 | The Works of Thomas Love Peacock |  |
95
STANZAS WRITTEN AT SEA
Thou white-rolling sea! from thy foam-crested billows,
That restlessly flash in the silver moon-beam,
In fancy I turn to the green-waving willows,
That rise by the side of my dear native stream.
There softly in moonlight soft waters are playing,
Which light-breathing zephyrs symphoniously sweep;
While here the loud wings of the north-wind are swaying,
And whirl the white spray of the wild-dashing deep.
That restlessly flash in the silver moon-beam,
In fancy I turn to the green-waving willows,
That rise by the side of my dear native stream.
There softly in moonlight soft waters are playing,
Which light-breathing zephyrs symphoniously sweep;
While here the loud wings of the north-wind are swaying,
And whirl the white spray of the wild-dashing deep.
Sweet scenes of my childhood! with tender emotion,
Kind memory, still wakeful, your semblance pourtrays:
And I sigh, as I turn from the wide-beating ocean
To the paths where I roamed in my infantine days.
In fancy before me the pine-boughs are waving,
Beneath whose deep canopy musing I strayed;
In crystalline waters their image is laving,
And the friends of my bosom repose in their shade.
Kind memory, still wakeful, your semblance pourtrays:
And I sigh, as I turn from the wide-beating ocean
To the paths where I roamed in my infantine days.
In fancy before me the pine-boughs are waving,
Beneath whose deep canopy musing I strayed;
In crystalline waters their image is laving,
And the friends of my bosom repose in their shade.
96
Ye fair-spreading fields, which fertility blesses!
Ye rivers, that murmur with musical chime!
Ye groves of dark pine, in whose sacred recesses
The nymph of romance holds her vigils sublime!
Ye heath-mantled hills, in lone wildness ascending!
Ye vallies, true mansions of peace and repose!
Ever green be your shades, nature's children defending,
Where liberty sweetens what labor bestows.
Ye rivers, that murmur with musical chime!
Ye groves of dark pine, in whose sacred recesses
The nymph of romance holds her vigils sublime!
Ye heath-mantled hills, in lone wildness ascending!
Ye vallies, true mansions of peace and repose!
Ever green be your shades, nature's children defending,
Where liberty sweetens what labor bestows.
Oh blest, trebly blest, is the peasant's condition!
From courts and from cities reclining afar,
He hears not the summons of senseless ambition,
The tempests of ocean, and tumults of war.
Round the standard of battle though thousands may rally
When the trumpet of glory is pealing aloud,
He dwells in the shade of his own native valley,
And turns the same earth which his forefathers ploughed.
From courts and from cities reclining afar,
He hears not the summons of senseless ambition,
The tempests of ocean, and tumults of war.
Round the standard of battle though thousands may rally
When the trumpet of glory is pealing aloud,
He dwells in the shade of his own native valley,
And turns the same earth which his forefathers ploughed.
In realms far remote while the merchant is toiling,
In search of that wealth he may never enjoy;
The land of his foes while the soldier is spoiling,
When honor commands him to rise and destroy;
Through mountainous billows, with whirlwinds contending,
While the mariner bounds over wide-raging seas,
Still peace, o'er the peasant her mantle extending,
Brings health and content in the sigh of the breeze.
In search of that wealth he may never enjoy;
The land of his foes while the soldier is spoiling,
When honor commands him to rise and destroy;
Through mountainous billows, with whirlwinds contending,
While the mariner bounds over wide-raging seas,
Still peace, o'er the peasant her mantle extending,
Brings health and content in the sigh of the breeze.
97
And happy, who, knowing the world and its treasures,
Far, far from his home its allurements repels,
And leaves its vain pomps and fantastical pleasures,
For the woodlands where wisdom with solitude dwells.
With the follies of custom disdaining compliance,
He leaves not his country false riches to find;
But content with the blessings of nature and science,
He pants for no wealth but the wealth of the mind.
Far, far from his home its allurements repels,
And leaves its vain pomps and fantastical pleasures,
For the woodlands where wisdom with solitude dwells.
With the follies of custom disdaining compliance,
He leaves not his country false riches to find;
But content with the blessings of nature and science,
He pants for no wealth but the wealth of the mind.
The beauties are his of the sweet-blushing morning,
The dew-spangled field, and the lark's matin-song:
And his are the charms the full forest adorning,
When sport the noon-breezes its branches among:
And his, sweeter yet, is the twilight of even,
When melts the soft ray from the far-flashing floods,
And fancy descends from the westerly heaven,
To talk with the spirit that sings in the woods.
The dew-spangled field, and the lark's matin-song:
And his are the charms the full forest adorning,
When sport the noon-breezes its branches among:
And his, sweeter yet, is the twilight of even,
When melts the soft ray from the far-flashing floods,
And fancy descends from the westerly heaven,
To talk with the spirit that sings in the woods.
In some hermit vale had kind destiny placed me,
'Mid the silence of nature all lonely and drear,
Oh, ne'er from its covert ambition had chaced me,
To join the vain crowd in its phrensied career!
In the haunts of the forest my fancy is dwelling,
In the mystical glade, by the lone river's shore,
Though wandering afar where the night-breeze is swelling,
And waters unbounded tumultuously roar.
'Mid the silence of nature all lonely and drear,
Oh, ne'er from its covert ambition had chaced me,
To join the vain crowd in its phrensied career!
In the haunts of the forest my fancy is dwelling,
In the mystical glade, by the lone river's shore,
Though wandering afar where the night-breeze is swelling,
And waters unbounded tumultuously roar.
98
I hail thee, dark ocean, in beauty tremendous!
I love the hoarse dash of thy far-sounding waves!
But he feels most truly thy grandeur stupendous,
Who in solitude sits mid thy surf-beaten caves.
From thy cliffs and thy caverns, majestic and hoary,
Be mine to look forth on thy boundless array;
Alone to look forth on thy vast-rolling glory,
And hear the deep lessons thy thunders convey.
I love the hoarse dash of thy far-sounding waves!
But he feels most truly thy grandeur stupendous,
Who in solitude sits mid thy surf-beaten caves.
From thy cliffs and thy caverns, majestic and hoary,
Be mine to look forth on thy boundless array;
Alone to look forth on thy vast-rolling glory,
And hear the deep lessons thy thunders convey.
But hope softly whispers, on moon-beams descending:—
Despond not, oh mortal! thy sorrows are vain:
The heart, which misfortune and absence are rending,
Love, friendship, and home, shall enrapture again.
Though the night-billows rave to the tempest's commotion,
In the mild breath of morning their fury shall cease;
And the vessel, long tossed on the storm-troubled ocean,
Shall furl her torn sails in the harbour of peace.
Despond not, oh mortal! thy sorrows are vain:
The heart, which misfortune and absence are rending,
Love, friendship, and home, shall enrapture again.
Though the night-billows rave to the tempest's commotion,
In the mild breath of morning their fury shall cease;
And the vessel, long tossed on the storm-troubled ocean,
Shall furl her torn sails in the harbour of peace.
| The Works of Thomas Love Peacock | |