The Isle of Palms, and Other Poems Part 18

On the green slope Of a romantic glade, we sat us down, Amid the fragrance of the yellow broom, While o'er our heads the weeping birch-tree stream'd Its branches arching like a fountain-shower, Then look'd towards the lake,--with hearts prepared For the warm reception of all lovely forms Enrobed in loveliest radiance, such as oft Had steep'd my spirit in a holy calm, And made it by the touch of purest joy Still as an infant's dream.

But where had fled The paradise beloved in former days!

I look'd upon the countenance of my friend, Who, lost in strange and sorrowful surprise, Could scarce forbear to smile. Is this, he cried, The lone retreat, where from the secret top Of Helicon, the wild-eyed muse descends To bless thy slumbers? this the virgin scene Where beauty smiles in undisturbed peace?

I look'd again: but ne'er did lover gaze, At last returning from some foreign clime, With more affectionate sorrow on the face That he left fair in youth, than I did gaze On the alter'd features of my darling vale, That, 'mid the barbarous outrages of art, Retained, I ween, a heavenly character That nothing could destroy. Yet much was lost Of its original brightness: Much was there, Marring the spirit I remembered once Perfectly beautiful. The meadow field, That with its rich and placid verdure lay Even like a sister-lake, with nought to break The smoothness of its bosom, save the swing Of the h.o.a.r Canna, or, more snowy white, The young lamb frisking in the joy of life,-- Oh! grief! a garden, all unlike, I ween, To that where bloom'd the fair Hesperides, Usurped the seat of Nature, while a wall Of most bedazzling splendour, o'er whose height, The little birds, content to flit along From bush to bush, could never dare to fly, Preserved from those who knew no ill intent, Fruit-trees exotic, and flowers pa.s.sing rare, Less lovely far than many a one that bloom'd Unnoticed in the woods.

And lo! a house, An elegant villa! in the Grecian style!

Doubtless contrived by some great architect Who had an Attic soul; and in the shade Of Academe or the Lyceum walk'd, Forming conceptions fair and beautiful.

Blessed for ever be the sculptor's art!

It hath created guardian deities To s.h.i.+eld the holy building,--heathen G.o.ds And G.o.ddesses, at which the peasant stares With most perplexing wonder; and light Fauns, That the good owner's unpoetic soul Could not, among the umbrage of the groves, Imagine, here, for ever in his sight, In one unwearied posture frisk in stone.

My friend, quoth I, forgive these words of mine, That haply seem more sportive than becomes A soul that feels for Nature's sanct.i.ty Thus blindly outraged; but when evil work Admits no remedy, we then are glad Even from ourselves to hide, in mirth constrain'd, An unavailing sorrow. Oh! my friend, Had'st thou beheld, as I, the glorious rock By that audacious mansion hid for ever, --Glorious I well might call it, with bright bands Of flowers, and weeds as beautiful as flowers, Refulgent,--crown'd, as with a diadem, With oaks that loved their birth-place, and alive With the wild tones of echo, bird, and bee,-- Thou couldst have wept to think that paltry Art Could so prevail o'er Nature, and weak man Thus stand between thee and the works of G.o.d.

Well might the Naiad of that stream complain!

The glare of day hath driven her from her haunts, Shady no more: The woodman's ax hath clear'd The useless hazels where the linnet hung Her secret nest; and you h.o.a.r waterfall, Whose misty spray rose through the freshen'd leaves To heaven, like Nature's incense, and whose sound Came deaden'd through the mult.i.tude of boughs, Like a wild anthem by some spirit sung, Now looks as cheerless as the late-left snow Upon the mountain's breast, and sends a voice, From the bare rocks, of dreariness and woe!

See! farther down the streamlet, art hath framed A delicate cascade! The channel stones Hollow'd by rus.h.i.+ng waters, and more green Even than the thought of greenness in the soul, Are gone; and pebbles, carefully arranged By size and colour, at the bottom lie Imprison'd; while a smooth and shaven lawn, With graceful gravel walks most serpentine, Surrounds the noisy wonder, and sends up A smile of scorn unto the rocky fells, Where, 'mid the rough fern, bleat the shelter'd sheep.

Oft hath the poet's eye on these wild fells Beheld entrancing visions;--but the cliffs, In unscaled majesty, must frown no more; No more the coves profound draw down the soul Into their stern dominion: even the clouds, Floating or settling on the mountain's breast, Must be adored no more:--far other forms Delight his gaze, to whom, alas, belongs This luckless vale!--On every eminence, Smiles some gay image of the builder's soul, Watch-tower or summer-house, where oft, at eve, He meditates to go, with book in hand, And read in solitude; or weather-c.o.c.k, To tell which way the wind doth blow; or fort, Commanding every station in the vale Where enemy might encamp, and from whose height A gaudy flag might flutter, when he hears With a true British pride of Frenchmen slain, Ten thousand in one battle, lying grim By the brave English, their dead conquerors!

Such was the spirit of the words I used On witnessing such sacrilege. We turned Homewards in silence, even as from the grave Of one in early youth untimely slain, And all that to my pensive friend I said Upon our walk, were some few words of grief, That thoughtlessness and folly, in one day, Could render vain the mystic processes Of Nature, working for a thousand years The work of love and beauty; so that Heaven Might shed its gracious dews upon the earth, Its suns.h.i.+ne and its rain, till living flowers Rose up in myriads to attest its power, But, in the midst of this glad jubilee, A blinded mortal come, and with a nod, Thus rendering ignorance worse than wickedness, Bid his base servants "tear from Nature's book A blissful leaf with worst impiety."

If thou, whose heart has listen'd to my song, From Nature hold'st some fair inheritance Like that whose mournful ruins I deplore, Remember that thy birth-right doth impose High duties on thee, that must be perform'd, Else thou canst not be happy. Thou must watch With holy zeal o'er Nature while she sleeps, That nought may break her rest; her waking smiles Thou must preserve and wors.h.i.+p; and the gloom That sometimes lies like night upon her face, Creating awful thoughts, that gloom must hush The beatings of thy heart, as if it lay Like the dread shadow of eternity.

Beauteous thy home upon this beauteous earth, And G.o.d hath given it to thee: therefore, learn The laws by which the Eternal doth sublime And sanctify his works, that thou mayest see The hidden glory veiled from vulgar eyes, And by the homage of enlighten'd love, Repay the power that blest thee. Thou should'st stand Oft-times amid thy dwelling-place, with awe Stronger than love, even like a pious man Who in some great cathedral, while the chaunt Of hymns is in his soul, no more beholds The pillars rise august and beautiful, Nor the dim grandeur of the roof that hangs Far, far above his head, but only sees The opening heaven-gates, and the white-robed bands Of spirits prostrate in adoring praise.

So shalt thou to thy death-hour find a friend, A gracious friend in Nature, and thy name, As the rapt traveller through thy fair domains Oft-lingering journeys, shall with gentle voice Be breathed amid the solitude, and link'd With those enlighten'd spirits that promote The happiness of others by their own, The consummation of all earthly joy.

LINES WRITTEN BY MOONLIGHT AT SEA.

Ah me! in dreams of struggling dread, Let foolish tears no more be shed, Tears wept on bended knee, Though years of absence slowly roll Between us and some darling soul Who lives upon the sea!

Weep, weep not for the mariner, Though distant far he roam, And have no lovely resting-place That he can call his home.

Friends hath he in the wilderness, And with those friends he lives in bliss Without one pining sigh!

The waves that round his vessel crowd, The guiding star, the breezy cloud, The music of the sky.

And, dearer even than Heaven's sweet light, He gazes on that wonder bright, When sporting with the gales, Or lying in a beauteous sleep Above her shadow in the deep, --The s.h.i.+p in which he sails.

Then weep not for the mariner!

He needeth not thy tears; From his soul the Ocean's midnight voice Dispels all mortal fears.

Quietly slumber shepherd-men In the silence of some inland glen, Lull'd by the gentlest sounds of air and earth; Yet as quietly rests the mariner, Nor wants for dreams as melting fair Amid the Ocean's mirth.

THE NAMELESS STREAM.

Gentle as dew, a summer shower In beauty bathed tree, herb, and flower, And told the stream to murmur on With quicker dance and livelier tone.

The mist lay steady on the fell, While l.u.s.tre steeped each smiling dell, Such wild and fairy contrast made The magic power of light and shade.

Through trees a little bridge was seen, Glittering with yellow, red, and green, As o'er the moss with playful glide The sunbeam danced from side to side, And made the ancient arch to glow Various as Heaven's reflected bow.

Within the dripping grove was heard Rustle or song of joyful bird; The stir of rapture fill'd the air From unseen myriads mingling there; Life lay entranced in sinless mirth, And Nature's hymn swam o'er the earth!

In this sweet hour of peace and love, I chanced from restless joy to move, When by my side a being stood Fairer than Naiad of the flood, Or her who ruled the forest scene In days of yore, the Huntress Queen.

Wildness, subdued by quiet grace, Played o'er the vision's radiant face, Radiant with spirit fit to steer Her flight around the starry sphere, Yet, willing to sink down in rest Upon a guardian mortal breast.

Her eyes were rather soft than bright, And, when a smile half-closed their light, They seem'd amid the gleam divine Like stars scarce seen through fair moons.h.i.+ne!

While ever, as, with sportive air, She lightly waved her cl.u.s.tering hair, A thousand gleams the motion made, Danced o'er the auburn's darker shade.

O MARY! I had known thee long, Amid the gay, the thoughtless throng, Where mien leaves modesty behind, And manner takes the place of mind; Where woman, though delightful still, Quits Nature's ease for Fas.h.i.+on's skill, Hides, by the gaudy gloss of art, The simple beauty of her heart, And, born to lift our souls to heaven, Strives for the gaze despised when given, Forgets her being's G.o.dlike power To s.h.i.+ne the wonder of an hour.

Oft had I sigh'd to think that thou, An angel fair, could stoop so low; And as with light and airy pride, 'Mid worldly souls I saw thee glide, Wasting those smiles that love with tears Might live on, all his blessed years, Regret rose from thy causeless mirth, That Heaven could thus be stain'd by Earth.

O vain regret! I should have known, Thy soul was strung to loftier tone, That wisdom bade thee joyful range Through worldly paths thou could'st not change, And look with glad and sparkling eye Even on life's cureless vanity.

--But now, thy being's inmost blood Felt the deep power of solitude.

From Heaven a sudden glory broke, And all thy angel soul awoke.

I hail'd the impulse from above, And friends.h.i.+p was sublimed to love.

Fair are the vales that peaceful sleep 'Mid mountain-silence, lone and deep, Sweet narrow lines of fertile earth, 'Mid frowns of horror, smiles of mirth!

Fair too the fix'd and floating cloud, The light obscure by eve bestowed, The sky's blue stillness, and the breast Of lakes, with all that stillness blest.

But dearer to my heart and eye, Than valley, mountain, lake, or sky, One nameless stream, whose happy flow Blue as the heavens, or white as snow, And gently-swelling sylvan side, By Mary's presence beautified, Tell ever of expected years, The wish that sighs, the bliss that fears, Till taught at last no more to roam, I wors.h.i.+p the bright Star of Home.

ART AND NATURE.

Sylph-like, and with a graceful pride, I saw the wild Louisa glide Along the dance's glittering row, With footsteps soft as falling snow.

On all around her smiles she pour'd, And though by all admired, adored, She seem'd to hold the homage light, And careless claim'd it as her right.

With syren voice the Lady sung: Love on her tones enraptured hung, While timid awe and fond desire Came blended from her witching lyre.

While thus, with unresisted art, The Enchantress melted every heart, Amid the glance, the sigh, the smile, Herself, unmoved and cold the while, With inward pity eyed the scene, Where all were subjects--she a Queen!

Again, I saw that Lady fair: Oh! what a beauteous change was there!

In a sweet cottage of her own She sat, and she was all alone, Save a young child she sung to rest On its soft bed, her fragrant breast.

With happy smiles and happy sighs, She kiss'd the infant's closing eyes, Then, o'er him in the cradle laid, Moved her dear lips as if she pray'd.

She bless'd him in his father's name: Lo! to her side that father came, And, in a voice subdued and mild, He bless'd the mother and her child!

I thought upon the proud saloon, And that Enchantress Queen; but soon, Far-off Art's fading pageant stole, And Nature fill'd my thoughtful soul!

SONNET I.

WRITTEN ON THE BANKS OF WASt.w.a.tER, DURING A STORM.

There is a lake hid far among the hills, That raves around the throne of solitude, Not fed by gentle streams, or playful rills, But headlong cataract and rus.h.i.+ng flood.

There, gleam no lovely hues of hanging wood, No spot of suns.h.i.+ne lights her sullen side; For horror shaped the wild in wrathful mood, And o'er the tempest heaved the mountain's pride.

If thou art one, in dark presumption blind, Who vainly deem'st no spirit like to thine, That lofty genius deifies thy mind, Fall prostrate here at Nature's stormy shrine, And as the thunderous scene disturbs thy heart, Lift thy changed eye, and own how low thou art.

SONNET II.