Haunted by unconscious knowledge
Of its clouds above.
Doth her heart call up one image,
Unavowed how dear?
For acknowledged hope too timid,
Yet too fond for fear?
Will the stately dark-eyed warrior
Bear her to his tent ?-
Yet, with dreaming of her lover,
What sad thoughts are blent!
When they fling the veil, rose-coloured,
O'er the parting bride;
Not alone does it hide blushes
It has tears to hide.
I'LL tell thee why this weary world mescemeth
But as the visions light of one who dreameth,
Which pass like clouds, leaving no trace behind;
Why this strange life, so full of sin and folly,
In me awakeneth no melancholy,
Nor leaveth shade, or sadness, on my mind.
"Tis not that with an undiscerning eye
I see the pageant wild go dancing by,
Mistaking that which falsest is, for true;
"Tis not that pleasure hath entwined me,
'Tis not that sorrow hath enshrined me;
I bear no badge of roses or of rue,
But in the inmost chambers of my soul
There is another world, a blessed home,
O'er which no living pow'r holdeth control,
Anigh to which ill things do never come.
There shineth the glad sunlight of clear thought,
With hope, and faith, holding communion high,
Over a fragrant land with flow'rs ywrought,
Where gush the living springs of poesy,
There speak the voices that I love to hear,
There smile the glances that I love to see,
There live the forms of those my soul holds dear,
For ever,
in that secret world, with me.
They who have walked with me along life's way,
And sever'd been by fortune's adverse tide,
Who ne'er again, thro' time's uncertain day,
In weal or woe, may wander by my side;
These all dwell here: nor these, whom life alone
Divideth from me, but the dead, the dead;
Those weary ones who to their rest are gone,
Whose foot-prints from the earth have vanished;
Here dwell they all: and here within this world,
Like light within a summer sun cloud furl'd,
My spirit dwells. Therefore, this evil life,
THE THIRD THOUGHT THE BEST.
With all its gilded snares, and fair deceivings, Its wealth, its want, its pleasures, and its grievings,
Nor frights, nor frets me, by its idle strife.
O thou! who readest, of thy courtesy,
Whoe'er thou art, I wish the same to thee!
THE THIRD THOUGHT THE BEST.
THROUGH bright, delicious summer hours,
The golden sun was shining,
On mossy banks and beds of flowers,
While, in the wood reclining,
Around me visions fill'd the air:
The elfin king and queen,
And all their folk, in garments rare,
Were dancing in the sheen.
And then said I, " Afar from strife,
From every toil and care,
Sure there must be a happy life
Found here, if any where !"—
Then breath'd a voice the greenwood through"That is not true."
Then came the winter long and drear,
And, in my hut alone,
I sat and watch'd the fading year,
And thus began to moan:
"And this is life! if blooms a flower,
The frost must cut it down;
Soon fades the beauteous summer-hour
Before the winter's frown.
And this is life! a dreary scene-
Dead earth and sullen sky-
Better had summer never been
Than only bloom to die!"
Then breath'd a voice my casement through— "That is not true."
But, when the spring-time budded out,
Forth from my hut I went,
And, saved from many a gloomy doubt,
Thus utter'd my intent:-
"Yes, this is life! a constant sky
Shines all the clouds above-
So lives, while signs and shadows die,
An everlasting love!
I'll live in love, right faithfully,
Through bright and gloomy hours: The bright shall cheer my constancy, The dark shall try its powers."
Then breath'd a voice all Nature through
"Ay! That is true!"
ON THE MONUMENT TO SOUTHEY, KESWICK.
"YE torrents foaming down the rocky steeps,
Ye lakes wherein the Spirit of Water sleeps,
Ye vales and hills, whose beauty hither drew
The Poet's steps, and fixed him here, on you.
His eyes have closed; and ye, loved books, no
Shall Southey feed upon your precious lore,
To works that ne'er shall forfeit their renown,
Adding immortal labours of his own:
Whether he traced historic truth with zeal
For the State's guidance, or the Church's weal;
Or Fancy, disciplined by studious Art,
Informed his pen, or Wisdom of the heart,
Or Judgments sanctioned in the patriot's mind
By reverence for the rights of all mankind.
Large were his aims, yet in no human breast
Could private feelings find a holier nest.
His joys, his griefs, have vanished like a cloud
From Skiddaw's top; but he to Heaven was vowed
Through a long life, and calmed by Christian faith
In his pure soul the fear of change and death."
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