The Isle of Palms, and Other Poems Part 17

Poor wretch! that blasted leafless tree, More frail and death-like even than thee, Can yield no shelter to thy s.h.i.+vering form; The sleet, the rain, the wind of Heaven, Full in thy face are coldly driven, As if thou wert alone the object of the storm.

Yet, chill'd with cold, and drench'd with rain, Mild creature, thou dost not complain By sound or look of these ungracious skies; Calmly as if in friendly shed, There stand'st thou, with unmoving head, And a grave, patient meekness in thy half-closed eyes.

Long could my thoughtful spirit gaze On thee; nor am I loth to praise Him who in moral mood this image drew; And yet, methinks, that I could frame An image different, yet the same, More pleasing to the heart, and yet to Nature true.

Behold a lane retired and green, Winding amid a forest-scene With blooming furze in many a radiant heap; There is a browsing a.s.s espied One colt is frisking by her side, And one among her feet is safely stretch'd in sleep.

And lo! a little maiden stands, With thistles in her tender hands, Tempting with kindly words the colt to eat; Or gently down before him lays, With words of solace and of praise, Pluck'd from th' untrodden turf the herbage soft and sweet.

The summer sun is sinking down, And the peasants from the market town With chearful hearts are to their homes returning; Groupes of gay children too are there, Stirring with mirth the silent air, O'er all their eager eyes the light of laughter burning.

The a.s.s hath got his burthen still!

The merry elves the panniers fill; Delighted there from side to side they swing.

The creature heeds nor shout nor call, But jogs on careless of them all, Whether in harmless sport they gaily strike or sing.

A gipsey-groupe! the secret wood Stirs through its leafy solitude, As wheels the dance to many a jocund tune; Th' unpannier'd a.s.s slowly retires From the brown tents, and sparkling fires, And silently feeds on beneath the silent moon.

The Moon sits o'er the huge oak tree, More pensive 'mid this scene of glee That mocks the hour of beauty and of rest; The soul of all her softest rays On yonder placid creature plays, As if she wish'd to cheer the hards.h.i.+ps of the opprest.

But now the silver moonbeams fade, And, peeping through a flowery glade, Hush'd as a wild-bird's nest, a cottage lies: An a.s.s stands meek and patient there, And by her side a spectre fair, To drink the balmy cup once more before she dies.

With tenderest care the pitying dame Supports the dying maiden's frame, And strives with laughing looks her heart to chear; While playful children crowd around To catch her eye by smile or sound, Unconscious of the doom that waits their lady dear!

I feel this mournful dream impart A holier image to my heart, For oft doth grief to thoughts sublime give birth:-- Blest creature! through the solemn night, I see thee bath'd in heavenly light, Shed from that wond'rous child--The Saviour of the Earth.

When, flying Herod's murd'rous rage, Thou on that wretched pilgrimage Didst gently near the virgin-mother lie; On thee the humble Jesus sate, When thousands rush'd to Salem's gate To see 'mid holy hymns the sinless man pa.s.s by.

Happy thou wert,--nor low thy praise, In peaceful patriarchal days, When countless tents slow pa.s.sed from land to land Like clouds o'er heaven:--the gentle race Such quiet scene did meetly grace,-- Circling the pastoral camp in many a stately band.

Poor wretch!--my musing dream is o'er; Thy s.h.i.+vering form I view once more, And all the pains thy race is doom'd to prove.

But they whose thoughtful spirits see The truth of life, will pause with me, And bless thee in a voice of gentleness and love!

ON READING

MR CLARKSON'S HISTORY OF THE ABOLITION OF THE SLAVE TRADE.

'Mid the august and never-dying light Of constellated spirits, who have gain'd A throne in heaven, by power of heavenly acts, And leave their names immortal and unchanged On earth, even as the names of Sun and Moon, See'st thou, my soul! 'mid all that radiant host One worthier of thy love and reverence, Than He, the fearless spirit, who went forth, Mail'd in the armour of invincible faith, And bearing in his grasp the spear of truth, Fit to destroy and save,--went forth to wage, Against the fierce array of b.l.o.o.d.y men, Avarice and ignorance, cruelty and hate, A holy warfare! Deep within his soul, The groans of anguish, and the clank of chains, Dwelt ceaseless as a cataract, and fill'd The secret haunts of meditative prayer.

Encircled by the silence of the hearth, The evening-silence of a happy home; Upon his midnight bed, when working soul Turns inward, and the steady flow of thought Is all we feel of life; in crowded rooms, Where mere sensation oft takes place of mind, And all time seems the present; in the sun, The joyful splendour of a summer-day; Or 'neath the moon, the calm and gentle night; Where'er he moved, one vision ever fill'd His restless spirit. 'Twas a vision bright With colours born in Heaven, yet oh! bedimm'd With breath of sorrow, sighs, and tears, and blood!

Before him lay a quarter of the world, A Mighty Land, wash'd by unnumber'd floods, Born in her bosom,--floods that to the sea Roll ocean-like, or in the central wilds Fade like the dim day melting into night; A land all teeming with the gorgeous shew Of Nature in profuse magnificence!

Vallies and groves, where untamed herds have ranged Without a master since the birth of time!

Fountains and caves fill'd with the hidden light Of diamond and of ruby, only view'd With admiration by the unenvying sun!

Millions of beings like himself he sees In stature and in soul,--the sons of G.o.d, Destined to do him homage, and to lift Their fearless brows unto the burning sky, Stamp'd with his holy image! n.o.ble shapes, Kings of the desert, men whose stately tread Brings from the dust the sound of liberty!

The vision fades not here; he sees the gloom That lies upon these kingdoms of the sun, And makes them darker than the dreary realms, Scarce-moving at the pole.--A sluggish flow Attends those floods so great and beautiful, Rolling in majesty that none adores!

And lo! the faces of those stately men, Silent as death, or changed to ghastly shapes By madness and despair! His ears are torn By shrieks and ravings, loud, and long, and wild, Or the deep-mutter'd curse of sullen hearts, Scorning in bitter woe their gnawing chains!

He sees, and shuddering feels the vision true, A pale-faced band, who in his mother-isle First look'd upon the day, beneath its light Dare to be tyrants, and with coward deeds Sullying the glory of the Queen of Waves!

He sees that famous Isle, whose very winds Dissolve like icicles the tyrant's chains, On Afric bind them firm as adamant, Yet boast, with false and hollow grat.i.tude, Of all the troubled nations of the earth That she alone is free! The awful sight Appals not him; he draws his lonely breath Without a tremor; for a voice is heard Breathed by no human lips,--heard by his soul,-- That he by Heaven is chosen to restore Mercy on earth, a mighty conqueror Over the sins and miseries of man.

The work is done! the Niger's sullen waves Have heard the tidings,--and the orient Sun Beholds them rolling on to meet his light In joyful beauty.--Tombut's spiry towers Are bright without the brightness of the day, And Houssa wakening from his age-long trance Of woe, amid the desert, smiles to hear The last faint echo of the blissful sound.--

THE FALLEN OAK, A VISION.

SCENE, A WOOD, NEAR KESWICK, BELONGING TO GREENWICH HOSPITAL.

I.

Beneath the shadow of an ancient oak, Dreaming I lay, far 'mid a solemn wood, When a noise like thunder stirr'd the solitude, And from that trance I suddenly awoke!

A n.o.ble tree came cras.h.i.+ng to the ground, Through the dark forest opening out a glade; While all its hundred branches stretching round, Crush'd the tall hazles in its ample shade.

Methought, the vanquish'd monarch as he died Utter'd a groan: while loud and taunting chears The woodmen raised o'er him whose stubborn pride Had braved the seasons for an hundred years.

It seem'd a savage shout, a senseless scorn, Nor long prevail'd amid the awful gloom; Sad look'd the forest of her glory shorn, Reverend with age, yet bright in vigour's bloom, Slain in his hour of strength, a giant in his tomb.

II.

I closed mine eyes, nor could I brook to gaze On the wild havoc in one moment done; Hateful to me shone forth the blessed sun, As through the new form'd void he pour'd his rays.

Then rose a dream before my sleeping soul!

A wood-nymph tearing her dishevell'd hair, And wailing loud, from a long vista stole, And eyed the ruin with a fixed despair.

The velvet moss, that bath'd its roots in green, For many a happy day had been her seat; Than valley wide more dear this secret scene; --She asked no music but the rustling sweet Of the rejoicing leaves; now, all is gone, That touch'd the Dryad's heart with pure delight.

Soon shall the axe destroy her fallen throne, Its leaves of gold, its bark so glossy bright-- --But now she hastes away,--death-sickening at the sight!

III.

A n.o.bler shape supplied the Dryad's place; Soon as I saw the spirit in her eye, I knew the mountain-G.o.ddess, Liberty, And in adoring reverence veil'd my face.

Smiling she stood beside the prostrate oak, While a stern pleasure swell'd her lofty breast, And thus, methought, in thrilling accents spoke-- "Not long, my darling Tree! must be thy rest!

Glorious thou wert, when towering through the skies In winter-storms, or summer's balmy breath; And thou, my Tree! shalt gloriously arise, In life majestic, terrible in death!

For thou shalt float above the roaring wave, Where flags, denouncing battle, stream afar;-- Thou wert, from birth, devoted to the brave, And thou shalt sail on like a blazing star, Bearing victorious NELSON through the storms of war!"

NATURE OUTRAGED.

AFFECTIONATELY INSCRIBED TO ROBERT SYM, ESQ. EDINBURGH.

Once, on the very gentlest stillest day That ever Spring did in her gladness breathe O'er this delightful earth, I left my home With a beloved friend, who ne'er before Had been among these mountains,--but whose heart, Led by the famous poets, through the air Serene of Nature oft had voyaged, On fancy's wing, and in her magic bowers Reposed, by wildest music sung to sleep:-- So that, enamour'd of the imaged forms Of beauty in his soul, with holiest zeal He longed to hail the fair original, And do her spiritual homage.

That his love Might, consonant to Nature's dictate wise, From quiet impulse grow, and to the power Of meditation and connecting thought, Rather than startling glories of the eye, Owe its enthronement in his inmost heart, I led him to behold a little lake, Which I so often in my lonely walks Had visited, but never yet had seen One human being on its banks, that I Thought it mine own almost, so thither took My friend, a.s.sured he could not chuse but love A scene so loved by me!

Before we reached The dell wherein this little lake doth sleep, Into involuntary praise of all Its pensive loveliness, my happy heart Would frequent burst, and from those lyric songs, That, sweetly warbling round the pastoral banks Of Gra.s.smere, on its silver waves have shed The undying suns.h.i.+ne of a poet's soul, I breathed such touching strains as suited well The mild spring-day, and that secluded scene, Towards which, in full a.s.surance of delight, We two then walked in peace.