HAD this effulgence disappeared With flying haste, I might have sent, Among the speechless clouds, a look Of blank astonishment; But 'tis endued with power to stay, And sanctify one closing day, That frail Mortality may see- What is ?-ah no, but what can be! Time was when field and watery cove With modulated echoes rang,
While choirs of fervent Angels sang Their vespers in the grove; Or, crowning, star-like, each some sovereign height,
Warbled, for heaven above and earth below, Strains suitable to both.-Such holy rite, Methinks, if audibly repeated now From hill or valley, could not move Sublimer transport, purer love,
Than doth this silent spectacle-the gleam— The shadow-and the peace supreme!
No sound is uttered,-but a deep And solemn harmony pervades The hollow vale from steep to steep, Far-distant images draw nigh, And penetrates the glades. Called forth by wondrous potency Of beamy radiance, that imbues Whate'er it strikes with gem-like hues ! In vision exquisitely clear, Herds range along the mountain side; And glistening antlers are descried ; And gilded flocks appear.
Thine is the tranquil hour, purpureal Eve! But long as god-like wish, or hope divine, Informs my spirit, ne'er can I believe That this magnificence is wholly thine ! -From worlds not quickened by the sun A portion of the gift is won;
An intermingling of Heaven's pomp is spread On ground which British shepherds tread!
And, if there be whom broken ties Afflict, or injuries assail, Yon hazy ridges to their eyes Present a glorious scale,
Climbing suffused with sunny air, To stop-no record hath told where ! And tempting Fancy to ascend, And with immortal Spirits blend! -Wings at my shoulders seem to play; But, rooted here, I stand and gaze
On those bright steps that heaven-ward raise Their practicable way.
Come forth, ye drooping old men, look abroad, And see to what fair countries ye are bound! And if some traveller, weary of his road, Hath slept since noon-tide on the grassy ground,
Ye Genii! to his covert speed;
And wake him with such gentle heed
As may attune his soul to meet the dower Bestowed on this transcendent hour!
COMPOSED BY THE SEA-SHORE.
WHAT mischief cleaves to unsubdued regret, How fancy sickens by vague hopes beset; How baffled projects on the spirit prey, And fruitless wishes eat the heart away, The Sailor knows; he best, whose lot is cast On the relentless sea that holds him fast On chance dependent, and the fickle star Of power, through long and melancholy war. O sad it is, in sight of foreign shores, Daily to think on old familiar doors, Hearths loved in childhood, and ancestral
Or, tossed about along a waste of foam, To ruminate on that delightful home Which with the dear Betrothed was to come; Or came and was and is, yet meets the eye Never but in the world of memory; Or in a dream recalled, whose smoothest range
The multiplication of mountain-ridges, de
scribed at the commencement of the third Stanza of this Ode, as a kind of Jacob's Ladder, leading to Heaven, is produced either by watery vapours, or sunny haze;--in the present instance by the latter cause. Allusions to the Ode, entitled Intimations of Immortality,' pervade the last stanza of the foregoing Poem.
Is crossed by knowledge, or by dread, of change,
And if not so, whose perfect joy makes sleep A thing too bright for breathing man to keep. Hail to the virtues which that perilous life Extracts from Nature's elemental strife: And welcome glory won in battles fought As bravely as the foe was keenly sought. But to each gallant Captain and his crew A less imperious sympathy is due, Such as my verse now yields, while moon- beams play
On the mute sea in this unruffled bay; Such as will promptly flow from every breast, Where good men, disappointed in the quest Of wealth and power and honours, long for
Or, having known the splendours of success, Sigh for the obscurities of happiness.
THE Crescent-moon, the Star of Love, Glories of evening, as ye there are seen With but a span of sky between- Speak one of you, my doubts remove, Which is the attendant Page and which the Queen?
(COMPOSED BY THE SEA-SIDE,-ON THE COAST OF CUMBERLAND.)
WANDERER! that stoop'st so low, and com'st
To human life's unsettled atmosphere; Who lov'st with Night and Silence to partake, So might it seem, the cares of them that wake; And, through the cottage-lattice softly peep- ing,
Dost shield from harm the humblest of the sleeping;
What pleasure once encompassed those sweet
Which yet in thy behalf the Poet claims, An idolising dreamer as of yore!
I slight them all; and, on this sea-beat shore Sole-sitting, only can to thoughts attend That tid me hail thee as the SAILOR'S FRIEND; So call thee for heaven's grace through thee made known
By confidence supplied and mercy shown, Abates the perils of a stormy night; When not a twinkling star or beacon's light And for less obvious benefits, that find Their way, with thy pure help, to heart and
Both for the adventurer starting in life's prime: And veteran ranging round from clime to clime,
Long-bafiled hope's slow fever in his veins, And wounds and weakness oft his labour's sole
The aspiring Mountains and the winding Streams,
Empress of Night! are gladdened by thy beams;
A look of thine the wilderness pervades, And penetrates the forest's inmost shades;
Thou, chequering peaceably the minster's gloom,
Guid'st the pale Mourner to the lost one's tomb; Canst reach the Prisoner-to his grated cell Welcome, though silent and intangible !- And lives there one, of all that come and go On the great waters toiling to and fro, One, who has watched thee at some quiet hour Enthroned aloft in undisputed power, Or crossed by vapoury streaks and clouds that
Catching the lustre they in part reprove- Nor sometimes felt a fitness in thy sway To call up thoughts that shun the glare of day, And make the serious happier than the gay?
Yes, lovely Moon! if thou so mildly bright Dost rouse, yet surely in thy own despite, To fiercer mood the phrenzy-stricken brain, Let me a compensating faith maintain; That there's a sensitive, a tender, part Which thou canst touch in every human heart, For healing and composure.-But, as least And mightiest billows ever have confessed Thy domination; as the whole vast Sea Feels through her lowest depths thy sove- reignty;
So shines that countenance with especial grace On them who urge the keel her plains to trace Furrowing its way right onward. The most rude,
Cut off from home and country, may have
Even till long gazing hath bedimmed his eye, Or the mute rapture ended in a sigh- Touched by accordance of thy placid cheer, With some internal lights to memory dear, Or fancies stealing forth to soothe the breast Tired with its daily share of earth's unrest, Gentle awakenings, visitations meek; A kindly influence whereof few will speak, Though it can wet with tears the hardiest cheek.
And when thy beauty in the shadowy cave Is hidden, buried in its monthly grave; Then, while the Sailor, 'mid an open sea Swept by a favouring wind that leaves thought free,
Paces the deck-no star perhaps in sight, And nothing save the moving ship's own light To cheer the long dark hours of vacant night- Oft with his musings does thy image blend, In his mind's eye thy crescent horns ascend, And thou art still, O Moon, that SAILOR'S FRIEND!
QUEEN of the stars !-so gentle, so benign, That ancient Fable did to thee assign, When darkness creeping o'er thy silver brow Warned thee these upper regions to forego, Alternate empire in the shades below-
A Bard, who, lately near the wide-spread sea Traversed by gleaming ships, looked up to thee With grateful thoughts, doth now thy rising
From the close confines of a shadowy vale. Glory of night, conspicuous yet serene, Nor less attractive when by glimpses seen Through cloudy umbrage, well might that fair face,
And all those attributes of modest grace, In days when Fancy wrought unchecked by fear,
Down to the green earth fetch thee from thy sphere,
To sit in leafy woods by fountains clear!
O still belov'd (for thine, meek Power, are charms
That fascinate the very Babe in arms While he, uplifted towards thee, laughs outright,
Spreading his little palms in his glad Mother's sight)
O still belov'd, once worshipped! Time, that frowns In his destructive flight on earthly crowns, Spares thy mild splendour; still those far-shot beams
Tremble on dancing waves and rippling streams With stainless touch, as chaste as when thy praise
Was sung by Virgin-choirs in festal lays; And through dark trials still dost thou explore Thy way for increase punctual as of yore, When teeming Matrons-yielding to rude faith In mysteries of birth and life and death And painful struggle and deliverance-prayed Of thee to visit them with lenient aid. What though the rites be swept away, the fanes Extinct that echoed to the votive strains; Yet thy mild aspect does not, cannot, cease Love to promote and purity and peace; And Fancy, unreproved, even yet may trace Faint types of suffering in thy beamless face.
Then, silent Monitress! let us-not blind To worlds unthought of till the searching mind Of Science laid them open to mankind- Told, also, how the voiceless heavens declare God's glory; and acknowledging thy share In that blest charge; let us- without offence To aught of highest, holiest, influence-- Receive whatever good 'tis given thee to dis- pense.
May sage and simple, catching with one eye The moral intimations of the sky,
Learn from thy course, where'er their own be taken,
"To look on tempests, and be never shaken;" To keep with faithful step the appointed way Eclipsing or eclipsed, by night or day, And from example of thy monthly range Gently to brook decline and fatal change; Meek, patient, stedfast, and with loftier scope, Than thy revival yields, for gladsome hope! 1835.
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