RECORDS OF THE SPRING OF 1834
AND ye are strong to shelter!-all meek things,
All that need home and covert, love your shade!
Birds, of shy song, and low-voiced quiet springs,
And nun-like violets, by the wind betray'd.
Childhood beneath your fresh green tents hath play'd
With his first primrose-wealth: there love hath sought
A veiling gloom for his unutter'd thought;
And silent grief, of day's keen glare afraid,
A refuge for her tears; and ofttimes there
Hath lone devotion found a place of prayer,
A native temple, solemn, hush'd, and dim;
For wheresoe'er your murmuring tremors thrill
The woody twilight, there man's heart hath still
Confess'd a spirit's breath, and heard a ceaseless hymn.
XIII. ON READING PAUL AND VIRGINIA IN
CHILDHOOD.
O GENTLE story of the Indian isle !
I loved thee in my lonely childhood well
On the sea-shore, when day's last purple smile
Slept on the waters, and their hollow swell
And dying cadence lent a deeper spell
Unto thine ocean-pictures. 'Midst thy palms
And strange bright birds, my fancy joy'd to dwell,
And watch the southern cross through midnight calms,
And track the spicy woods. Yet more I bless'd
Thy vision of sweet love; kind, trustful, true,
Lighting the citron groves a heavenly guest,
With such pure smiles as Paradise once knew.
Even then my young heart wept o'er the world's power,
To reach and blight that holiest Eden flower.
XIV-A THOUGHT AT SUNSET.
STILL that last look is solemn! though thy rays,
O sun! to-morrow will give back, we know,
The joy to nature's heart. Yet through the glow
Of clouds that mantle thy decline, our gaze
Tracks thee with love half fearful; and in days
When earth too much adored thee, what a swell
Of mournful passion, deepening mighty lays,
Told how the dying bade thy light farewell,
O sun of Greece! O glorious, festal sun!
Lost, lost!-for them thy golden hours were done,
And darkness lay before them! Happier far
Are we, not thus to thy bright wheels enchain'd,
Not thus for thy last parting unsustain'd,
Heirs of a purer day, with its unsetting star.
XV.-IMAGES OF PATRIARCHAL LIFE.
CALM scenes of patriarch life!-how long a power
Your unworn pastoral images retain
O'er the true heart, which in its childhood's hour
Drank their pure freshness deep! The camels' train
Winding in patience o'er the desert plain-
The tent, the palm-tree, the reposing flock,
The gleaming fount, the shadow of the rock,
Oh! by how subtle, yet how strong a chain,
And in the influence of its touch how bless'd,
Are these things link'd, in many a thoughtful breast,
To household memories, for all change endear'd!
The matin bird, the ripple of a stream
Beside our native porch-the hearth-light's gleam
The voices, earliest by the soul revered!
XVI.-ATTRACTION OF THE EAST
WHAT Secret current of man's nature turns
Unto the golden east with ceaseless flow?
Still, where the sunbeam at its fountain burns,
The pilgrim spirit would adore and glow;
Rapt in high thoughts, though weary, faint and slow
Still doth the traveller through the deserts wind
Led by those old Chaldean stars, which know
Where pass'd the shepherd fathers of mankind.
Is it some quenchless instinct, which from far
Still points to where our alienated home
Lay in bright peace? O thou true eastern star
Saviour! atoning Lord! where'er we roam,
Draw still our hearts to thee; else, else how vain
Their hope, the fair lost birthright to regain!
XVII. TO AN AGED FRIEND.*
Not long thy voice amongst us may be heard,
Servant of God!-thy day is almost done;
The charm now lingering in thy look and word
Is that which hangs about thy setting sun,
That which the spirit of decay hath won
Still from revering love. Yet doth the sense
Of life immortal-progress but begun-
Pervade thy mien with such clear eloquence,
That hope, not sadness, breathes from thy decline;
And the loved flowers which round thee smile farewell
Of more than vernal glory seem to tell,
By thy pure spirit touch'd with light divine;
*The late Dr. Percival of Dublin
RECORDS OF THE SPRING OF 1834.
While we, to whom its parting gleams are given,
Forget the grave in trustful thoughts of heaven.
COME forth, and let us through our hearts receive
The joy of verdure !-see, the honied lime
Showers cool green light o'er banks where wildflowers weave
Thick tapestry; and woodbine tendrils climb
Up the brown oak from buds of moss and thyme.
The rich deep masses of the sycamore
Hang heavy with the fulness of their prime,
And the white poplar, from its foliage hoar,
Scatters forth gleams like moonlight, with each gale
That sweeps the boughs:-the chestnut flowers are past,
The crowning glories of the hawthorn fail,
But arches of sweet eglantine are cast
From every hedge:-Oh! never may we lose,
Dear friend! our fresh delight in simplest nature's hues!
FATHER in Heaven! from whom the simplest flower
On the high Alps or fiery desert thrown,
Draws not sweet odor or young life alone,
But the deep virtue of an inborn power
To cheer the wanderer in his fainting hour,
With thoughts of Thee; to strengthen, to infuse
Faith, love, and courage, by the tender hues
That speak thy presence; oh! with such a dower
Grace thou my song! -the precious gift bestow
From thy pure Spirit's treasury divine,
To wake one tear of purifying flow,
To soften one wrung heart for Thee and thine;
So shall the life breathed through the lowly strain,
Be as the meek wildflower's-if transient, yet not vain.
XX.-PRAYER CONTINUED.
"What in me is dark
Illumine; what is low raise and support."-Milton.
FAR are the wings of intellect astray,
That strive not, Father! to thy heavenly seat;
They rove, but mount not; and the tempests beat
Still on their plumes:-O source of mental day!
Chase from before my spirit's track the array
Of mists and shadows, raised by earthly care
In troubled hosts that cross the purer air,
And veil the opening of the starry way.
Which brightens on thee!-Oh! guide thou right
My thought's weak pinion, clear mine inward sight,
The eternal springs of beauty to discern,
Welling beside thy throne; unseal mine ear,
Nature's true oracles in joy to hear:
Keep my soul wakeful still to listen and to learn.
XXI.-MEMORIAL OF A CONVERSATION.
YES! all things tell us of a birthright lost,
A brightness from our nature pass'd away!
Wanderers we seem, that from an alien coast,
Would turn to where their Father's mansion lay,
And but by some lone flower, that 'midst decay
Smiles mournfully, or by some sculptured stone,
Revealing dimly, with grey moss o'ergrown,
The faint-worn impress of its glory's day,
Can trace their once-free heritage; though dreams
Fraught with its picture, oft in startling gleams
Flash o'er their souls.-But One, oh! One alone,
For us the ruin'd fabric may rebuild,,
And bid the wilderness again be fill'd,
With Eden-flowers-One, mighty to atone !
RECORDS OF THE AUTUMN OF 1834.
I. THE RETURN TO POETRY.
ONCE more the eternal melodies from far
Woo me like songs of home: once more discerning
Through fitful clouds the pure majestic star,
Above the poet's world serenely burning,
Thither my soul, fresh-wing'd by love is turning,
As o'er the waves the wood-bird seeks her nest,
For those green heights of dewy stillness yearning,
Whence glorious minds o'erlook this earth's unrest.
-Now be the spirit of Heaven's truth my guide
Through the bright land!-that no brief gladness found
In passing bloom, rich odor, or sweet sound,
May lure my footsteps from their aim aside:
Their true, high quest-to seek, if ne'er to gain,
The inmost, purest shrine of that august domain.
September 9th.
II-TO SILVIO PELLICO, ON READING HIS "PRIGIONE.'
THERE are who climb the mountain's heathery side,
Or, in life's vernal strength triumphant, urge
RECORDS OF THE AUTUMN OF 1834.
The bark's fleet rushing through the crested surge,
Or spur the courser's fiery race of pride
Over the green savannas, gleaming wide
By some vast lake; yet thus, on foaming sea,
Or chainless wild, reign far less nobly free,
Than thou, in that lone dungeon, glorified
By thy brave suffering-Thou from its dark cell
Fierce thought and baleful passion didst exclude,
Filling the dedicated solitude
With God; and where His Spirit deigns to dwell,
Though the worn frame in fetters withering lie,
There throned in peace divine is liberty!
III. TO THE SAME, RELEASED.
How flows thy being now ?-like some glad hymn,
One strain of solemn rapture ?-doth thine eye
Wander through tears of voiceless feeling dim,
O'er the crown'd Alps, that, 'midst the upper sky,
Sleep in the sunlight of thine Italy?
Or is thy gaze of reverent love profound,
Unto these dear parental faces bound,
Which, with their silvery hair, so oft glanced by,
Haunting thy prison-dreams?-Where'er thou art,
Blessings be shed upon thine inmost heart,
Joy, from kind looks, blue skies, and flowery sod,
For that pure voice of thoughtful wisdom sent
Forth from thy cell, in sweetness eloquent,
Of love to man, and quenchless trust in God!
IV. ON A SCENE IN THE DARGLE.*
'Twas a bright moment of my life when first,
O thou pure stream through rocky portals flowing!
That temple-chamber of thy glory burst
On my glad sight!-thy pebbly couch lay glowing
With deep mosaic hues and, richly throwing
O'er thy cliff-walls a tinge of autumn's vest,
High bloom'd the heath-flowers, and the wild wood's crest
Was touch'd with gold.-Flow ever thus, bestowing
Gifts of delight, sweet stream! on all who move
Gently along thy shores; and oh! if love,
-True love, in secret nursed, with sorrow fraught-
Should sometimes bear his treasured grief to thee,
Then full of kindness let thy music be,
Singing repose to every troubled thought!
* A beautiful valley in the county of Wicklow.
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