Poems By Richard Chenevix Trench: New ed |
 | I. |
|
| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| VI. |
| VII. |
| VIII. |
| IX. |
| X. |
| XI. |
| XII. |
| II. |
|
|
|
| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
|
|
[O friend, it seems when first our lives begin] |
 | Poems |  |
251
[O friend, it seems when first our lives begin]
O friend, it seems when first our lives begin,
When we, fresh mariners, first hoist the sail,
On favouring seas by favouring breezes borne,
As though the bark of our felicity
Could never be ornately trimmed enough,
Nor be enough full-freighted with delights;
As though each thing we wanted were a wrong
Done to us ;—so we loosen from the land.
But what another lesson will anon
Be learnëd, and of them who claimed so much,
Deeming it all too little for their needs,
Some will be thankful if one broken plank
Of all their tempest-shattered bark remain,
Bearing them up above the salt-sea foam
Of this world's infelicity to shore.
But that dream vanishing, other dreams succeed;
And when upon the shoals or rocks of life
Some shipwreck we have suffered, we would bide,
Singing sad dirges o'er our sunken wealth
For ever. Oh, but life is strong! and still
Bears with its currents onward us who fain
Would linger where our treasures have gone down,
Though but to mark the ripple on the wave,
The small disturbing eddies that betray
The place of shipwreck: life is strong, and still
Bears onward to new tasks and sorrows new,
Whether we will or no. Life bears us on;
And yet not so, but that there may survive
Something to us; sweet odours reach us yet,
Brought sweetly from the fields long left behind
Of holy joy, or sorrow holier still:
As I remember when, long years ago,
With the companions of my youth, I rode
'Mid Sicily's holm oaks and pastoral dells
All in the flowery spring, through fields of thyme,
Fields of all flowers,—no lovelier Enna knew,—
There came to us long after, blown from these,
Rich odours that pursued us many a mile,
Embalming all the air:—so rode we on,
Though we had changed our verdant meadow-paths
For steep rough tracks up dusty river-beds,
Yet haunted by that odorous fragrance still.
When we, fresh mariners, first hoist the sail,
On favouring seas by favouring breezes borne,
As though the bark of our felicity
Could never be ornately trimmed enough,
Nor be enough full-freighted with delights;
As though each thing we wanted were a wrong
Done to us ;—so we loosen from the land.
But what another lesson will anon
Be learnëd, and of them who claimed so much,
Deeming it all too little for their needs,
Some will be thankful if one broken plank
Of all their tempest-shattered bark remain,
Bearing them up above the salt-sea foam
Of this world's infelicity to shore.
But that dream vanishing, other dreams succeed;
And when upon the shoals or rocks of life
Some shipwreck we have suffered, we would bide,
Singing sad dirges o'er our sunken wealth
For ever. Oh, but life is strong! and still
Bears with its currents onward us who fain
Would linger where our treasures have gone down,
Though but to mark the ripple on the wave,
The small disturbing eddies that betray
The place of shipwreck: life is strong, and still
Bears onward to new tasks and sorrows new,
252
And yet not so, but that there may survive
Something to us; sweet odours reach us yet,
Brought sweetly from the fields long left behind
Of holy joy, or sorrow holier still:
As I remember when, long years ago,
With the companions of my youth, I rode
'Mid Sicily's holm oaks and pastoral dells
All in the flowery spring, through fields of thyme,
Fields of all flowers,—no lovelier Enna knew,—
There came to us long after, blown from these,
Rich odours that pursued us many a mile,
Embalming all the air:—so rode we on,
Though we had changed our verdant meadow-paths
For steep rough tracks up dusty river-beds,
Yet haunted by that odorous fragrance still.
Then let us be content in spirit, though
We cannot walk, as we are fain to do,
Within the solemn shadow of our griefs
For ever; but must needs come down again
From the bright skirts of those protecting clouds,
To tread the common paths of earth anew.
Then let us be content to leave behind us
So much; which yet we leave not quite behind;
For the bright memories of the holy dead,
The blessëd ones departed, shine on us
Like the pure splendours of some clear large star,
Which pilgrims, travelling onward, at their backs
Leave, and at every moment see not now;
Yet, whensoe'er they list, may pause and turn,
And with its glories gild their faces still:
Or as beneath a northern sky is seen
The sunken sunset glowing in the west,
A tender radiance there surviving long,
Which has not faded all away, before
The flaming banners of the morn advance
Over the summits of the orient hills.
We cannot walk, as we are fain to do,
Within the solemn shadow of our griefs
For ever; but must needs come down again
From the bright skirts of those protecting clouds,
To tread the common paths of earth anew.
Then let us be content to leave behind us
So much; which yet we leave not quite behind;
For the bright memories of the holy dead,
The blessëd ones departed, shine on us
Like the pure splendours of some clear large star,
Which pilgrims, travelling onward, at their backs
Leave, and at every moment see not now;
Yet, whensoe'er they list, may pause and turn,
And with its glories gild their faces still:
Or as beneath a northern sky is seen
The sunken sunset glowing in the west,
253
Which has not faded all away, before
The flaming banners of the morn advance
Over the summits of the orient hills.
| Poems | |