save through inadvertence, been the aim
Which governed heart, and tongue, and act, and pen;
Why should I not, oh Father, once again
141
Leave to me thought, oh leave to me a den,
And then from agony to be set free
Sufficeth for the heart broken by agony.
Once more, oh Father, hear!—Thy will is power!—
Act, thy decision is;—all, all is thine!—
The pangs that shake me, bodings that devour,
Both how I agonize, and how I pine,
Thou knowest well: and though each faltering line
Of mine betray affliction's cleaving curse,
Thou knowest well the torments that are mine
As far exceed the pictures of my verse,
As atoms are exceeded by the universe.
Act, thy decision is;—all, all is thine!—
The pangs that shake me, bodings that devour,
Both how I agonize, and how I pine,
Thou knowest well: and though each faltering line
Of mine betray affliction's cleaving curse,
Thou knowest well the torments that are mine
As far exceed the pictures of my verse,
As atoms are exceeded by the universe.
Lays such as these might then seem roundelays,
And madrigals, compared to truth's plain theme,
To elegies, to epitaphs, on days,
On friends, on joys, departed like a beam
Of summer, or the lightning's trackless gleam:
Oh, then, my humble prayer do not deny
If I implore, or that the feverish dream
Of life might end, or that in liberty
Forgotten I might live, since unwept I must die.
And madrigals, compared to truth's plain theme,
To elegies, to epitaphs, on days,
On friends, on joys, departed like a beam
Of summer, or the lightning's trackless gleam:
Oh, then, my humble prayer do not deny
If I implore, or that the feverish dream
Of life might end, or that in liberty
Forgotten I might live, since unwept I must die.
------Mazes intricate,
Eccentric, intervolved, yet regular,
Then most, when most irregular they seem.
Eccentric, intervolved, yet regular,
Then most, when most irregular they seem.
—Milton.
| Nugae Canorae | |