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Away we go-and what care we
For treasons, tumults, and for wars?
We are as calm in our delight
As is the crescent-moon so bright
Among the scattered stars.
Up goes my boat among the stars Through many a breathless field of light, Through many a long blue field of ether, Leaving ten thousand stars beneath her. Up goes my little boat so bright!
The Crab—the Scorpion-and the BullWe pry among them all-have shot High o'er the red-haired race of Mars, Covered from top to toe with scars; Such company I like it not!
The towns in Saturn are decayed,
And melancholy spectres throng them;
The Pleiads, that appear to kiss
Each other in the vast abyss,
With joy I sail among them!
Swift Mercury resounds with mirth,
Great Jove is full of stately bowers;
But these, and all that they contain,
What are they to that tiny grain,
That little earth of ours?
Then back to earth, the dear green earth;
Whole ages if I here should roam,
The world for my remarks and me
Would not a whit the better be;
I've left my heart at home.
And there it is, the matchless earth!
There spreads the famed Pacific Ocean !
Old Andes thrusts yon craggy spear
Through the gray clouds--the Alps are here,
Like waters in commotion !
Yon tawny slip is Libya's sands-
That silver thread the river Dnieper-
And look where, clothed in brightest green,
Is a sweet isle, of isles the queen;
Ye fairies, from all evil keep her!
And see the town where I was born!
Around those happy fields we span
In boyish gambols—I was lost
Where I have been, but on this coast
I feel I am a man.
Never did fifty things at once
Appear so lovely, never, never,-
How tunefully the forests ring?
To hear the earth's soft murmuring
Thus could I hang for ever!
“ Shame on you!” cried my little boat,
“Was ever such a homesick loon,
Within a living boat to sit,
And make no better use of it, -
A boat twin-sister of the crescent-moon!
“Ne'er in the breast of full-grown poet
Fluttered so faint a heart before ;
Was it the music of the spheres
That overpowered your mortal ears!
Such din shall trouble them no more,
“These nether precincts do not lack
Charms of their own;—then come with me-
I want a comrade, and for you
There's nothing that I would not do;
Nought is there that you shall not see.
“Haste ! and above Siberian snows
We'll sport amid the boreal morning,
Will mingle with her lustres, gliding
Among the stars, the stars now hiding,
And now the stars adorning.
“I know the secrets of a land
Where human foot did never stray;
Fair is that land as evening skies,
And cool,—though in the depth it lies
Of burning Africa.
“Or we'll into the realms of fairy,
Among the lovely shades of things,
The shadowy forms of mountains bare,
And streams, and bowers, and ladies fair,
The shades of palaces and kings!
“Or, if you thirst with hardy zeal
Less quiet regions to explore,
Prompt voyage shall to you reveal
How heaven and earth are taught to feel
The might of magic lore!"
“My little vagrant form of light,
My gay and beautiful canoe,
Well have you played your friendly part;
As kindly take what from my heart
Experience forces—then adieu !
“Temptation lurks among your words;
But, while these pleasures you're pursuing
Without impediment or let,
My radiant pinnace, you forget
What on the earth is doing.
“There was a time when all mankind
Did listen with a faith sincere
To tuneful tongues in mystery versed;
Then poets fearlessly rehearsed
The wonders of a wild career.
“Go-but the world's a sleepy world,
And 'tis, I fear, an age too late;-
Take with you some ambitious youth;
For, restless wanderer! I, in truth,
Am all unfit to be your mate.
“Long have I loved what I behold,
The night that calms, the day that cheers;
The common growth of mother earth
Suffices me-her tears, her mirth,
Her humblest mirth and tears.
“The dragon's wing, the magic ring,
I shall not covet for my dower,
If I along that lowly way
With sympathetic heart may stray,
And with a soul of power.
“These given, what more need I desire
To stir--to soothe-or elevate?
What nobler marvels than the mind
May in life's daily prospect find,
May find or there create ?
“ A potent wand doth sorrow wield;
What spell so strong as guilty fear!
Repentance is a tender sprite;
If aught on earth have heavenly might,
'Tis lodged within her silent tear.
“But grant my wishes,-let us now
Descend from this ethereal height;
Then take thy way, adventurous skiff,
More daring far than hippogriff,
And be thy own delight!
"To the stone table in my garden,
Loved haunt of many a summer hour,
The squire is come; his daughter Bess
Beside him in the cool recess
Sits blooming like a flower.
" With these are many more convened;
They know not I have been so far-
I see them there, in number nine,
Beneath the spreading Weymouth pine-
I see them-there they are!
“There sits the vicar and his dame;
And there my good friend, Stephen Otter:
And, ere the light of evening fail,
To them I must relate the tale
Of Peter Bell the potter.”
Off flew my sparkling boat in scorn,
Spurning her freight with indignation ;
And I, as well as I was able,
On two poor legs, toward my stone table
Limped on with some vexation.