Dryburgh Abbey and other poems :: :: University of Virginia Library

There's beauty in the soft, warm, summer morn,
When leaves are sparkling with the early dew;
When birds awake, and buds and flowers are born,
And the rich sun appears, half trembling, through
The crimson haze, and dim luxurious blue
Of the far eastern heavens;—there's beauty deep
From mountain-tops to catch the distant view
Of quiet glen—wood-path—wild craggy steep—
Or cool sequester'd coast where lonely waters sleep.

II

There's beauty in the noontide atmosphere;
When willows bend their graceful boughs to meet
The fountain waters—delicately clear;—
When mid-way heaven the wild lark carols sweet;
There's beauty in the tender traits which fleet
Along the skiey shores and isles of gold,—
That seem just formed for holy angels' feet,—
Gleaming with gifts of an immortal mould!
God, could thy name be lost, while men such scenes behold?

III

There's beauty in the still, blue hour of night,
When streams sing softly through the moonlit vale;
When, one by one, shoot forth the stars to light,
Dreamy and cold, and spiritually pale:—
There's beauty on the ocean, when the gale
Dashes the merry billows to the strand;
When like a phantom flits some wand'ring sail,
White as the moonbeam on the glittering sand,
And distant flute-notes rise, touched by some skilful hand.

IV

There's beauty on the quiet lake afar,
When wild-birds sleep upon its voiceless breast;—
The lonely mirror of a single star,
Pale shining in the solitary west;

There's harmony and beauty in that rest—
So placid—stirless—lonely—and so deep—
We scarcely move, or dare to whisper—lest
A word should break the magic of that sleep,
And start the spirit nymphs who watch around it keep!

V

There's beauty on the mountains—when the snow
Of thousand ages on their forehead lies;
Purple and glittering in the sun-set glow,
The gala light of the Italian skies:—
When gorgeously the clear prismatic dyes
Illumine ice-built arches—crystal walls
That, like the Mirrors of the Spheres, arise;
Or proud magician's visionary halls,
Arrayed for merry masques—for pomps and carnivals.

VI

There's beauty in the old monastic pile,
When purple twilight, like a nun, appears
Bending o'er ruin'd arch—and wasted aisle—
Majestic glories of departed years,—
Whilst dark above the victory-ivy rears
Its sacrilegious banner o'er the shrine,
Once holy with a dying martyr's tears;
Yet amidst dust—and darkness—and decline,
A beauty mantles still the edifice divine!

VII

All beauty is the Mind's!—The dews of earth,
Her loveliest breathings—her serenest skies
Ne'er warm'd such noble feelings into birth,
As from our own imaginations rise;
The bright, illuminated memories
Which are the rays of the soul's world!—the gay,
And fond creations of our youthful eyes:—
Beauties which set not with the setting day;
But hold a life within—a charm against decay!