The Isle of Palms, and Other Poems Part 14

Many a mystic gleam, Lovely though faint, of imaged happiness Fell on my youthful heart, as oft her light Smiles on a wandering cloud, ere the fair Moon Hath risen in the sky. And oh! Ye dreams That to such spiritual happiness could shape The lonely reveries of my boyish days, Are ye at last fulfill'd? Ye fairy scenes, That to the doubting gaze of prophecy Rose lovely, with your fields of sunny green, Your sparkling rivulets and hanging groves Of more than rainbow l.u.s.tre, where the swing Of woods primeval darken'd the still depth Of lakes bold-sweeping round their guardian hills, Even like the arms of Ocean, where the roar Sullen and far from mountain cataract Was heard amid the silence, like a thought Of solemn mood that tames the dancing soul When swarming with delight;--Ye fairy scenes!

Fancied no more, but bursting on my heart In living beauty, with adoring song I bid you hail! and with as holy love As ever beautified the eye of saint Hymning his midnight orisons, to you I consecrate my life,--till the dim stain Left by those worldly and unhallow'd thoughts That taint the purest soul, by bliss destroyed, My spirit travel like a summer sun, Itself all glory, and its path all joy.

Nor will the musing penance of the soul, Perform'd by moonlight, or the setting sun, To hymn of swinging oak, or the wild flow Of mountain-torrent, ever lead her on To virtue, but through peace. For Nature speaks A parent's language, and, in tones as mild As e'er hush'd infant on its mother's breast, Wins us to learn her lore. Yea! even to guilt, Though in her image something terrible Weigh down his being with a load of awe, Love mingles with her wrath, like tender light Stream'd o'er a dying storm. And thus where'er Man feels as man, the earth is beautiful.

His blessings sanctify even senseless things, And the wide world in cheerful loveliness Returns to him its joy. The summer air, Whose glittering stillness sleeps within his soul, Stirs with its own delight: The verdant earth, Like beauty waking from a happy dream, Lies smiling: Each fair cloud to him appears A pilgrim travelling to the shrine of peace; And the wild wave, that wantons on the sea, A gay though homeless stranger. Ever blest The man who thus beholds the golden chain Linking his soul to outward Nature fair, Full of the living G.o.d!

And where, ye haunts Of grandeur and of beauty! shall the heart, That yearns for high communion with its G.o.d, Abide, if e'er its dreams have been of you?

The loveliest sounds, forms, hues, of all the earth Linger delighted here: Here guilt might come, With sullen soul abhorring Nature's joy, And in a moment be restored to Heaven.

Here sorrow, with a dimness o'er his face, Might be beguiled to smiles,--almost forget His sufferings, and, in Nature's living book, Read characters so lovely, that his heart Would, as it bless'd them, feel a rising swell Almost like joy!--O earthly paradise!

Of many a secret anguish hast thou healed Him, who now greets thee with a joyful strain.

And oh! if in those elevated hopes That lean on virtue,--in those high resolves That bring the future close upon the soul, And n.o.bly dare its dangers;--if in joy Whose vital spring is more than innocence, Yea! Faith and Adoration!--if the soul Of man may trust to these,--and they are strong, Strong as the prayer of dying penitent,-- My being shall be bliss. For witness, Thou!

Oh Mighty One! whose saving love has stolen On the deep peace of moon-beams to my heart,-- Thou! who with looks of mercy oft hast cheer'd The starry silence, when, at noon of night, On some wild mountain thou hast not declined The homage of thy lonely wors.h.i.+pper,-- Bear witness Thou! that, both in joy and grief, The love of nature long hath been with me The love of virtue:--that the solitude Of the remotest hills to me hath been Thy temple:--that the fountain's happy voice Hath sung thy goodness, and thy power has stunn'd My spirit in the roaring cataract!

Such solitude to me! Yet are there hearts,-- Worthy of good men's love, nor unadorn'd With sense of moral beauty,--to the joy That dwells within the Almighty's outward shrine, Senseless and cold. Aye, there are men who see The broad sun sinking in a blaze of light, Nor feel their disembodied spirits hail With adoration the departing G.o.d; Who on the night-sky, when a cloudless moon Glides in still beauty through unnumber'd stars, Can turn the eye unmoved, as if a wall Of darkness screen'd the glory from their souls.

With humble pride I bless the Holy One For sights to these denied. And oh! how oft In seasons of depression,--when the lamp Of life burn'd dim, and all unpleasant thoughts Subdued the proud aspirings of the soul,-- When doubts and fears with-held the timid eye From scanning scenes to come, and a deep sense Of human frailty turn'd the past to pain, How oft have I remember'd that a world Of glory lay around me, that a source Of lofty solace lay in every star, And that no being need behold the sun, And grieve, that knew WHO hung him in the sky.

Thus unperceived I woke from heavy grief To airy joy: and seeing that the mind Of man, though still the image of his G.o.d, Lean'd by his will on various happiness, I felt that all was good; that faculties, Though low, might const.i.tute, if rightly used, True wisdom; and when man hath here attain'd The purpose of his being, he will sit Near Mercy's throne, whether his course hath been p.r.o.ne on the earth's dim sphere, or, as with wing Of viewless eagle, round the central blaze.

Then ever shall the day that led me here Be held in blest remembrance. I shall see, Even at my dying hour, the glorious sun That made Winander one wide wave of gold, When first in transport from the mountain-top I hail'd the heavenly vision! Not a cloud, Whose wreaths lay smiling in the lap of light, Not one of all those sister-isles that sleep Together, like a happy family Of beauty and of love, but will arise To chear my parting spirit, and to tell That Nature gently leads unto the grave All who have read her heart, and kept their own In kindred holiness.

But ere that hour Of awful triumph, I do hope that years Await me, when the unconscious power of joy Creating wisdom, the bright dreams of soul Will humanize the heart, and I shall be More worthy to be loved by those whose love Is highest praise:--that by the living light That burns for ever in affection's breast, I shall behold how fair and beautiful A human form may be.--Oh, there are thoughts That slumber in the soul, like sweetest sounds Amid the harp's loose strings, till airs from Heaven On earth, at dewy night-fall, visitant, Awake the sleeping melody! Such thoughts, My gentle Mary, I have owed to thee.

And if thy voice e'er melt into my soul With a dear home-toned whisper,--if thy face E'er brighten in the unsteady gleams of light From our own cottage-hearth;--O Mary! then My overpowered spirit will recline Upon thy inmost heart, till it become, O sinless seraph! almost worthy thee.

Then will the earth,--that oft-times to the eye Of solitary lover seems o'erhung With too severe a shade, and faintly smiles With ineffectual beauty on his heart,-- Be clothed with everlasting joy; like land Of blooming faery, or of boyhood's dreams Ere life's first flush is o'er. Oft shall I turn My vision from the glories of the scene To read them in thine eyes; and hidden grace, That slumbers in the crimson clouds of Even, Will reach my spirit through their varying light, Though viewless in the sky. Wandering with thee, A thousand beauties never seen before Will glide with sweet surprise into my soul, Even in those fields where each particular tree Was look'd on as a friend,--where I had been Frequent, for years, among the lonely glens.

Nor, 'mid the quiet of reflecting bliss, Will the faint image of the distant world Ne'er float before us:--Cities will arise Among the clouds that circle round the sun, Gorgeous with tower and temple. The night-voice Of flood and mountain to our ear will seem Like life's loud stir:--And, as the dream dissolves, With burning spirit we will smile to see Only the Moon rejoicing in the sky, And the still grandeur of the eternal hills.

Yet, though the fulness of domestic joy Bless our united beings, and the home Be ever happy where thy smiles are seen, Though human voice might never touch our ear From lip of friend or brother;--yet, oh! think What pure benevolence will warm our hearts, When with the undelaying steps of love Through you o'ershadowing wood we dimly see A coming friend, far distant then believed, And all unlook'd-for. When the short distrust Of unexpected joy no more constrains, And the eye's welcome brings him to our arms, With gladden'd spirit he will quickly own That true love ne'er was selfish, and that man Ne'er knew the whole affection of his heart Till resting on another's. If from scenes Of noisy life he come, and in his soul The love of Nature, like a long-past dream, If e'er it stir, yield but a dim delight, Oh! we shall lead him where the genial power Of beauty, working by the wavy green Of hill-ascending wood, the misty gleam Of lakes reposing in their peaceful vales, And, lovelier than the loveliness below, The moonlight Heaven, shall to his blood restore An undisturbed flow, such as he felt Pervade his being, morning, noon, and night, When youth's bright years pa.s.s'd happily away, Among his native hills, and all he knew Of crowded cities, was from pa.s.sing tale Of traveller, half-believed, and soon forgotten.

And fear not, Mary! that, when winter comes, These solitary mountains will resign The beauty that pervades their mighty frames, Even like a living soul. The gleams of light Hurrying in joyful tumult o'er the cliffs, And giving to our musings many a burst Of sudden grandeur, even as if the eye Of G.o.d were wandering o'er the lovely wild, Pleased with his own creation;--the still joy Of cloudless skies; and the delighted voice Of hymning fountains,--these will leave awhile The altered earth:--But other attributes Of Nature's heart will rule, and in the storm We shall behold the same prevailing Power That slumbers in the calm, and sanctify, With adoration, the delight of love.

I lift my eyes upon the radiant Moon, That long unnoticed o'er my head has held Her solitary walk, and as her light Recals my wandering soul, I start to feel That all has been a dream. Alone I stand Amid the silence. Onward rolls the stream Of time, while to my ear its waters sound With a strange rus.h.i.+ng music. O my soul!

Whate'er betide, for aye remember thou These mystic warnings, for they are of Heaven.

LINES

WRITTEN ON THE BANKS OF WINDERMERE, ON RECOVERY FROM A DANGEROUS ILLNESS.

Once more, dear Lake! along thy banks I rove, And bless thee in my heart that flows with love.

Methinks, as life's awakening embers burn, Nature rejoices in her son's return; And, like a parent after absence long, Sings from her heart of hearts a chearful song.

Oh! that fresh breeze through all my being stole, And made sweet music in my gladden'd soul!

To me just rescued from the opening grave, How bright the radiance of the dancing wave!

A gleam of joy, a soft endearing smile, Plays 'mid the greenness of each sylvan isle, And, in the bounty of affection, showers A loving welcome o'er these blissful bowers.

Quick glides the hymning streamlet, to partake The deep enjoyment of the happy lake; The pebbles, sparkling through the yellow brook, Seem to my gaze to wear a livelier look; And little wild-flowers, that in careless health Lay round my path in unregarded wealth, In laughing beauty court my eyes again, Like friends unchanged by coldness or disdain.

Now life and joy are one:--to Earth, Air, Heaven, An undisturbed jubilee is given; While, happy as in dreams, I seem to fly, Skimming the ground, or soaring through the sky, And feel, with sudden life-pervading glee, As if this rapture all were made for me.

And well the glory to my soul is known; For mystic visions stamped it as my own.

While sickness lay, like ice, upon my breath, With eye prophetic, through the shades of death That brooded o'er me like a dreary night, This beauteous scene I saw in living light.

No friend was near me: and a heavy gloom Lay in deep silence o'er the lonely room; Even hope had fled; and as in parting strife My soul stood trembling on the brink of life,-- When lo! sweet sounds, like those that now I hear, Of stream and zephyr stole into my ear.

Far through my heart the mingled music ran, Like tones of mercy to a dying man.

Rejoicing in the rosy morning's birth, Like new-waked beauty lay the dewy earth; The mighty sun I saw, as now I see, And my soul shone with kindred majesty: Calm smiled the Lake; and from that smile arose Faith, hope, and trust, oblivion of my woes: I felt that I should live; nor could despair Bedim a scene so glorious, and so fair.

Now is the vision truth. Disease hath flown, And in the midst of joy I stand alone.

The eye of G.o.d is on me: the wide sky Is sanctified with present Deity, And, at his bidding, Nature's aspect mild Pours healing influence on her wasted child.

My eye now brightens with the brightening scene, Chear'd with the hues of kind restoring green; As with a lulling sound the fountain flows, My tingling ear is filled with still repose; The summer silence, sleeping on the plain, Sends settled quiet to my dizzy brain; And the moist freshness of the glittering wood Cools with a heart-felt dew my feverish blood.

O blessed Lake! thy sparkling waters roll Health to my frame, and rapture to my soul.

Emblem of peace, of innocence, and love!

Sleeping in beauty given thee from above: This earth delighting in thy gentle breast, And the glad heavens attending on thy rest!

Can he e'er turn from virtue's quiet bowers, All fragrant dropping with immortal flowers, Whose inward eye, as with a magic art, Beholds thy glory imaged in his heart?

No! he shall live, from guilt and vice afar, As in the silent Heavens some lonely star.

A light shall be around him to defend The holy head of Nature's bosom friend.

And if the mists of error e'er should come To that bright sphere where virtue holds her home, She has a charm to scare the intruder thence; Or, powerful in her spotless innocence, With one calm look her spirit will transform To a fair cloud the heralds of the storm.

Nor less, Winander! to thy power I owe Rays of delight amid the gloom of woe.

Yes! oft, when self-tormenting fancy framed Forms of dim fear that grief has never named; When the whole world seem'd void of mental cheer, Nor spring nor summer in the joyless year, Oft has thy image of upbraiding love, Seen on a sudden through some opening grove, Even like the tender unexpected smile Of some dear friend I had forgot the while, In silence said, "My son, why not partake "The peace now brooding o'er thy darling lake?

"Oh! why in sullen discontent destroy "The law of Nature, Universal Joy?"

Sweet Lake! I listen to thy guardian voice: I look abroad; and, looking, I rejoice.

My home is here; ah! never shall we part, Till life's last pulse hath left my wasted heart.

True that another land first gave me birth, And other lakes beheld my infant mirth: Far from these skies dear friends.h.i.+ps have I known, And still in memory lives their soften'd tone; Yet though the image of my earlier years 'Mid Scotland's mountains dim my eyes with tears, And the heart's day-dreams oft will lingering dwell On that wild region which she loves so well,-- Think not, sweet Lake! before my years are told My love for thee and thine can e'er grow cold: For here hath Hope fix'd her last earthly bound, And where Hope rests in peace, is hallow'd ground.

And oh! if e'er that happy time shall come, When she I love sits smiling in my home, And, oft as chance may bid us meet or part, Speaks the soft word that slides into the heart, Then fair as now thou art, yea! pa.s.sing fair, Thy scarce-seen waters melting into air, Far lovelier gleams will dance upon thy breast, And thine isles bend their trees in deeper rest.

Then will my joy-enlighten'd soul descry All that is beautiful on land or sky; For, when the heart is calm with pure delight, Revels the soul 'mid many a glorious sight.

The earth then kindles with a vernal grace, Glad as the laugh upon an infant-face: The sun himself is clothed with vaster light, And showers of gentler sadness bathe the night.

Dreams of delight! while thus I fondly weave Your fairy-folds, Oh! can ye e'er deceive?

Are ye in vain to cheated mortals given, Lovely impostors in the garb of Heaven?

Fears, hopes, doubts, wishes, hush my pensive sh.e.l.l, Fount of them all, dear Lake! farewell! farewell!

APOLOGY

FOR THE LITTLE NAVAL TEMPLE, ON STORRS' POINT, WINDERMERE.

Nay! Stranger! smile not at this little dome, Albeit quaint, and with no nice regard To highest rules of grace and symmetry, Plaything of art, it venture thus to stand 'Mid the great forms of Nature. Doth it seem A vain intruder in the quiet heart Of this majestic Lake, that like an arm Of Ocean, or some Indian river vast, In beauty floats amid its guardian hills?

Haply it may: yet in this humble tower, The mimicry of loftier edifice, There lives a silent spirit, that confers A lasting charter on its sportive wreath Of battlements, amid the mountain-calm To stand as proudly, as you giant rock That with his shadow dims the dazzling lake!

Then blame it not: for know 'twas planted here, In mingled mood of seriousness and mirth, By one[4] who meant to Nature's sanct.i.ty No cold unmeaning outrage. He was one Who often in adventurous youth had sail'd O'er the great waters, and he dearly loved Their music wild; nor less the gallant souls Whose home is on the Ocean:--so he framed This jutting mole, that like a natural cape Meets the soft-breaking waves, and on its point, Bethinking him of some sea-structure huge, Watch-tower or light-house, rear'd this mimic dome, Seen up and down the lake, a monument Sacred to images of former days.

See! in the playfulness of English zeal Its low walls are emblazon'd! there thou read'st Howe, Duncan, Vincent, and that mightier name Whom death has made immortal.--Not misplaced On temple rising from an inland sea Such venerable names, though ne'er was heard The sound of cannon o'er these tranquil sh.o.r.es, Save when it peal'd to waken in her cave The mountain echo: yet this chronicle, Speaking of war amid the depths of peace, Wastes not its meaning on the heedless air.