To waft them to some pleasant cave In the unknown gardens of the wave, That, hid from every human eye, Are happy in the smiling sky, And in their beauty win the love Of every orb that shines above. Fitz-Owen from his dream awakes, And gently in his arms he takes His gentle Maid, as a shepherd kind Brings from the killing mountain-wind A snow-white lamb, and lets it rest In sleep and beauty on his breast. And now the gentle fearless Maid Within the boat in peace is laid: Her limbs recline as if in sleep, Though almost resting on the deep; On his dear bosom leans her head, And through her long hair, wildly spread O'er all her face, her melting eyes Are lifted upwards to the skies,
In silent prayer that Heaven would save The arms that fold her from the grave.
The boat hath left the lonesome rock, And tries the wave again, And on she glides without a fear, So beauteous is the main. Her little sail beneath the sun Gleams radiant as the snow, And o'er the gently-heaving swell Bounds like a mountain-roe. In that frail bark the lovers sit, With steadfast face and silent breath, Following the guiding hope of life, Yet reconciled to death.
His arm is round her tender side, That moves beneath the press, With a mingled beat of solemn awe And virgin tenderness.
They speak not:-but the inward flow Of faith and dread, and joy and woe, Each from the other hears:
Long, long they gaze with meeting eyes, Then lift them slowly to the skies Steep'd in imploring tears.
And ever, as the rock recedes, They feel their spirits rise; And half forget that the smiling sea Caused all their miseries.
Yet safe to them is the trackless brine As some well-known and rural road Paced in their childhood; for they love Each other, and believe in God.
And well might the refulgent day These Ocean-Pilgrims cheer, And make them feel as if the glades Of home itself were near. For a living sentiment of joy, Such as doth sleep on hill and vale
When the friendly sun comes from his clouds The vernal bloom to hail,
Plays on the Ocean's sparkling breast, That, half in motion, half at rest,
And thus they sail, and sail along, Without one thought of fear; As calm as if the boatman's song Awoke an echoing chear,
O'er the hills that stretch in sylvan pride On the Bala Lake's romantic side. And lo! beneath the mellowing light, That trembles between day and night Before the Sun's decline,
As to the touch of fairy-hand Upstarting dim the nameless land Extends its mountain-line.
It is no cloud that steadfast lics Between the Ocean and the Skies; No image of a cloud, that flings Across the deep its shadowy wings; Such as oft cheats with visions fair The heart of home-sick mariner. It is the living Earth! They see From the shore a smile of amity That gently draws them on, Such a smile as o'er all Nature glows At a summer-evening's fragrant close, When the winds and rain are gone. The self-moved boat appears to seek With gladsome glide a home-like creek, In the centre of a bay,
Which the calm and quiet hills surround, And touch'd by waves without a sound, Almost as calm as they.
And, what if here fierce savage men Glare on them from some darksome den?-- What would become of this most helpless Maid? Fitz-Owen thinks:-but in her eye, So calmly bright, he can descry That she is not afraid
Of savage men or monsters wild, But is sublimely reconciled To meet and bear her destiny. A gentle rippling on the sand- One stroke of the dexterous oar-
The sail is furl'd: the boat is moor'd: And the Lovers walk the shore. To them it is an awful thought, From the wild world of waters brought By God's protecting hand,
When every Christian soul was lost, On that unknown, but beauteous coast, As in a dream to stand.
While their spirits with devotion burn, Their faces to the sea they turn, That lately seem'd their grave; And bless, in murmurs soft and low, The beautiful, the halcyon glow, That bathes the evening-wave. Before the setting sun they kneel, And through the silent air,
To Him that dwells on that throne of light They pour their souls in prayer.
Their thoughts are floating, like the clouds That seek the beauteous West, Their gentleness, their peace the same, The same their home of rest.
Now Night hath come with the cooling breeze,
And these Lovers still are on their knees.
On many are the beauteous isles Unknown to human eye,
That, sleeping 'mid the Ocean-smiles, In happy silence lie.
The Ship may pass them in the night, Nor the sailors know what a lovely sight Is resting on the Main;
Some wandering Ship who hath lost her
And never, or by night or day, Shall pass these isles again. There groves that bloom in endless spring Are rustling to the radiant wing Of birds, in various plumage bright, As rainbow-hues, or dawning light. Soft-falling showers of blossoms fair, Float ever on the fragrant air, Like showers of vernal snow, And from the fruit-tree, spreading tall, The richly ripen'd clusters fall Oft as sea-breezes blow.
The sun and clouds alone possess
The joy of all that loveliness;
And sweetly to each other smile
The live-long day-sun, cloud, and isle. Now silent lies each shelter'd bay!
No other visitors have they
To their shores of silvery sand,
How did I love to sigh and weep For those that sail'd upon the deep, When, yet a wondering child, I sat alone at dead of night, Hanging all breathless with delight O'er their adventures wild! Trembling I heard of dizzy shrouds, Where up among the raving clouds The, sailor-boy must go ;
Thunder and lightning o'er his head! And, should he fall-O thought of dread! Waves mountain-high below.
How leapt my heart with wildering fears, Gazing on savage islanders Ranged fierce in long canoe,
Their poison'd spears, their war-attire, And plumes twined bright, like wreaths of fire,
Round brows of dusky hue! What tears would fill my wakeful eyes When some delicious paradise, (As if a cloud had roll'd
On a sudden from the bursting sun) Freshening the Ocean where it shone, Flung wide its groves of gold! No more the pining Mariner In wild delirium raves,
For like an angel, kind and fair, That smiles, and smiling saves, The glory charms away distress, Serene in silent loveliness Amid the dash of waves.
And wouldst thou think it hard to dwell Alone within some sylvan cell,
Some fragrant arch of flowers,
Raised like a queen with gracious smile In the midst of this her subject isle, This labyrinth of bowers?
Could the fair earth, and fairer skies, Clouds, breezes, fountains, groves, To banish from thy heart suffice All thought of deeper loves? Or wouldst thou pine thy life away, To kiss once more the blessed ray That shines in human eyes?
What though the clustering roses came Like restless gleams of magic flame, As if they loved thy feet,
To win thee like a summer sprite, With purest touches of delight, To the Fairy-Queen's retreat!
Oh! they would bloom and wither too, And melt their pearls of radiant dew, Without one look from thee: What pleasure could that beauty give, Which, of all mortal things that live, None but thyself may see?
And where are the birds that cheer'd thing eyes,
With wings and crests of rainbow dyes,
Than the waves that, murmuring in their That wont for aye to glide
All hurrying in a joyful band Come dancing from the sca.
Like sunbeams through the shady bowers Charming away the happy hours
With songs of love or pride?
Soon, soon thou hatest this Paradise; It seems the soul hath fled That made it fairer than the skies, And a joyful beauty shed
O'er the tremor of the circling wave, That now with restless moans and sighs Sounds like the dirge-song of the dead, Dim breaking round a grave.
But she thou lovest is at thy side, The Island-Queen becomes thy bride, And God and Nature sanctify the vow; Air, Earth, and Ocean smile once more, And along the forest-fringed shore, What mirth and music now!
What warm and heavenly tints illume The land that lately seem'd a tomb Where thou wert left to die!
So bathed in joy this earth appears To him, who, blind for lingering years, At last beholds the sky.
Thy heart was like an untouch'd lyre, Silent as death-Let the trembling wire The hand that knows its spirit feel; And list! What melting murmurs steal Like incense to the realms above, Such sounds as parted souls might love. And now if a home-bound vessel lay At anchor in yon beauteous bay,
'Till the land-breeze her canvas wings should swell,
From the sweet Isle thou scarce wouldst part,
But, when thou didst, thy lingering heart Would sadly say: Farewell!
In such a Fairy-Isle now pray'd Fitz-Owen and his darling Maid. The setting sun, with a pensive glow, Had bathed their foreheads bending low, Nor ceased the voice, or the breath of their prayer,
Till the moonlight lay on the mellow'd air. Then from the leaves they calmly rose, As after a night of calm repose, And Mary lean'd her face
With a sob of joy on her Lover's breast, Who with kind tones the Maiden press'd In a holy pure embrace.
And gently he kiss'd her tearful eyes, And bade her heart lie still,
For there was a power in the gracious skies, To shield their saints from ill. Then, guided by the moon-light pale, They walk'd into a sylvan vale, Soft, silent, warm, and deep; And there beneath her languid head, The silken wither'd leaves he spread, That she might sweetly sleep.
Then down he sat by her tender side, And, as she lay, with soft touch dried The stealing tears she could not hide; Till sleep, like a faint shadow, fell O'er the huskt face he loved so well,
And smiling dreams were given
To cheer her heart; then down he laid His limbs beside the sleeping Maid, In the face of the starry Heaven.
Sleep fell upon their wearied souls With a power as deep as death; Scarce trembled Mary's floating hair In her Lover's tranquil breath. In that still trance did dear thoughts come From the brook, and the glade, and the sky, of home,
And the gentle sound of her mother's voice Bade Mary's slumbering soul rejoice. For she in dreams to Wales hath flown, And sits in a cottage of her own, Beneath its sheltering tree: Fitz-Owen's eye is fix'd on hers, While with a timid smile she stirs Beside her mother's knee.
But the rising sun hath pour'd his beams Into her heart, and broke her dreams; Slowly she lifts her eyes,
And, wondering at the change, looks round, Upon that wild enchanted ground, And these delightful skies.
Over her Lover's breast she breathes A blessing and a prayer, And gently they stir his sleeping soul, Like the voice of the morning-air. Soon as the first surprise is past, They rise from their leafy bed, As cheerful as the new-woke birds That sing above their head. And trusting in the merciful Power That saved them in that dismal hour When the ship sank in the sea,
Cheering their souls with many a smile They walk through the woods of this nameless Isle
In undisturb'd tranquillity.
Well might they deem that wizard's wand Had set them down in Fairy-land, Or that their souls some beauteous dream obey'd:
They know not where to look or listen, For pools and streams of crystal glisten Above, around,-embracing like the air The soft-reflected trees; while everywhere From shady nook, clear hill, and sunny glade, The ever-varying soul of music play'd; As if, at some capricious thing's command, Indulging every momentary mood,
With voice and instrument, a fairy-band Beneath some echoing precipice now stood, Now on steep mountain's rocky battlement, Or from the clouds their blended chorus sent, With jocund din to mock the solitude. They gaze with never-sated eyes On lengthening lines of flowery dyes, That through the woods, and up the moun- tains run: Not richer radiance robes the Even,
When she ascends her throne in Heaven, Beside the setting sun.
Scattering the blossomy gems away, Like the white shower of the ocean-spray, Across their path for ever glide or shoot Birds of such beauty, as might lead The soul to think that magic power decreed Spirits to dwell therein; nor are they mute,
But each doth chant his own beloved strain, For ever trembling on a natural tune, The heart's emotions seeming so to suit, That the rapt Lovers are desiring soon, That silence never may return again.
A cheerful welcome these bright creatures
And as the Lovers roam from glade to glade, That shine with sunlight, and with music ring,
Seems but for them the enchanted island made.
So strong the influence of the fairy-scene, That soon they feel as if for many a year In love and rapture they had linger'd here, While with the beauteous things that once have been
Long, long ago, or only in the mind By Fancy imaged, lies their native Wales, Its dim-seen hills, and all its streamy vales: Sounds in their souls its rushing mountain-
Like music heard in youth, remember'd well, But when or where it rose they cannot tell. Delightful woods, and many a cloudless sky, Are in their memory strangely floating by, But the faint pageant slowly melts away, And to the living earth they yield Their willing hearts, as if reveal'd In all its glory on this mystic day. Like fire, strange flowers around them flame, Sweet, harmless fire, breathed from some magic urn,
The silky gossamer that may not burn, Too wildly beautiful to bear a name. And when the. Ocean sends a breeze, To wake the music sleeping in the trees, Trees scarce they seem to be; for many a flower,
Radiant as dew, or ruby polish'd bright, Glances on every spray, that bending light Around the stem, in variegated bows, Appear like some awaken'd fountain-shower, That with the colour of the evening glows.
And towering o'er these beauteous woods, Gigantic rocks were ever dimly seen, Breaking with solemn gray the tremulous
Chequering the clouds with their unbending stems,
And o'er the clouds amid the dark-blue skies, Lifting their rich unfading diadems. How calm and placidly they rest Upon the Heavens' indulgent breast, As if their branches never breeze had known! Light bathes them aye in glancing showers, And Silence mid their lofty bowers Sits on her moveless throne. Entranced there the Lovers gaze, Till every human fear decays, And bliss steals slowly through their quiet souls;
Though ever lost to human kind And all they love, they are resign'd: While with a scarce-heard murmur rolls, Like the waves that break along the shore, The sound of the world they must see no
List! Mary is the first to speak, Her tender voice still tenderer in her bliss; And breathing o'er her silent husband's cheek, As from an infant's lip, a timid kiss, Whose, touch at once all lingering sorrow calms,
Says: God to us in love hath given A home on earth, most like to Heaven, Our own sweet ISLE OF PALMS.
And where shall these happy lovers dwell? Shall they seek in the cliffs for some mossy cell?
Some wilder haunt than ever hermit knew? Where they may shun the mid-day heat, And slumber in a safe retreat, When evening sheds her dew; Or shall they build a leafy nest, Where they like birds may sport and rest, By clustering bloom preserved from sun and rain,
Upon some little radiant mound Within reach of the freshening sound That murmurs from the Main? No farther need their footsteps roam: Even where they stand, a sylvan home Steals like a thought upon their startled sight;
For Nature's breath with playful power Hath framed an undecaying bower, With colours heavenly bright. Beyond a green and level lawn, Its porch and roof of roses dawn Through arching trees that lend a mellow- ing shade. How gleams the bower with countless dyes! Unwearied spring fresh bloom supplies, Still brightning where they fade. Two noble Palms, the forest's pride, Guarding the bower on either side, Their straight majestic stems to Heaven "prear:
And frowning far in castellated pride; While, hastening to the Ocean, hoary floods Sent up a thin and radiant mist between, Softening the beauty that it could not hide. Lo! higher still the stately Palm-trees rise, | Hath nought on earth to fear.
There Beauty sleeps in Grandeur's arms, And sheltered there from all alarms,
The Dwellers in that lovely bower,
If mortal shape may breathe such blessed air, | Your almost hopeless souls:—how bold Might gaze on it from morn till evening-hour, It seems to lie, all danger o’er,
Nor wish for other sight more touching fair. | A speck amid the fluid gold
Why look abroad? All things are here Delightful to the eye and ear,
And fragrance pure as light floats all around. But if they look-those mystic gleams, The glory we adore in dreams, May here in truth be found. Fronting the bower, eternal woods. Darkening the mountain-solitudes, With awe the soul oppress:
There dwells, with shadowy glories crown'd, Rejoicing in the gloom profound, The Spirit of the Wilderness. Lo! stretching inward on the right, A winding vale eludes the sight,
But where it dies the happy soul must dream: Oh! never sure beneath the sun, Along such lovely banks did run So musical a stream.
But who shall dare in thought to paint Yon fairy-waterfall?
Still moisten'd by the misty showers, From fiery-red, to yellow soft and faint, Fantastic bands of fearless flowers Sport o'er the rocky wall;
And ever, through the shrouding spray, Whose diamonds glance as bright as they, Float birds of graceful form, and gorgeous plumes,
Or dazzling white as snow; While, as the passing sun illumes The river's bed, in silent pride Spanning the cataract roaring wide, Unnumber'd rainbows glow.
But turn around, if thou hast power To leave a scene so fair,
And looking left-wards from the bower, What glory meets thee there! For lo! the heaven-encircled Sea Outspreads his dazzling pageantry, As if the whole creation were his own, And the Isle, on which thy feet now stand, In beauty rose at his command, And for his joy alone.
Beyond his billows rolling bright, The Spirit dares not wing her flight; For where, upon the boundless deep, Should she, if wearied, sink to sleep? Back to the beauteous Isle of Palms Glad she returns; there constant calms The bays, that sleep like inland-lakes,invest: Delightful all;-but to your eyes, O blessed Pair! one circlet lies More fair than all the rest.
At evening, through that silent bay With beating hearts ye steer'd your way, Yet trusting in the guiding love of Heaven; And there, upon your bended knees, To the unseen Pilot of the Seas Your speechless prayers were given. From your bower-porch the skiff behold
That burns along the shore!
Five cloudless days have, from the placid deep,
In glory risen o'er this refulgent Isle, And still the Sun retired to rest too soon; And each night with more gracious smile, Guarding the lovers when they sleep, Hath watch'd the holy Moon. Through many a dim and dazzling glade, They in their restless joy have stray'd, In many a grot reposed, and twilight-cave; Have wander'd round each ocean-bay, And gazed where inland-waters lay Serene as night, and bright as day, Untouch'd by wind or wave.
Happy their doom, though strange and wild, And soon their souls are reconciled For ever here to live, and here to die. Why should they grieve? a constant mirth With music fills the air and earth, And beautifies the sky.
High on the rocks the wild-flowers shine In beauty bathed, and joy divine: In their dark nooks to them are given The sunshine and the dews of Heaven. The fish that dart like silver-gleams Are happy in their rock-bound streams, Happy as they that roam the Ocean's breast; Though far away on sounding wings Yon bird could fly, content he sings Around his secret nest.
And shall the Monarchs of this Isle Lament, when one unclouded smile Hangs like perpetual spring on every wood? And often in their listening souls
By a delightful awe subdued,
God's voice, like mellow thunder, rolls All through the silent solitude.
Five days have fled!--The Sun again, Like an angel, o'er the brightening Main Uplifts his radiant head;
And full upon yon dewy bower, The warm tints of the dawning hour Mid warmer still are shed.
The Sun pours not his light in vain On them who therein dwell:-a strain Of pious music, through the morning-calm Wakening unwonted echoes, wildly rings, And kneeling there to Mercy's fane, While flowers supply their incense-balm, At the foot of yon majestic Palm The Maid her matins sings.
It is the Sabbath-morn:-since last From Heaven it shone, what awful things, have past!
In their beloved vessel as it roll'd In pride and beauty o'er the waves of gold, Then were they sailing free from all alarms,
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