 | The school of the heart and other poems |  |
I. VOLUME I. CONTAINING SONNETS AND MINOR POEMS.
v
TO THE PLAYMATE OF HIS CHILDHOOD, THE JOY OF HIS YOUTH,
AND THE DEAR COMPANION OF HIS CARES AND STUDIES, THESE POEMS ARE DEDICATEDBY HER AFFECTIONATE HUSBAND.
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POEMS.
XVI.
[I sought for Novelty—in vain]
I sought for Novelty—in vain
I searched the stores of Nature through:
But now the object wished I gain—
Thy mercies, Lord, are ever new.
I searched the stores of Nature through:
But now the object wished I gain—
Thy mercies, Lord, are ever new.
I sought for Beauty—set of sun,
And rainbow, and the rising light,—
These all were fair, but quickly gone;
Thy face, my God, is always bright.
And rainbow, and the rising light,—
These all were fair, but quickly gone;
Thy face, my God, is always bright.
I sought Fidelity—some friends
Have fallen away, and some endure:
And Death the firmest love-knot rends;—
Thy Love, O Lord alone is sure.
Have fallen away, and some endure:
And Death the firmest love-knot rends;—
Thy Love, O Lord alone is sure.
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I sought for Truth—the more I sought
A living lie around me grew;
False was all joy, all speech, all thought—
Thy promise, Lord, alone is true.
A living lie around me grew;
False was all joy, all speech, all thought—
Thy promise, Lord, alone is true.
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XVIII. HYMN FROM A MISSAL.
Thou that art the Father's Word,
Thou that art the Lamb of God,
Thou that art the Virgin's Son,
Thou that savest souls undone,
Sacred sacrifice for sin,
Fount of piety within,
Hail, Lord Jesus.
Thou that art the Lamb of God,
Thou that art the Virgin's Son,
Thou that savest souls undone,
Sacred sacrifice for sin,
Fount of piety within,
Hail, Lord Jesus.
Thou to whom Thine angels raise
Quiring songs of sweetest praise,
Thou that art the flower and fruit,
Virgin born from Jesse's root,
Shedding holy peace abroad,
Perfect man and perfect God;
Hail, Lord Jesus.
Quiring songs of sweetest praise,
Thou that art the flower and fruit,
Virgin born from Jesse's root,
Shedding holy peace abroad,
Perfect man and perfect God;
Hail, Lord Jesus.
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Thou that art the door of heaven,
Living bread in mercy given,
Brightness of the Father's face,
Everlasting Prince of Peace,
Precious pearl beyond all price,
Brightest star in all the skies,
Hail, Lord Jesus.
Living bread in mercy given,
Brightness of the Father's face,
Everlasting Prince of Peace,
Precious pearl beyond all price,
Brightest star in all the skies,
Hail, Lord Jesus.
King and Spouse of holy hearts,
Fount of Love that ne'er departs,
Sweetest life, and brightest day,
Truest truth, and surest way
That leads onward to the blest
Sabbath of eternal Rest,
Hail, Lord Jesus.
Fount of Love that ne'er departs,
Sweetest life, and brightest day,
Truest truth, and surest way
That leads onward to the blest
Sabbath of eternal Rest,
Hail, Lord Jesus.
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XXII. WRITTEN ON THE DAY OF GENERAL THANKSGIVING,
April 14, 1833.
Surely, methinks, this Sabbath morn
Some brighter sunshine should adorn
Than Heaven vouchsafes on common days;
And buds should burst, and all the throng
Of busy warblers crowd their song
To help the race of man to praise.
Some brighter sunshine should adorn
Than Heaven vouchsafes on common days;
And buds should burst, and all the throng
Of busy warblers crowd their song
To help the race of man to praise.
But on its birth no sun hath shined;
Ever the deep voice of the wind
Sweepeth the tree-tops far and near:
And on the branches not a bird
As on past morning-tides, is heard,
But all is winter-bound and drear.
Ever the deep voice of the wind
Sweepeth the tree-tops far and near:
And on the branches not a bird
As on past morning-tides, is heard,
But all is winter-bound and drear.
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Yet this ungladsome sky may teach
A lesson, and these winds may preach
A sermon in the nation's ear;
And souls not all unapt to learn
Some dim forebodings may discern
Of new disquietude and fear.
A lesson, and these winds may preach
A sermon in the nation's ear;
And souls not all unapt to learn
Some dim forebodings may discern
Of new disquietude and fear.
Great God, with trembling we rejoice;
The echo of thy warning voice
Yet vibrates in the middle air:
Not yet thy glittering sword of death
Is peaceful laid within its sheath,
Ready to strike, as now to spare.
The echo of thy warning voice
Yet vibrates in the middle air:
Not yet thy glittering sword of death
Is peaceful laid within its sheath,
Ready to strike, as now to spare.
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XXIII. HYMN FOR ALL SAINTS DAY IN THE MORNING.
Stand up before your God
You army bold and bright,
Saints martyrs and confessors
In your robes of white;
The Church below doth challenge you
To an act of praise:
Ready with mirth in all the earth
Her matin song to raise.
You army bold and bright,
Saints martyrs and confessors
In your robes of white;
The Church below doth challenge you
To an act of praise:
Ready with mirth in all the earth
Her matin song to raise.
Stand up before your God
In beautiful array,
Make ready all your instruments
The while we mourn and pray;
For we must stay to mourn and pray
Some prelude to our song;
The fear of death has clogged our breath
And our foes are swift and strong.
In beautiful array,
Make ready all your instruments
The while we mourn and pray;
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Some prelude to our song;
The fear of death has clogged our breath
And our foes are swift and strong.
But ye before your God
Are hushed from all alarm,
Out through the grave and gate of death
Ye have past into the calm;
Your fight is done, your victory won,
Through peril and toil and blood:
Among the slain on the battle plain
We buried ye where ye stood.
Are hushed from all alarm,
Out through the grave and gate of death
Ye have past into the calm;
Your fight is done, your victory won,
Through peril and toil and blood:
Among the slain on the battle plain
We buried ye where ye stood.
Stand up before your God,
Although we cannot hear
The new song he hath taught you
With our fleshly ear;
Our bosoms burn that hymn to learn,
And from the church below
Even while we sing, on heavenward wing
Some happy souls shall go.
Although we cannot hear
The new song he hath taught you
With our fleshly ear;
Our bosoms burn that hymn to learn,
And from the church below
Even while we sing, on heavenward wing
Some happy souls shall go.
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Ye stand before your God,
But we press onward still,
The soldiers of his army,
The servants of his will:
A captive band in foreign land
Long ages we have been;
But our dearest theme and our fondest dream
Is the home we have not seen.
But we press onward still,
The soldiers of his army,
The servants of his will:
A captive band in foreign land
Long ages we have been;
But our dearest theme and our fondest dream
Is the home we have not seen.
We soon shall meet our God,
The hour is waxing on,
The day-spring from on high hath risen,
And the night is spent and gone;
The light of Earth it had its birth
And it shall have its doom;
The Sons of Earth they are few in birth
But many in the tomb.
The hour is waxing on,
The day-spring from on high hath risen,
And the night is spent and gone;
The light of Earth it had its birth
And it shall have its doom;
The Sons of Earth they are few in birth
But many in the tomb.
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XXIX. WRITTEN DURING AN AURORA BOREALIS,
January 7, 1831.
Lo, where they play, the fiery squadrons bright,
Along the spangled azure of the night;
Waving aloft their ensigns, where the while
Wheels to the sphered music many a file
Of heavenly soldiery—and poured on high
Far o'er the Orient and the southern sky,
Fair stations of still fire their watches keep,
O'er half the world entranced in slumber deep;
Or, issuing into brightness, dome and hall,
And palace front distinct with columns tall,
In mystic maze of varied light are driven
Along the pictured concave of the Heaven:
And ever and anon upon the North
Vistas of rosy flame are opening forth,
And centres of intense and throbbing light
Pour eddying brillance o'er the arch of Night.
Along the spangled azure of the night;
Waving aloft their ensigns, where the while
Wheels to the sphered music many a file
Of heavenly soldiery—and poured on high
Far o'er the Orient and the southern sky,
Fair stations of still fire their watches keep,
O'er half the world entranced in slumber deep;
Or, issuing into brightness, dome and hall,
And palace front distinct with columns tall,
In mystic maze of varied light are driven
Along the pictured concave of the Heaven:
And ever and anon upon the North
Vistas of rosy flame are opening forth,
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Pour eddying brillance o'er the arch of Night.
So, in the primal infancy of Man,
Ere yet the desolating curse began,
Hues of celestial sheen were wont to rise
Far o'er the blosmy groves of Paradise;
While the blest pair stood wondering to behold
Shiftings of myriad gleams from wings of gold,
And in a deeper glory faint descried,
Mid blazonry of banners floating wide,
Some Seraph Hierarch, on his aery way
Companied earthward by that high array.
Ere yet the desolating curse began,
Hues of celestial sheen were wont to rise
Far o'er the blosmy groves of Paradise;
While the blest pair stood wondering to behold
Shiftings of myriad gleams from wings of gold,
And in a deeper glory faint descried,
Mid blazonry of banners floating wide,
Some Seraph Hierarch, on his aery way
Companied earthward by that high array.
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XXXII. PSALM XXIV.
CHORUS OF ANGELS.The Earth is God's; the fullness too
Of all that therein is;
Upon the floods he founded it,
And built it on the seas.
SEMI-CHORUS I.
Who shall go up the hill of God,
And in his dwelling stand?
SEMI-CHORUS II.
Even the man of pure intent
And undefiled hand.
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Who hath not lifted up his heart
To trust in vanity;
Nor dealt untruly by his friend,
Nor sworn deceitfully.
The family of Israel,
The men who seek his face,
These shall be blest and righteous held
Before the God of Grace.
SEMI-CHORUS I.
Lift up your heads, ye gates,
And be ye lifted up,
Ye everlasting doors;
And the King of Glory shall come in.
SEMI-CHORUS II.
Who is the King of Glory?
SEMI-CHORUS I.
Jehovah strong and mighty,
Jehovah strong in battle.
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Lift up your heads, ye gates,
And be ye lifted up,
Ye everlasting doors;
And the King of Glory shall come in.
SEMI-CHORUS I.
Who is the King of Glory?
CHORUS.
Jehovah of Sabaoth,
He is the King of Glory.
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XXXVIII. A HYMN FOR FAMILY WORSHIP.
Saviour of them that trust in Thee,
Once more, with supplicating cries,
We lift the heart and bend the knee,
And bid Devotion's incense rise.
Once more, with supplicating cries,
We lift the heart and bend the knee,
And bid Devotion's incense rise.
For mercies past we praise Thee, Lord—
The fruits of Earth, the hopes of Heaven;
Thy helping arm—thy guiding word,
And answered prayers,—and sins forgiven.
The fruits of Earth, the hopes of Heaven;
Thy helping arm—thy guiding word,
And answered prayers,—and sins forgiven.
Whene'er we tread on Danger's height,
Or walk Temptation's slippery way,
Be still, to steer our steps aright,
Thy word our guide, Thine arm our stay.
Or walk Temptation's slippery way,
Be still, to steer our steps aright,
Thy word our guide, Thine arm our stay.
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Be ours Thy fear and favour still,
United hearts—unchanging love;
No scheme that contradicts thy will,
No wish that centres not above.
United hearts—unchanging love;
No scheme that contradicts thy will,
No wish that centres not above.
And since we must be parted here,
Support us when the hour shall come:
Wipe gently off the mourner's tear,—
Rejoin us in our heavenly Home.
Support us when the hour shall come:
Wipe gently off the mourner's tear,—
Rejoin us in our heavenly Home.
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XLI. THE EPITAPH OF BION.
Dolefully sound, ye groves and Dorian waters,
Lament, ye rivers, our beloved Bion;
Mourn, all ye plants, and whisper low, ye forests;
Ye flowers, breathe sadly from your drooping petals;
Put on deep red, anemones and roses;
Wail thine own letters, hyacinth, and ai ai
Write double on thy leaves for our sweet poet.
Lament, ye rivers, our beloved Bion;
Mourn, all ye plants, and whisper low, ye forests;
Ye flowers, breathe sadly from your drooping petals;
Put on deep red, anemones and roses;
Wail thine own letters, hyacinth, and ai ai
Write double on thy leaves for our sweet poet.
Begin the grief, begin, Sicilian Muses.
Ye nightingales, in the thick leafage sobbing,
Tell the Sicilian streams of Arethusa
Bion is dead, the shepherd-boy, and with him
Song too is dead, and all the Dorian music.
Ye nightingales, in the thick leafage sobbing,
Tell the Sicilian streams of Arethusa
Bion is dead, the shepherd-boy, and with him
Song too is dead, and all the Dorian music.
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Begin the grief, begin, Sicilian Muses.
Strymonian swans, sing sadly by your waters;
Warble a funeral elegy, in ditties
Such as he sung, the rival of your voices.
Tell the Œagrian Nymphs, and tell the damsels
That play in Thrace, Dead is the Dorian Orpheus.
Strymonian swans, sing sadly by your waters;
Warble a funeral elegy, in ditties
Such as he sung, the rival of your voices.
Tell the Œagrian Nymphs, and tell the damsels
That play in Thrace, Dead is the Dorian Orpheus.
Begin the grief, begin, Sicilian Muses.
Our friend shall pipe beside his flocks no longer,
Nor sit and sing alone beneath the ilex;
But tunes oblivious strains to sullen Pluto.
Mute are the mountains, and the herd is straying
And will not feed, but wanders sadly lowing.
Our friend shall pipe beside his flocks no longer,
Nor sit and sing alone beneath the ilex;
But tunes oblivious strains to sullen Pluto.
Mute are the mountains, and the herd is straying
And will not feed, but wanders sadly lowing.
Begin the grief, begin, Sicilian Muses.
Thine early death lamented great Apollo,
Pan wept to miss thy singing, all the Naiads
Wept in their woods, and turned to tears their fountains;
Echo is weeping that she must be silent
Thy lips no longer mocking. At thy parting
Trees shed their fruit, and all the flowers were blighted;
Milk failed the flocks, and in our hives the honey
Sunk mouldering in the wax; for no more sweetness
Shall there be, now thy honey-song hath perished.
Thine early death lamented great Apollo,
Pan wept to miss thy singing, all the Naiads
Wept in their woods, and turned to tears their fountains;
Echo is weeping that she must be silent
Thy lips no longer mocking. At thy parting
Trees shed their fruit, and all the flowers were blighted;
Milk failed the flocks, and in our hives the honey
Sunk mouldering in the wax; for no more sweetness
Shall there be, now thy honey-song hath perished.
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Begin the grief, begin, Sicilian Muses.
Not so beside the sea-beach wailed the dolphin,
Nor nightingale in shrubby rocks embowered,
Nor on the long green hills the piping swallow;
Not so for his Alcyone wept Ceÿx;
Nor Cerylus along the dark-blue waters;
Not so in Eastern dells the birds of Memnon
Wailed, flying round his tomb, the son of Ao,
As all lamented for the death of Bion.
Not so beside the sea-beach wailed the dolphin,
Nor nightingale in shrubby rocks embowered,
Nor on the long green hills the piping swallow;
Not so for his Alcyone wept Ceÿx;
Nor Cerylus along the dark-blue waters;
Not so in Eastern dells the birds of Memnon
Wailed, flying round his tomb, the son of Ao,
As all lamented for the death of Bion.
Begin the grief, begin, Sicilian Muses.
Shepherd, with thee the Muses' gifts have perished—
All beauty, and the joy of youthful lovers—
Sadly the Loves around thy tomb are weeping:
Cypris hath loved thee better than the memory
Of the last kiss she prest on pale Adonis.
Shepherd, with thee the Muses' gifts have perished—
All beauty, and the joy of youthful lovers—
Sadly the Loves around thy tomb are weeping:
Cypris hath loved thee better than the memory
Of the last kiss she prest on pale Adonis.
Begin the grief, begin, Sicilian Muses.
Thou tunefullest of streams, a second sorrow,
A second sorrow, Meles, hath befallen;
Thy Homer died, sweet prophet of the Muses;
And then, they say, thy glorious son thou wailest
Along thy shallows, and far into ocean
Carriedst the sound of grief: and now another
Must thou lament, and dry away for anguish.
Both were beloved by fountains: one was favoured
Of Hippocrene, and one of Arethusa;
One sung the lay of Tyndarus' fair daughter,
The son of Thetis, and the twin Atreidæ;
But ours no wars, nor tears—the god of shepherds
And herdsmen sung he, as his flock he tended,
And bound the syrinx, and milked the sweet-breathed heifers,
And spake of Love, and was dear to Aphrodita.
Thou tunefullest of streams, a second sorrow,
A second sorrow, Meles, hath befallen;
Thy Homer died, sweet prophet of the Muses;
And then, they say, thy glorious son thou wailest
Along thy shallows, and far into ocean
Carriedst the sound of grief: and now another
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Both were beloved by fountains: one was favoured
Of Hippocrene, and one of Arethusa;
One sung the lay of Tyndarus' fair daughter,
The son of Thetis, and the twin Atreidæ;
But ours no wars, nor tears—the god of shepherds
And herdsmen sung he, as his flock he tended,
And bound the syrinx, and milked the sweet-breathed heifers,
And spake of Love, and was dear to Aphrodita.
Begin the grief, begin, Sicilian Muses.
All countries mourn for thee, all ancient cities:
Not so mourned Ascra for her Shepherd-prophet;
Not so the castled Lesbos for Alcæus;
Nor Ceos her old songster; not so Paros
Archilochus desires; and leaving Sappho
Thy legend sings the widowed Mitylene.
All countries mourn for thee, all ancient cities:
Not so mourned Ascra for her Shepherd-prophet;
Not so the castled Lesbos for Alcæus;
Nor Ceos her old songster; not so Paros
Archilochus desires; and leaving Sappho
Thy legend sings the widowed Mitylene.
Begin the grief, begin, Sicilian Muses.
Alas! when mallows perish in the gardens,
The crisp-green parsley, and the hardy anise,
They live again, and grow another summer;
But we, the great and strong, the sons of wisdom,
When first we die, unknown in earthy hollow
Sleep a long boundless sleep, that hath no waking.
Thou shalt be gathered to the dust in silence,
But sorry songsters live and sing for ever:
Well have the Muses ordered it, for better
Sing sweet and die, than be like them immortal.
Alas! when mallows perish in the gardens,
The crisp-green parsley, and the hardy anise,
They live again, and grow another summer;
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When first we die, unknown in earthy hollow
Sleep a long boundless sleep, that hath no waking.
Thou shalt be gathered to the dust in silence,
But sorry songsters live and sing for ever:
Well have the Muses ordered it, for better
Sing sweet and die, than be like them immortal.
Begin the grief, begin, Sicilian Muses.
Poison hath touched thy mouth, a draught of poison;—
How came it to thy lips and was not sweetened?
What man so cruel that for thee could mingle,
Or offering it escaped uncharmed thy singing?
Poison hath touched thy mouth, a draught of poison;—
How came it to thy lips and was not sweetened?
What man so cruel that for thee could mingle,
Or offering it escaped uncharmed thy singing?
Begin the grief, begin Sicilian Muses.
Who now shall sound thy reed, beloved poet?
Who is so bold that to his lips will bear it?
To Pan I offer it; but Pan refuses
To wake its melody, lest he in playing
Should miss thy skill, and be adjudged thy second.
Who now shall sound thy reed, beloved poet?
Who is so bold that to his lips will bear it?
To Pan I offer it; but Pan refuses
To wake its melody, lest he in playing
Should miss thy skill, and be adjudged thy second.
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XLII.
[I had the sweetest dream but yesternight]
I had the sweetest dream but yesternight
About the lady of my love:
I saw her sitting in a faint green light
With twisted boughs above.
About the lady of my love:
I saw her sitting in a faint green light
With twisted boughs above.
Her russet hair flowed moistly down her neck
Parting each tender blooming cheek;
And beautiful young roses seemed to deck
Her bosom chaste and meek.
Parting each tender blooming cheek;
And beautiful young roses seemed to deck
Her bosom chaste and meek.
Some deeply-working thought with strong control
Cast down those eyes I longed to see;
And I could tell that all her virgin soul
Was faint for love of me.
Cast down those eyes I longed to see;
And I could tell that all her virgin soul
Was faint for love of me.
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No barrier thwarts the creatures of the mind:
I crept and sat me down by her;
And put, as I was wont, my arm behind
Her neck, within her hair.
I crept and sat me down by her;
And put, as I was wont, my arm behind
Her neck, within her hair.
I saw the sweetest gleam of heavenly light
Look from her moist uplifted eyes;
The deepest blush of unforewarned delight
Up to her warm cheeks rise.
Look from her moist uplifted eyes;
The deepest blush of unforewarned delight
Up to her warm cheeks rise.
But all in one sad moment utterly
Gone was the charm that wrought for us:
The vision faded from my sight, and I
Awoke to tell it thus.
Gone was the charm that wrought for us:
The vision faded from my sight, and I
Awoke to tell it thus.
END OF VOLUME I.
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