The Isle of Palms, and Other Poems Part 1

The Isle of Palms.

by John Wilson.

CANTO FIRST.

It is the midnight hour:--the beauteous Sea, Calm as the cloudless heaven, the heaven discloses, While many a sparkling star, in quiet glee, Far down within the watery sky reposes.

As if the Ocean's heart were stirr'd With inward life, a sound is heard, Like that of dreamer murmuring in his sleep; 'Tis partly the billow, and partly the air, That lies like a garment floating fair Above the happy Deep.

The sea, I ween, cannot be fann'd By evening freshness from the land, For the land it is far away; But G.o.d hath will'd that the sky-born breeze In the centre of the loneliest seas Should ever sport and play.

The mighty Moon she sits above, Encircled with a zone of love, A zone of dim and tender light That makes her wakeful eye more bright: She seems to s.h.i.+ne with a sunny ray, And the night looks like a mellow'd day!

The gracious Mistress of the Main Hath now an undisturbed reign, And from her silent throne looks down, As upon children of her own, On the waves that lend their gentle breast In gladness for her couch of rest!

My spirit sleeps amid the calm The sleep of a new delight; And hopes that she ne'er may awake again, But for ever hang o'er the lovely main, And adore the lovely night.

Scarce conscious of an earthly frame, She glides away like a lambent flame, And in her bliss she sings; Now touching softly the Ocean's breast, Now mid the stars she lies at rest, As if she sail'd on wings!

Now bold as the brightest star that glows More brightly since at first it rose, Looks down on the far-off flood, And there all breathless and alone, As the sky where she soars were a world of her own, She mocketh the gentle Mighty One As he lies in his quiet mood.

"Art thou," she breathes, "the Tyrant grim That scoffs at human prayers, Answering with prouder roaring the while, As it rises from some lonely isle, Through groans raised wild, the hopeless hymn Of s.h.i.+pwreck'd mariners?

Oh! Thou art harmless as a child Weary with joy, and reconciled For sleep to change its play; And now that night hath stay'd thy race, Smiles wander o'er thy placid face As if thy dreams were gay."--

And can it be that for me alone The Main and Heavens are spread?

Oh! whither, in this holy hour, Have those fair creatures fled, To whom the ocean-plains are given As clouds possess their native heaven?

The tiniest boat, that ever sail'd Upon an inland lake, Might through this sea without a fear Her silent journey take, Though the helmsman slept as if on land, And the oar had dropp'd from the rower's hand.

How like a monarch would she glide, While the husht billow kiss'd her side With low and lulling tone, Some stately s.h.i.+p, that from afar Shone sudden, like a rising star, With all her bravery on!

List! how in murmurs of delight The blessed airs of Heaven invite The joyous bark to pa.s.s one night Within their still domain!

O grief! that yonder gentle Moon, Whose smiles for ever fade so soon, Should waste such smiles in vain.

Haste! haste! before the moons.h.i.+ne dies, Dissolved amid the morning skies, While yet the silvery glory lies Above the sparkling foam; Bright mid surrounding brightness, Thou, Scattering fresh beauty from thy prow, In pomp and splendour come!

And lo! upon the murmuring waves A glorious Shape appearing!

A broad-wing'd Vessel, through the shower Of glimmering l.u.s.tre steering!

As if the beauteous s.h.i.+p enjoy'd The beauty of the sea, She lifteth up her stately head And saileth joyfully.

A lovely path before her lies, A lovely path behind; She sails amid the loveliness Like a thing with heart and mind.

Fit pilgrim through a scene so fair, Slowly she beareth on; A glorious phantom of the deep, Risen up to meet the Moon.

The Moon bids her tenderest radiance fall On her wavy streamer and snow-white wings, And the quiet voice of the rocking sea To cheer the gliding vision sings.

Oh! ne'er did sky and water blend In such a holy sleep, Or bathe in brighter quietude A roamer of the deep.

So far the peaceful soul of Heaven Hath settled on the sea, It seems as if this weight of calm Were from eternity.

O World of Waters! the stedfast earth Ne er lay entranced like Thee!

Is she a vision wild and bright, That sails amid the still moon-light At the dreaming soul's command?

A vessel borne by magic gales, All rigg'd with gossamery sails, And bound for Fairy-land?

Ah! no!--an earthly freight she bears, Of joys and sorrows, hopes and fears; And lonely as she seems to be, Thus left by herself on the moonlight sea In loneliness that rolls, She hath a constant company, In sleep, or waking revelry, Five hundred human souls!

Since first she sail'd from fair England, Three moons her path have cheer'd; And another stands right over her masts Since the Cape hath disappear'd.

For an Indian Isle she shapes her way With constant mind both night and day: She seems to hold her home in view, And sails, as if the path she knew; So calm and stately is her motion Across th' unfathom'd trackless ocean.

And well, glad Vessel! mayst thou stem The tide with lofty breast, And lift thy queen-like diadem O'er these thy realms of rest: For a thousand beings, now far away, Behold thee in their sleep, And hush their beating hearts to pray That a calm may clothe the deep.

When dimly descending behind the sea From the Mountain Isle of Liberty, Oh! many a sigh pursued thy vanish'd sail; And oft an eager crowd will stand With straining gaze on the Indian strand, Thy wonted gleam to hail.

For thou art laden with Beauty and Youth, With Honour bold, and spotless Truth, With fathers, who have left in a home of rest Their infants smiling at the breast, With children, who have bade their parents farewell, Or who go to the land where their parents dwell.

G.o.d speed thy course, thou gleam of delight!

From rock and tempest clear; Till signal gun from friendly height Proclaim, with thundering cheer, To joyful groupes on the harbour bright, That the good s.h.i.+p HOPE is near!

Is no one on the silent deck Save the helmsman who sings for a breeze, And the sailors who pace their midnight watch, Still as the slumbering seas?

Yes! side by side, and hand in hand, Close to the prow two figures stand, Their shadows never stir, And fondly as the Moon doth rest Upon the Ocean's gentle breast, So fond they look on her.

They gaze and gaze till the beauteous...o...b..Seems made for them alone: They feel as if their home were Heaven, And the earth a dream that hath flown.

Softly they lean on each other's breast, In holy bliss reposing, Like two fair clouds to the vernal air In folds of beauty closing.

The tear down their glad faces rolls, And a silent prayer is in their souls, While the voice of awaken'd memory, Like a low and plaintive melody, Sings in their hearts,--a mystic voice, That bids them tremble and rejoice.

And Faith, who oft had lost her power In the darkness of the midnight hour When the planets had roll'd afar, Now stirs in their soul with a joyful strife, Embued with a genial spirit of life By the Moon and the Morning-Star.

A lovelier vision in the moonlight stands, Than Bard e'er woo'd in fairy lands, Or Faith with tranced eye adored, Floating around our dying Lord.

Her silent face is saintly-pale, And sadness shades it like a veil: A consecrated nun she seems, Whose waking thoughts are deep as dreams, And in her hush'd and dim abode For ever dwell upon her G.o.d, Though the still fount of tears and sighs And human sensibilities!

Well may the Moon delight to shed Her softest radiance round that head, And mellow the cool ocean-air That lifts by fits her sable hair.

These mild and melancholy eyes Are dear unto the starry skies, As the dim effusion of their rays Blends with the glimmering light that plays O'er the blue heavens, and snowy clouds, The cloud-like sails, and radiant shrouds.

Fair creature! Thou dost seem to be Some wandering spirit of the sea, That dearly loves the gleam of sails, And o'er them breathes propitious gales.

Hither thou comest, for one wild hour, With him thy sinless paramour, To gaze, while the wearied sailors sleep, On this beautiful phantom of the deep, That seem'd to rise with the rising Moon.

--But the Queen of Night will be sinking soon, Then will you, like two breaking waves, Sink softly to your coral caves, Or, noiseless as the falling dew, Melt into Heaven's delicious blue.

Nay! wrong her not, that Virgin bright!

Her face is bathed in lovelier light Than ever flow'd from eyes Of Ocean Nymph, or Sylph of Air!

The tearful gleam, that trembles there, From human dreams must rise.

Let the Mermaid rest in her sparry cell, Her sea-green ringlets braiding!

The Sylph in viewless ether dwell, In clouds her beauty shading!

My soul devotes her music wild To one who is an earthly child, But who, wandering through the midnight hour, Far from the shade of earthly bower, Bestows a tenderer loveliness, A deeper, holier quietness, On the moonlight Heaven, and Ocean h.o.a.r, So quiet and so fair before.

Yet why does a helpless maiden roam, Mid stranger souls, and far from home, Across the faithless deep?

Oh! fitter far that her gentle mind In some sweet inland vale should find An undisturbed sleep!

So was it once. Her childish years Like clouds pa.s.s'd o'er her head, When life is all one rosy smile, or tears Of natural grief, forgotten soon as shed.

O'er her own mountains, like a bird Glad wandering from its nest, When the glossy hues of the sunny spring Are dancing on its breast, With a winged glide this maiden would rove, An innocent phantom of beauty and love.

Far from the haunts of men she grew By the side of a lonesome tower, Like some solitary mountain-flower, Whose veil of wiry dew Is only touch'd by the gales that breathe O'er the blossoms of the fragrant heath, And in its silence melts away With those sweet things too pure for earthly day.

Blest was the lore that Nature taught The infant's happy mind, Even when each light and happy thought Pa.s.s'd onwards like the wind, Nor longer seem'd to linger there Than the whispering sound in her raven-hair.

Well was she known to each mountain-stream, As its own voice, or the fond moon-beam That o'er its music play'd: The loneliest caves her footsteps heard, In lake and tarn oft nightly stirr'd The Maiden's ghost-like shade.

But she hath bidden a last farewell To lake and mountain, stream and dell, And fresh have blown the gales For many a mournful night and day, Wafting the tall s.h.i.+p far away From her dear native Wales.

And must these eyes,--so soft and mild, As angel's bright, as fairy's wild, Swimming in l.u.s.trous dew, Now sparkling lively, gay, and glad, And now their spirit melting sad In smiles of gentlest blue,-- Oh! must these eyes be steep'd in tears, Bedimm'd with dreams of future years, Of what may yet betide An Orphan-Maid!--for in the night She oft hath started with affright, To find herself a bride; A bride oppress'd with fear and shame, And bearing not Fitz-Owen's name.

This fearful dream oft haunts her bed.

For she hath heard of maidens sold, In the innocence of thoughtless youth, To Guilt and Age for gold; Of English maids who pined away Beyond the Eastern Main, Who smiled, when first they trod that sh.o.r.e, But never smiled again.

In dreams is she the wretched Maid, An Orphan,--helpless,--sold,--betray'd,-- And, when the dream hath fled, In waking thought she still retains The memory of these wildering pains, In strange mysterious dread.

Yet oft will happier dreams arise Before her charmed view, And the powerful beauty of the skies Makes her believe them true.

For who, when nought is heard around, But the great Ocean's solemn sound, Feels not as if the Eternal G.o.d Were speaking in that dread abode?

An answering voice seems kindly given From the mult.i.tude of stars in Heaven: And oft a smile of moonlight fair, To perfect peace hath changed despair.

Low as we are, we blend our fate With things so beautifully great, And though opprest with heaviest grief, From Nature's bliss we draw relief, a.s.sured that G.o.d's most gracious eye Beholds us in our misery, And sends mild sound and lovely sight, To change that misery to delight.-- Such is thy faith, O sainted Maid!

Pensive and pale, but not afraid Of Ocean or of Sky, Though thou ne'er mayst see the land again, And though awful be the lonely Main, No fears hast thou to die.

Whate'er betide of weal or wo, When the waves are asleep, or the tempests blow, Thou wilt bear with calm devotion; For duly every night and morn, Sweeter than Mermaid's strains are borne Thy hymns along the Ocean.

And who is He, that fondly presses Close to his heart the silken tresses That hide her soften'd eyes, Whose heart her heaving bosom meets, And through the midnight silence beats To feel her rising sighs?

Worthy the Youth, I ween, to rest On the fair swellings of her breast, Worthy to hush her inmost fears, And kiss away her struggling tears: For never grovelling spirit stole A woman's unpolluted soul!

To her the vestal fire is given; And only fire drawn pure from Heaven Can on Love's holy shrine descend, And there in clouds of fragrance blend.

Well do I know that stately Youth!

The broad day-light of cloudless truth Like a sun-beam bathes his face; Though silent, still a gracious smile, That rests upon his eyes the while, Bestows a speaking grace.

That smile hath might of magic art, To sway at will the stoniest heart, As a s.h.i.+p obeys the gale; And when his silver voice is heard; The coldest blood is warmly stirr'd, As at some glorious tale.