The morn was gloomy, and the russet earth
Gave to the eye a landscape drear and dim;
The clouds, low hung, seemed resting on the hills
Fraught with unusual weight, and cast around
Deep shades of blackness o’er each swelling peak,
By leafless woodlands clad; along the vales
The farmsteads glimmered, and the fields around—
Some grey with stubble, some with scanty grass
Pinched yellow by the cold, and some dark brown,
Where recent ploughshares had turned up the soil,—
A varied scene presented to the eye,
But sombre all, and sad. Not that the earth
Hath aught of sadness, but at all times gives
Some beauty to the mind, e’en when the smile
Of sunshine and fertility least glows
On her rich countenance, for then she speaks
In tones prophetic to the heart, and tells
Of secret strength preparing to bring forth
The gifts and bounties of another year.
The hollow wind moaned wildly through the trees,
And waved their solemn branches to and fro
In endless motion. Scarce a single leaf,
Scarlet or golden, olive or red-brown,
[2]
Adorned the forest, save where gloomy firs
Stretched their red arms, or melancholy pines
Reared their tall pyramids of foliage black,
Filling the dusky scene with deeper shade,
And adding darkness to the clouds of heaven.
The naked branches of the hedgerow elms
Lashed wildly round, and threatened to cast forth
The jetty masses of the old rook nests
Lodged midst their topmost twigs. The withered leaves
Coursed swiftly o’er the ground, and danced about
In strange fantastic coils, and eddies wild
Like whirlpools in a river. Heaven and earth
Foretel a coming storm, that soon will clothe
The naked landscape in a robe of white,
Until it shines more beautiful and pure
Than fleecy cloudlets o’er the sun-bright sky.
How calm and peaceful, e’en amidst the gloom,
The simple village looks! With aspect south,
From a hill-side of mild declivity,
It gazes sweetly o’er the meads below,
Through which a winding river, o’er mossed stones,
Makes pleasing murmurs. All the cottage roofs
Are clad with rustic thatch, and round their doors
In summer time, the climbing plants creep up,
And make sweet scented bowers. A garden-plot,
For use and beauty, is assigned to each,
Which industry’s firm hand, by pleasing toil,
Arrays in loveliness so rich and bright,
[3]
It seems a nook from paradise. But now
In tidy order they await the spring
To make them bloom again. Amongst the trees
That rise in stately tiers above the roofs,
Along the hill-side steep o’er steep, the smoke
In light blue wreaths, from every chimney curls
With ample convolution, giving note
Of snug warm hearths, and comfortable homes
Where winter is not feared. The lattice-panes
Shine clear and bright, and to each flitting ray
Give keen reflections, whilst their cheerful glance
Bespeaks the reign of cleanliness. O’er all
There broods an air of quiet and content
Of peace, of plenty in that lowly sphere
Where heart meets heart in pure simplicity
Unchecked by station, and unchilled by wealth.
Oh that the earth of such calm homes were full!
And such fair villages adorned the plains
In countless numbers, where the labouring poor
Might live respected, and respect themselves!
Who is a hero,—he who daily fights
The fearful hosts of poverty and want
With industry’s strong sword, and wins the spoils,
The honourable spoils of raiment, food,
And kindly shelter to make glad all hearts
Around his hearth. No stately cenotaph
Of costly stones is to his honour reared,
But yet he owns a richer monument,
[4]
Built up of kindly thoughts within each mind,
That justly thinks, and loves the really great,
The honest and the true. How much of good,
One being can perform, whose heart delights
To see all prosperous round! And here dwells one
Who scatters blessings with a liberal hand,
Directed wisely by a mind discreet,
That seeks the greatest good. He strives to give
Employment to each hand, and due reward
To each that labours. With new thought to swell
The poor man’s stock of knowledge, that his work
May yield a richer harvest; to instil
Instruction varied on his craving mind,
That it may be matured, to bear the flowers
Of pure and simple pleasure; and the fruits
Of profit and utility. To sow,
To plant, to prune; to plan, frame, rear, and build;
To watch the seasons, to enrich the soils,
And do unnumbered things to multiply
The simple comforts of their quiet homes
Have each been taught. And still a higher lore
Has thereunto been added; that which tells
Of man’s immortal destiny, and seeks
To elevate his thought to higher good
Than earth contains, and holier principles
Than this world’s maxims; that the heart may love
In just equality each fellow-man,
And bow with holy reverence and joy
[5]
Before the throne of Light; and thus become
More pure and happy, and a citizen
Of higher worlds whilst sojourning on earth.
And who is he who wisely ministers
To all the wants of poor humanity,
Each in its kind, and strives to scatter round
Throughout his sphere the purest happiness
That earth can own? Sir Arthur, at the Hall!
To him belong the fertile acres round,
To him the village; but he holds them not
In pomp and pride and narrow selfishness,
But as a man amongst his fellowmen,
Knowing and feeling that his hand hath power
To curse or bless, and with determined heart
He chooses blessing. With an eye that beams,
As with parental love, he looks on all,
The young, the old, and with a kindly voice
Speaks words of warm encouragement; or gives
The needed counsel, or the calm rebuke.
His words are ever welcome; e’en the churl
Who meets reproof, does so in quietness,
Straight thinks thereon, and turns him to amend.
All look upon him with respectful love
And firm devotion. Never hero bold
Of ancient feudal times, who led along
His faithful vassals to the battle field,
To crown them with renown, and win proud fame,
Was e’er encompassed with such fervent hearts
[6]
And such dependent zeal. He leads them on
To purer triumphs, conquests more benign;
They overcome not to spread round them tears
And misery and death. The wars they wage
Are with the stubborn soil; the wreaths they win
Are fruits and flowers. The triumphs they attain,
Are over ignorance, and want and sin,
Which bring their meed of pleasure and of peace.
The old Age had its heroes, and the new
Must have its heroes also. Men of thought,
Of knowledge and of skill, whose ample minds
Are armories of wisdom to supply
The need of lesser minds, and lead them on
All strong and mighty to the coming war
Of truth with falsehood. Times have greatly changed;
And errors and traditions growing dim
Flicker like fleeting mists. Their power is gone,
And hearts are yearning for the morning beams
Of pure, unsullied truth! When will arise
The mighty Prophet, radiant with light
To lighten nations; to lift up mankind
From petty sects and systems, groveling thoughts,
Vain dreams, false policies, and bring them forth
To bask serenely in truth’s cheerful light
United into one? Man’s heart hath hope,
By prophecy upheld, and though he long
Hath tarried for it, nigh two thousand years,
Yet now the dawning seems to streak the east,
[7]
All things are stirring, slumberers awake,
And watchers peer into the rising day!
Thus much in passing! Ere we enter in
That antique Hall, more fully to attain
A knowledge of its owner, all whose acts
Are works of goodness, and whose pure life breathes
The spirit of rich charity: We’ll trace
A ready path across yon meadow-field,
To where, in solitude and calm repose,
The village church rears up its ancient spire
Above surrounding trees. Its antique walls
Are softly tinted by the hand of time
With varied hues, all chastened and subdued,
But exquisitly beautiful. Each arch,
Each massive column, and each window quaint,
Compels to thoughts of long-passed, hoary days
And human ancestry. Oh where are they
Who reared that tower, and they whose voices woke
The first deep echo from those sacred walls
By sounds of holy minstrelsey? And they
Of generations, each succeeding each,
Through the long current of a thousand years,
Down to the last whose bones were hither brought,
And o’er whose grave of brown and roughened soil
The grass hath not yet crept? “They sleep in dust,”
“They slumber in the ground”—’tis thus we speak,
And by such speaking we in thought forego
The glorious truths of immortality;
[8]
The birth-right of the soul! What sleeps in dust?
What brought we here to slumber deep in earth?
The living spirit or the soulless clay?
That thing of thought, that seeing, hearing mind,
That living active being first had fled,
And left its husk rejected. This alone
Was hid in earth, to veil it from the sight
Ere severed by corruption, part from part,
And scattered widely to the winds of heaven,
Or cast abroad through earth. Then let not thought
Stop chained below, or buried in the grave,
But bearing upwards, as with eagle flight,
Behold earth’s habitants assembled all,
Contemporaneous in the spirit-world,
The great, the grand receptacle of life,
Where all live unto God, for he is God
Not of the dead but living. Each one there
Is gathered to his fathers, not of flesh,
But of the spirit. Like is linked with like,
The pure with pure; the evil, filthy, vile,
Are with their fellows. As the tree has fallen
So it lies. Oh contemplation great,
Sublime and aweful; yet enriched by hope,
Where faith is strong in God’s Redemptive love,
And knows his Providence, from evil brings
A birth of good. The sorrows, pains, and cares
Of outward life, oft deeply work within
To purify the spirit, and exalt
[9]
To holier thought and feeling. Let none then
Pass judgement on his fellow, but in love,
And fitting charity. The inward life
No human eye can read; or what that life
May yet bring forth. Then let us judge ourselves,
And looking round on things that make us mourn,
Console our spirits with the glorious truth
Christ hath not died in vain! Though in the grave
The spirit lies not, and the form of clay
Is soon dispersed amid the elements,
Yet in the church-yard, or the place of tombs,
Fraught with mementos of the ancient past,
Our thought is strengthened, and the links re-bound
That join us to the dead. We there revive
Old loves, and sweet affections, purified,
Refined, and softened; and go forth to life
More calm in spirit, and with brighter hopes.
The threatened storm advances—snowy flakes
Fall thin and waving to the half-froze ground,
Then slowly melt. They soon in quick descent
Must seek the earth, and whirling densely down
Shut out the landscape, and array the scene
In gorgeous raiment of unsullied white.
But ’ere this chances ’twill be well to seek
The hospitable shelter of the Hall,
And gain a certain welcome. Christmas-tide,
So full of joy and open-hearted love,
Finds there a liberal reign. But do not think
[10]
A few more steps will bring us to some seat
Of wealth and stately grandeur, whose high lord,
Just scatters round his superfluity
And blesses as by chance. No marble walls,
No colonnades, no proud magnificence,
Have now to greet us, but an antique home,
Not spacious, but of ample size for all,
The needs and elegance of cultured life.
Far down yon avenue of noble limes,
That spread their leafless branches broad and free,
You may behold it. Pointed gables rise
And straight tall chimneys rear themselves aloft
In strange variety, and by their forms
Bespeak a mansion that for centuries
Has held a worthy hearth. Though winter broods,
The park around looks beautiful, and shews
The strictest neatness, and incessant care;
For many hands here labour, not alone
To please the owner, and delight the sight,
But that they each by honest work may gain
An independent home, and eat therein
That sweetest of all bread—the justly earned!
And though Sir Arthur has a taste refined,
A sense most delicate, a mind alive
To every beauty, native or of art,
It is not merely to regale this taste
That such pure elegance and order reign,
But rather that his feeling heart thereby
[11]
May spread a due prosperity around
Through every grade, and thus he strives to give
Unfailing work to all within his sphere.
Before the mansion a broad terrace spreads,
By steps ascended, and quaint balustrades
With pillars, globes and urns, engird it well.
And in the centre, most grotesque of form
All richly carved, a massive sundial stands
To mark the hours. Most ancient horologe
That gives a tongue to nature, and compels
The mighty sun to measure out the time!
Below the terrace, on a velvet lawn,
There stands a fountain, where a cherub boy,
Carved in white marble, beautiful as life,
Holds proudly high a waterlilly’s bell,
Whence springs a copious shower of silver rain
To drop in music, mid the pool below,
And fill the air with murmurs. Here and there,
In open spaces, or mid spreading trees,
Pure statues stand, or elevated busts
Of men renowned, whose mighty deeds or songs
Have blessed mankind. Nor is there wanting here
Some sweet embodiments of Grecian thought
And ancient fable. The bright water-nymph,
Pure as the fount; or that enamoured youth,
Who gazed for ever in the crystal well
Entranced by his own beauty. Clumps of trees,
Some in the hollows, some upon the knolls,
[12]
Give rich variety; and through the dell
A winding river sweeps, now polished bright
Like some fair mirror, and anon in foam
As beautiful as snow, from dashing down
A rocky shelf, or gushing o’er mossed stones
With playful freakishness. Thick woods enclose
The outskirts of the park, with frequent breaks,
Through which the sight, well pleased, may wander far
O’er distant lands, and view the soft blue hills.
The quaint stone carvings, round the massive porch,
Along the gables, cornices and sills,
Have lost their sharpness, softly moulded down,
But not defaced, and time-tints cover all
With pleasing richness. O’er the once bright brick
Grey hues are dappled, and give harmony
That blends the building with the ancient oaks,
Planes, beeches, chesnuts, whose outstretching arms
Give shelter and protection. Entering in
The lofty vestibule, the eye perceives
A mixed array of ancient armour, swords,
Pikes, shields, and banners, antlered heads of stags,
Brave hunting horns, with arrows, bows, and spears,
And other relics marking the career
Of different ages—freeborn forest life—
The reign of chivalry—bold sporting days—
Down to the quiet of the present time
Of peace and fireside comfort. Many rooms,
To link the present with the past, unchanged
[13]
Retain their ancient fashion, some are framed
To modern elegance in style and form.
Ancestral thoughts! they fall upon the mind
Like twilight shadows, or the first fresh dews
That cool the earth! As some soft pensive strain
Of mournful music, heard at sombre eve,
Recalling early joys, so they recall
Dim visions of the vanished. Who can pace
An oaken old apartment, dim with years,
And not re-people it again by thought
And bring the past before him? Youthful forms,
Arrayed in early beauty, mid the joys
Of feast and dance and song, who soon became
Themselves the parents of a race as bright,
And passing onwards to life’s calm decline,
In honourable age, with aspect mild,
Sat hoary-headed by the hearth to watch
Their children’s children act again the sports
That once were their delight. The voices heard
In olden times, within such walls, no more
Will echo softly there, but virtues bright
May be re-copied, or revive again
As fresh plants spring from seed. The great, the good
Might thus become immortal on the earth
Beyond their immortality of fame,
And live a second deathless life enshrined
In thoughts and deeds of men. It is the pride,
The true, the noble pride of ancestry,
[14]
When man, on his forefathers looking, strives
Their virtues to re-build within his soul,
And make their goodness his. Thus would he bear
Their shield with honour, and their heraldry
By undisputed right be justly his.
Such is the aim of some, and here dwells one
Whom honour thus engirds. The portraits hung
Upon his walls, Sir Arthur views with pride,
But ’tis a pride whose inmost life is formed
Of deep humility. Such words are weak
To truly tell its nature! Joy he feels
That such men were before him; deep desire
To copy out their merits, and adapt
Their sterling virtues to the present age;
And linked with this a sense of feebleness,
Of unattained perfection, chastens down
All exultation, and to gentleness
Subdues his mind. Where’er he comes, his eye
Is bright with pleasure, and pure joy to greet
Each he esteems a friend. His silver hair
Twines thinly round his brow, whose high expanse
Reveals keen intellect; upon his cheek
The hue of healthy age; and that calm smile—
If such it may be called—which ever plays
Like autumn sunshine on the countenance,
Where pure benevolence and holy hopes
Possess the heart. It seems a thing of heaven,
And hath on earth no antitype but when
[15]
Some lovely infant, in life’s early bloom,
And calm sweet innocence, in slumber lies,
And smiles amidst its sleep. Yet firmness too,
And dauntless energy, possess his soul
With mighty perseverance. Naught can turn
His steady purpose when assured of right,
Or warp him to the wrong. Yet soft and bland
His manner, and the utterance of his thought
To those who differ. No harsh words destroy
The harmony of truth, or proud looks mar
Its beauty to the hearer. Like to one
Who, mid spring sunshine, sows prolific seed,
He gently scatters round improving thoughts,
And leaves the soil to raise them into life
According to its nature. Thus he wins
The love of all, and the unfeigned esteem;
For those whose maxims are opposed to his
Respect his firm opinion; held they see
In deep sincerity; with deference due
And fit regard to independent thought,
And moral freedom in all other minds.
’Tis not alone amid the villagers
This influence beneficent hath wrought
With elevating power. We might speak
Of public life, and more extensive spheres
Of thought and action, did the time permit
And were occasion fitting. But as now
For some few happy days we dwell amidst
[16]
The circle round his hearth; and at this time
Of social joy, and glad festivity,
’Twere better far to give a picture bright,—
Were but my pencil equal to the task—
Of that calm happiness, that tranquil joy,
That interchange of mental pure delight
Which here prevails, and which has risen up
Like some rich harvest ’neath the fostering care
Of such a parent, whose example spoke
More loudly than his precepts. But ere this,
A few quick sketches, of the chief events
That marked his life, and helped to mould its form,
Shall now be made—though feeble to portray
The bright reality, or give life and form
To inward workings of the subtil mind.
Sir Arthur was the sole surviving child
Of him whose name he bears. The other sons
And infant daughters passed away from earth
Like fruit-tree blossoms, beautiful and brief
In their career. The tablets in the church,
Recording ancestry through ages past,
Record as briefly the short time betwixt
Their birth and death. Thus he alone was left
The living centre, where the fervent love
Of two fond parents, could condense its rays.
From budding infancy, the tender care
And sweet affection of a mother’s breast,
Filled his young heart with tenderness. In youth
[17]
A father’s wish, and more ambitious love
Gave each advantage, and secured each means
That could advance in life. A home so fraught
With kind indulgence, and where every wish
Within the bounds of reason was fulfilled
Almost as soon as framed was not a school
Best fitted to prepare an active mind,
To struggle boldly with the ills of life,
And combat with its evils. But their love
Rose higher in its grade, than that which thinks
Alone of ease and pleasure and delight.
It far preferred a future happiness
To present joy; and sterling moral worth,
With intellectual wealth, and mental strength,
As man’s chief earthly good. And hence it came
That when his young mind had imbibed at home
Ennobling principles and pious thoughts
To give it strength, their faithful love forewent
The pleasure of his presence to secure
The sterner discipline of school, and bring
Those precepts into action. With an eye
Of keenest vigilance, and heart of care,
They watched his progress, and with rich delight
Beheld the fruits of their unwearied love
Swell into promise. Here he learned to feel,
As one amongst a many, and to know
The limits of his rights, and thence regard
The rights of others. Being much beloved
[18]
Amongst his playmates, for a truthful heart,
An amiable temper, and due skill
In many boyish sports; to which was joined
Inventive talent, ingenuity,
Mechanic art, by which was aptly framed,
Things strange and curious, and thus he gained
A fame for intellect, and soon became
A leader of his fellows, whilst his days
Passed on in peace and happiness serene.
When youth was verging into man, he went
To college, that severer discipline,
And study more intense, might build his mind
In knowledge, strength, and vigour. Honours due
Were soon awarded, and he home returned
Well nurtured to take part in public life,
And serve the state whene’er it might require.
The time of leisure had employment due
In lighter studies, caring the estate,
And welcome visits to the nobles round,
That ever won such friendship and esteem
As time could not revoke. Amid the fair,
The lovely and the beautiful, to him
One shone more lovely, fair, and beautiful
Than all the rest; as shines the evening star
Above the brightness of the ether round.
Wealth, station, grandeur, shed their gifts on her
And all their rich endowments. In her eye
There beamed the light of pure and gentle love,
[19]
Whilst in her heart the modest virtues dwelt
Calm, soft and feminine; a woman she,
“A perfect woman”—one whose form of soul
Was framed for union with the heart of man
To be its solace, to restore its strength
When wearied with the world; to pour the oil
Of rich affection on the wounded soul,
To heal the spirit, to revive the mind,
And with angelic ministrings restore
To life and health again. Such sway when reign
The storms of trial and adversity,
But through the calm and balmy days of life,
To make his home a temple, and his hearth
An altar, where for ever glowing bright,
The flame of gentle and enduring love
Sheds its clear beams around, and burning fair
Points sweetly up to heaven. When first his eye
Beheld this loveliness, he felt within
A new life waken, and the life gone by
Seemed but a heavy dream. Bright hopes, glad thoughts
And richest feelings stirred within his breast
In joyous tumult. Solitary hours,
And woodland musings, nursed the passion sweet,
Until that Being had become the star
Of his life’s destiny. In hope, in doubt,
In strange conflicting turbulence of soul,
He sought, he sued, he won. One blushing word
Of sweet consent from her pure modest lips
[20]
Turned all to peace again, and more than peace,
To ecstacy and rapture! Earth seemed changed
To paradise, and heaven above him shone
With brighter radiance. Happy fled the hours,
All swiftly bringing in their golden train
Their brightest and their best, the hour to seal
This bliss for ever his. The bridal wreath,
The fair attire, the pure attendant maids,
And all the pomp and pageantry that tells
The joy and gladness that awaits the bond,
And consummation of a holy love,
Were each prepared. When ah! the fearful change
Awaiting mortal destinies! A cloud
Spread its black shadow o’er this sunny scene,
And from its bosom, thunder-charged, sent forth
The shaft of death! A sudden illness seized
The young and beautiful. Her bridal train
Wept o’er her bier. And he who should have led
A bride in triumph from the altar, strewed
Sad flowers on Ellen’s grave, and with a grief
Tearless, consuming, in its mighty strength,
Himself seemed death-struck. Agony intense,
Dark desolation of the inmost soul,
And dread prostration of its sympathies
He long endured. The light of life to him
Appeared for ever gone; the glorious earth
Bereft of all its beauties. Cheerless, lone,
He felt as in a desert; naught in life
[21]
Could win his spirit to activity,
And social links seemed severed. Soon again
His footsteps rested on the gloomy verge
Of the dark sepulchre. The voice of death
Called that fond parent, who with gentle love
Had nurtured his weak infancy, and she,
With heavenly meekness, listened to the call,
And softly passed from life. He who had sat
Beside the self-same hearth, when auburn hair
Curled round her brow, till now bright silver braids
Adorned her aged forehead, missed the look,
The fair, the placid look of time-tried love
Illumining his home, and though his soul
Held calmest resignation, yet he pined
With secret longing to rejoin in heaven
She who had been an angel on the earth,
In purity and gentleness. The sun
Had scarcely circled round the seasons ere
His spirit’s prayer was answered, and he seemed
To melt from time into eternity,
So peaceful was his end. Thus left alone,
And of all nearest earthly ties bereaved,
A double desolation, cast its gloom
On Arthur’s wounded heart. Though wealth was his,
Titles and honours, they retained no charm
To soothe his broken spirit. In the prime
Of early manhood, just emerged from youth
When life is full of promise, life to him
[22]
Had scarce a promise left. Home scenes, beloved
From early childhood, and endeared by thoughts
Of warm affection, only served to pierce
His breast with deeper pangs. In vain he sought
To cast aside his sorrows and arouse
The slumbering energies of mind to snap
The gloomy bonds that fettered. Efforts vain,
Attempts abortive, drove him forth at length
An exile from his country, in the search
Of unknown scenes, whose aspects new and strange,
Could not recall dark visions of the past
To fix them stronger on the memory.
In foreign lands, mid mountain peaks sublime
And desolate rocks, he sought companionship
And soothing solace. Nature’s placid face,
Her calm, her stillness, and her solitudes
Wrought with an healing influence. The song
Of ancient bards, the clear historic page,
Called forth his spirit as the years fled by
From inward cankering. The face of man,
The voice of friendship, and affection’s smile
Again had light for him. But in his heart
There was a hollowness, a fearful void
That naught could fill. The power of love seemed gone,
But yet his soul, yearned ardently for love,
With unquenched thirst. No more could Beauty’s smile
Or her bright glances, kindle in his breast
A living warmth. He would have given worlds
[23]
To feel its vital strength revive again
The life of his affections; and to pour
Their freshness on some sweet responsive heart
Linked into one with his. This seemed denied
To him for ever. But the discipline
Of sorrowful years, and agonising thoughts,
Built up within a grandeur of the soul
And purified his spirit. Feelings deep,
Expansive views, and sympathies enlarged,
Had hence a birth. More elevated thoughts
Of human life, and human destiny,
With all its strange vicissitudes arose;
A brighter faith in providence; and hopes
More calm and cheerful; lifting thought beyond
Time’s narrow bounds; to see existence stretch
Far on in realms immortal; and a faith
That pierced the clouds of evil, and beheld
The light of Goodness shining bright above
With vast extense of ray. A loftier life
Seemed now within him, and a cheerfulness
Illumed his countenance; yet like some bold
And dauntless hero, whose deep wounds were healed,
He yet retained dark scars. Life now for him
Revealed some pleasures; and its duties gave
In their performance, solace and delight,
But never more could he have hoped to gain
That freshness of the heart, that warmth of soul
Which glows in faithful love. He oft had sought
[24]
To wake such life within him; but he strove
In vain, in vain! Though years had passed away,
He seemed as doomed to carry on through life
A solitude of soul. Returning home
To his paternal mansion, greetings kind
And cheerful welcomes waited him. With firm
Determined spirit, he resolved to fill
His life with deeds of usefulness, and spread
Some happiness around. Whilst thus employed
The days grew brighter, and the hours fled by
On wings of cheerfulness. Upon the hearth
Darkness yet brooded, and a shadow there
Sat undisturbed, and, as he thought, for ever!
Alas for human life, how oft its hopes
Are vain and fruitless! yet the truth to add
Its fears are oft as vain. Forebodings dark
Have no fulfilment, and the things we dread
Are changed to joys and pleasures, like a night
Of storm and tempest that brings forth a morn
Of radience and beauty. Thus employed
In deeds of charity; all thoughts of love
For ever laid aside; Sir Arthur’s life
Passed smoothly onwards, as some stream whose course,
Though clear and lovely, is o’erhung with shade
Of forest boughs, and feels not the full warmth
Of glowing glorious day. As oft a turn
Abrupt and sudden brings the river forth
Along the open plain, a change as bright
[25]
Awaited in his destiny. The hour
Of restitution had arrived, and soon,
Amidst the maidens beautiful and fair
That passed before him, moving not his heart
To deep pulsations, one, amidst the train,
Lovely as moonlight on the summer sea,
Awoke a mystic sympathy, and called
To life renewed, the throbbings of his breast.
Her form was beautiful, her eye was bright,
And rosy blushings tinted o’er her cheek
With softest dyes. But yet the beauty there
Sprang chiefly from the spirit, whose pure light
Illumined every feature. On her brow,
Lofty and polished, intellect sat throned
In mild dominion. Modesty’s fair beams
Arrayed the countenance; and holy love,
Benevolence, and purity of soul,
Shone forth with living radiance, and threw
Celestial lustre round her. Gentle, mild,
And bland of manner, calmly she withdrew
From observation like some pale spring flower
That woos the lonely shade. Her aspect wore
The touch of sorrow past, that beautified
And made it still more lovely; like the sky
Revealing fairer hues when summer clouds
To earth have fallen in refreshing rains.
Her heart had known the depths of agony,
And care and anguish. In that deadly strife
[26]
The soul had conquered; and she stood on earth
With spirit chastened, purified, subdued,
And strengthened by the conflict. Her light step
Had something saint-like, as, with upward look,
She trod the earth; and her soft mellow voice
Bore music in its tones, as rich and deep
In all its modulations, as if caught
From distant echoes of angelic song.
How strange are human sympathies! and all
The subtle secret workings of the soul
That link us to each other. Oft we meet
Some unknown being, and short converse gives
A knowledge as of ages; then again
Long years of converse cannot bring our minds
In unison with others. We may live
In friendship, kindness, gentle amity,
But yet our hearts are conscious of a power
Preventing inmost union. This is seen
Oft in the intercourse of man with man;
But still more oft, though not less wonderful,
Of man with woman; chiefly where the love
Is pure and perfect, from the inmost mind.
Two beings now, whose spirits were prepared
For union with each other—though each thought
Such thing could never be—together met,
And scarce had met before they felt within
An inward prompting, instinct of the soul,
That their two lives were destined to run on
[27]
In one united course. Passion for them
Had lost its fiery power and heedless rage,
And burnt with steady flame. Like summer morn
From rosy twilight, with expansion calm,
Unfolding into day, such was the course
Of their unsullied love. Their hands were pledged
With hopeful promise, ’ere few moons had passed;
And ’ere the seasons once had circled round,
Before the altar of yon village church,
Fraught with old memories of wedded love,
The happy pair confirmed their truthful vows
With sacred sanction. Joyous was the day
Through the glad village, and the ancient Hall
Was filled with loud rejoicings. All things wore
An aspect of rich promise, e’en the sky,
As if in sympathy, shone forth with light
More clear and radiant. The early sun
Rose with keen splendour, and at eve he set
In pomp of gold and crimson. Fleecy clouds,
With rainbow colours, graced the burnished vault
Of heaven’s cerulean azure. Day declined
In hues prophetic of succeeding days
As fair and bright, and sweetly shadowed forth
As by an omen, calmer life had dawned
And happier seasons for that wedded pair.
We may grow old in heart, ’ere old in years,
And share age-wisdom, ’ere its glory-crown
Of hoary hairs hath sanctified the brow.
[28]
Whatever stirs the inmost depths of soul,
Arousing thought and feeling, calling forth
Life’s strongest passions, rearing into strength
All free-born energies, more swiftly brings
A full maturity than passing time
And common life experience. Thus were taught
These inmates of the Hall; and thus had learned
To look on life with more discerning eye,
Regarding its true aims, its happiness,
And noblest objects. They had felt and found
Earth’s purest pleasures, dwell in social love
And sweet serenities of home, and not
In gaudy pomp and pageantry and show.
Hence with united aim they sought to rear
To loftier growth each faculty and power,
Each thought and feeling that could beautify,
Enrich and sanctify the homely hearth.
The joys of wealth, its dignity and power
Were not despised. The grandeur it confers
Had due appreciation; but the strength
It lends the hand to scatter blessing round
Was thought its noblest privilege. To give,
With generous freedom to the mild demand
Of true necessity, was deemed delight;
But not to scatter with a thoughtless hand
In very wantonness of teeming wealth,
And think such bounty charity. They knew
The richest benefit their aid could give,
[29]
The most enduring, most replete with joy
And noble independence, was the means
To all who sought their aid and sustenance,
To help themselves, and by their native power
Rear their own weal. Such prudent practice spread
That peace and comfort, cheerfulness and joy
Amidst the peasants, and around their homes
Threw comliness and beauty; whilst it gave
A richer harvest for the scattered seed
Of generous gift, and made a little wealth
Produce more goodness and true happiness,
Than fortunes lavished with imprudent zeal
And indiscreet deficiency of thought.
Sir Arthur had just passed the middle term
Of “three score years and ten,” when full of hope
Renewed, and cheerful thought, with joy he led
His fair bride from the altar. Every day,
As time rolled on, gave precious proof that hope
Was not unfounded. Brighter grew each hour
Of his expanding life, whilst now he found
The strength of purpose, and the joy of heart
A kindred spirit gives; as thought with thought,
And feeling with deep feeling, swiftly rose
With sweet coincidence in either breast.
And thus their path of life ran smoothly on
Unvaried in direction, like a stream
Whose waters pure had hitherto been led
Within two separate channels; but anon
[30]
In peaceful union joining, henceforth pass
Straight onwards o’er some sunny, flowery plain,
To mingle with the ocean. Not that life
For them was destitute of cares and tears
And piercing sorrows; but those fearful pangs,
That tear the heart, and lacerate the soul,
No more were theirs; and having known of such,
And borne with resignation, fortitude,
And hopeful patience, now the lesser ills,
The common pains of life, struck not so deep
Nor with so fell a shock, as arrows glance
Aside from sturdy breasts in armour cased,
And shake not by impinging. Round the hearth
Their richest joys were clustered. Oft at eve,
In converse sweet, enriched by love’s dear tones,
The hours fled gladly by, as on the wings
Of woodland birds rejoicing. Now the muse
Of history would unfold her living page
And make the past the present; and anon
Some work of fiction, writ with moral aim,
Would stir their spirits, as with truthfulness
It shewed the workings of the human heart
And uttered wisdom whilst it gave delight.
Full oft the music of the poet’s page
Would spring to life again: his numbers sweet
Translated into vocal harmony, and thoughts
Transcendent, eloquent, impassioned, bright,
Revealed by living lips. Thus noble minds
[31]
Of bygone ages, or of modern date,
Moulded their spirits to a lofter thought
And more exalted feeling. Kindled thus
In kindly concert, to like sympathies
And deep emotions, their united hearts
Grew to more strict similitude, and beat
More perfect in their unison. A bliss,
So calm and sweet, so purely of the soul,
Enriched their life, that earth to them resumed,
Full oft, amidst its shadows and its clouds,
A radiance as of primal paradise.
Twice had the sun’s benign prolific ray
Enrobed the earth with harvest, since the hour
When bridal peals made all the village glad,
And gave a mistress to the vacant Hall,
To dwell there in her beauty, when again
The old bells uttered forth as rich a strain
Of heart-arousing melody. A Son
Was born to carry down that ancient line
To future generations, and all hearts
Rejoiced in sympathy with that glad hope
Which swelled each parent’s breast. The passing years
Gave now a daughter, and anon a son,
Till six fair children filled that home with glee
And childhood’s happy laughter. Each grew up
From innocent sweet infancy to days
Of blossoming youth. The elders now have reached
Life’s prime maturity, and one alone,
[32]
Fair Edith, ranking fourth in age, hath been
Translated to the heavens. One spring hath passed
On its gay flowery path, since earth received,
When twenty summers had adorned her brow,
Her mortal vestments, and the spirit fled
To the bright regions of immortal life.
The first-born bears his father’s honoured name;
Matilda, Alfred, Eva, and Lucrece,
Mark out the rest, and each one duly shares
In nature’s gift of beauty. Mind and form
Are of the highest, and amidst them all
Great likeness and great difference prevails,
Giving a oneness with variety,
Like forest trees of diverse branch and leaf,
Or sweet flowers intermixed in form and hue.
Oh! what a change, beneficent and fair
Some thirty years have wrought! The vacant hearth,
Deserted by its owner, lone and drear,
Is now illumined by the happy looks
Of many radiant faces. Stillness deep,
And mournful as the charnel, brooding there,
Is now exchanged for music far more sweet
Than harp or viol; voices breathing forth
Affections purest tones, rich words of joy,
And sprightly laughter from the gladsome heart!
How rich the happiness Sir Arthur feels,
And how enhanced, when with the dreary past
Contrasted. His unfolding lot in life
[33]
Seems like a plant, whose form in winter months
Lies buried deep in earth, but in the spring
Puts forth green shoots, expands its swelling buds,
And through the summer multiplies fair flowers
All beautiful in sunshine. Grateful thoughts
And holy aspirations, crowd his breast
And give a blessedness, a joy, a peace
Not often known on earth. As every child
Was ushered into life, his heart enlarged
With love’s divine affections. His delight
And steady aim was to prepare each mind
For usefulness in life, for well he knew
It was the shortest path to happiness:
To mark each talent and each faculty
In its first opening, and to bring it forth
By fitting cultivation; to supply
Of intellectual food the purest, best
And most ennobling; to rear into strength
Each moral purpose, and direct the will
To loftiest objects; and above the rest
To elevate the heart by cheerful hopes
And prospects sweet of immortality,
Till fervent love, and reverent piety
Glowed in each breast; such was the constant mode
Of teaching he pursued, and such he taught
By precept and example, till the lore
Sank deeply on each heart, and every child
In its own individuality, gave birth
[34]
To noble fruitage, that repaid this care.
By such tuition it was sought to mould
Their minds to power and strength: but to refine
And add due elegance, the finer arts
Of music, painting, poetry, and song
Were called in aid; and to unbend awhile
And give free recreation, every taste
Had due scope granted—some were left to rear
Fair flowers to beauty; some sought far and wide
Things strange and curious, to store them up
For full inspection; others tried at will
The powers of elements, mechanic force,
Or laws of nature, by experiment
Renewed and oft repeated. Every hour
Had thus its full employment, every heart
Some worthy object, and the day fled by
On cheerful wing, for every mind was gay,
Filled with delight by pure and useful thoughts.
All evil is perversion of the good
Through wrong direction, or by foul excess!
How gaily skips the lambkin in the field
Mid sunshine and bright daises. How the fawn
Bounds light and gladsome o’er the grassy slope
Exulting in existence. Insects wing
Their wondrous measures, music-timed, amidst
The golden twilight. Health and vigour flow
From this activity. Then needs not man,
Whose strength is fretted by the cares of mind
[35]
As well as toils of body, to renew
His wearied spirits by the livening joys
Awaiting on the dance? Whene’er prolonged
To midnight hours, immodestly pursued,
Or borne to weariness, a thing thus good
Transmutes itself to evil. But not so
Was it perverted at the Hall. Sometimes
When weariness of mind forbad the strain
Attending mental efforts, music’s sounds
Distinct and marked, would summon to the dance
Amid the social circle, or at times
Of friendly meeting it would oft afford
Sweet interchange of pleasure, intermixed
With cheerful converse, modulated song
Or sound of instrumental harmonies.
The power of competition oft unfolds
A latent genius into richer growth
Or more energic action. To bring forth
Each talent to full strength, Sir Arthur sought,
Amid his household, to stir loving strife
And friendly rivalry, by calling all
To execute some task of art or skill
In one department.—Now to picture fair
Some view from nature, or by fancy’s aid
Create a scene of beauty. Now to strive
On their respective instruments, to give
The richest utterance to the magic notes
Of some inspired musician; and anon
[36]
To choose a song, each one to private taste,
And then to execute with utmost skill,
And see who won, by free consent of all,
The palm of willing praise. Thus each was brought
To shew some excellence, by right their own,
And feel that they contributed a share
To mutual joy and benefit. ’Tis thus
Mankind are aided by each others skill
And nations linked by wants in turn supplied.
Of all the arts that elevate mankind,
Refine their feelings, and exalt their thoughts
From gross and base conceptions, Poesy
Must reign pre-eminent. It is the next
To inspiration, and almost divine.
From human nature’s inmost depths it springs,
And blends the will and intellect, till both
Give forth their life with strange intensity,
And seek to live incarnated in words
Through many generations. To the terms
Of daily life and common intercourse,
It gives new strength, and o’er their rudeness breathes
Rich music and soft beauty. When the soul
Is sublimated by poetic thought
And raptured feeling, no unnumbered words
Can give fit utterance, but it seeks by song
To tell the harmonies that reign within,
And visions bright reveal. The poet’s page
Is as a casket, wherein he has hid
[37]
The treasures of his heart. The talisman,
The magic key which can alone unlock
Such sacred jewels, is a mind attuned
Responsive to his own. Where this is not,
His book becomes a blank, and sordid breasts
Can find no beauty there. How happy they
Whose finer spirits can with joy perceive
The luscious sweetness of the poet’s song,
Partake the grandeur of like noble thought,
And feel entranced with him. The gains of gold,
The pomp of life, the pride of circumstance,
Can ne’er convey such pleasure to the heart
Or give a bliss so pure. To her high bards
The world owes much, and more than oft is thought.
’Tis not alone that they have lit the fires
Of sacred poesy in other breasts,
And taught young bards to touch the lyric strings
To sweet, though meaner music; but the might
Of their high thoughts hath kindled in the souls
Of statesmen, warriors, sage philosophers,
And all earth’s greatest emulative thought
And nobleness of heart. Whene’er the world
Neglects sweet poesy, and dis-esteems
The songs of bards, her holier life burns dim
And flickers in the temple, and the voice
Of prophets may send forth the cry of woe!
Oft when the spirit hath been deeply tried
By grief or love, or disappointment stern,
[38]
A healing balsam hath the poet’s skill
Sent forth to soothe such smarting wounds of soul
And still their fearful throbbing. Melodies
Of mournful music, breathing from the heart
A vital sympathy, have given strength
And healed a kindred sorrow; till at last
The unstrung chords within the shattered breast
Have been retuned, and every note restored
Could sound a richer music than before!
Thus was it with Sir Arthur; and the lays
Of ancient bards were blended with his life
And wrought into his being. On their songs
His heart was nourished in his hour of woe
Till strengthened into joy. With reverence deep
He now beheld them, and their subtle power
To give delight, and elevate the soul
By ministries of pleasure. Now he sought
To wake in others, a like sense and taste
To relish their chaste beauties. From its birth
He strove to open in each child the spring
Of freshly flowing poesy. The book,
For his chief teaching, was the glorious scenes
Of ever-verdant nature; sunset skies;
Soft floating clouds; umbrageous forest shades;
Bright stars or flowers; the splendour of the noon,
The gloom of storms; the gorgeous pall of night,
Were each a lesson, that with double power,
Taught Piety and Poetry. Fair twins
[39]
And loving sisters are they! sent to raise
Mankind to higher purity of thought
And holier purposes. With cheerful smiles
And love reciprocal, they, hand in hand,
Oft journey on together, noting well
The true and beautiful in all around.
Whilst Poesy points out the fair and bright
The pure and lovely, Piety will lift
Her hand aloft to indicate the Source
Whence such sweet visions spring; then both rejoice
With kindred raptures, and with keener zest
Seek fresh occasions for exalted praise.
With hearts thus moulded from their early years
And tutored into song, each one hath gained
Some small perfection in the gentle art
Of linking thought with verse. This Christmas eve—
A season dedicate to showing forth
Their loving strife by works of utmost skill—
To grace the festival, each one must bring,
By former compact, an original poem
Wrought out in solitude, from private thought
And inward feeling, so as best to shew
The individual heart. By privilege
Of ancient friendship, from our boyish days,
And love as that of brotherhood, I’ve come
To join the circle by Sir Arthur’s fire,
Partake his hospitality, and share
The social converse round this happy hearth.
[40]
Oh Christmas, what a host of sacred thoughts
Come thronging at thy name! The mind is filled
With holy visions of our human loves
Exalted and refined. The charities
Of daily life, of kindred and of home,
Glow warmer ’neath thy sway. With hasty flight
The mind runs backward to more ancient times
And simpler manners, when the pomps of life
Had wrought not such division, but the heart
Of man met that of man, and all rejoiced
As in one brotherhood, at higher hopes
And brighter prospects, given to the earth
By Him who made it. Round the blazing fire
Each family assembled, must’ring all
Their nearest kindred; whilst with social love
And hospitable cheer, mid dance and song
And mirth and minstrelsey, the hours fled by
With joy and brightness, leaving on the heart
A glow more warm than autumn sunshine throws
On corn-clad uplands. Plenty filled the barns,
And teeming stores gave birth to grateful thoughts
And heavenly musings; whilst sweet carols sung
Took up the burden of the angels’ song
Of “peace on earth, good will to man,” and made
A holy joy pervade the sportive glee.
To grace the season, at this ancient Hall,
The feast is held, in the most antique room,
And largest it contains. With wainscoting
[41]
Of polished oak, and carvings rich and quaint
The walls are clad. Along the ceiling run
Strong oaken beams that oft each other cross,
Dividing all into compartments square,
With pendents hanging down, adorned with gold
And flower-like wreathings. Pannels here and there
Are filled with pictures, where some classic piece,
Or ancient love tale, gives to modern eyes
The thoughts and feelings in the heart of old.
The noble hearth spreads wide, and glorious flames
Roar up the chimney, as if wild with joy
And laughing at the bitter frost without.
Amid their light the yule-log huge burns red,
Diffusing round a warmth that seems to reach
The very heart and make it happier. Boughs
Of laurel, fitted to entwine the brows
Of heroes, mingled with all evergreens
The season yields, in gay and rich festoons,
Or proud bouquets, adorn the walls around.
The holly, with its grey-green crumpled leaves
And berries bright as rubies, shoots red gleams
Like sunset through a forest. Mistletoe,
The choice of Druids, with its slimy balls
And mystic branchings, fills the pensive mind
With memories wild and weird. All things are here
To link thought to the past; all emblems full
Of rich memento, giving to the heart
Sweet impulses, the while the village bells
[42]
Peal their glad music with the same deep notes
That struck the ear long centuries ago.
The group assembled owned the mystic power
Of these associations. Ancient rites,
Time-honoured customs, and the cheerful sounds
All sacred to the season, gave delight
That brightened in the countenance. Not one
But felt the mind o’erflowing with rich thoughts,
And stirred with deeper feelings. But on earth
Pure joy can never reign, whilst death can part
The loved and the beloved. And as around
That smiling family the Father glanced,
And saw one vacant chair, a tear bedimmed
His eye for his lost daughter. On the brow
Of her fond Mother, resignation sat
In peaceful calm, that gave a purer tone
To every word and look. The lively band
Of sisters and of brothers, though the heart
In youthful freshness hath a buoyant spring,
Amid their songs and merry laughter, shewed
Their spirits dwelt on Edith. Converse sweet
And mutual interchange of sprightly thought
Passed on the hours—such hours as leave the mind
More full of love and charity, and gleam
With starry radiance o’er our path of life
When viewed in retrospection. Intervals
Of song or music would beguile the time
And make the moments sweeter. Verses framed
[43]
By some skilled poet breathing truth and life,
Where raised to loftier power by the voice
In melody’s deep tones, transmuting them
To heart-enchaining songs. Sweet instruments,
Diverse in sort, combined their varied notes
In dulcet harmonies, and made a stream
Of music as delightful to the ear,
As to the eye a gorgeous bank of flowers,
Where richly mingled every size and height,
And hue and tint, combine their lovely forms
To make the fancy, at the splendid scene,
Straight dream on paradise. The evening’s feast
In rich abundance shewed the liberal hand
Of hospitality. Rare viands, meats,
With varied wines and drinks, o’erspread the board;
But chiefly those which custom, ancient right
And use ancestral, have with willing heart
Devoted to the season. Flowing thought,
The play of merriment, the flash of wit,
Enriched the banquet, whilst o’er all there reigned
The sway of Temperance. She, with cheerful smile,
Gave each enough, the while a graver look
Forbad excess, and by this healthful rule
Increased the gladness of the social meal.
The dearest friends and closest kindred formed
Alone this meeting; such as would delight
To hear the strains of poetry brought forth
By Members of that household, and not deem,
[44]
With chill austerity, and critic scorn,
Their bringing forth an effort at display.
Cheered by the pure repast, and seeking now
Some other source of pleasure, all the guests
With one consent proceeded to demand
The promised boon—for boon in truth ’twas deemed,
And held on promise too, since last they met
To celebrate this season. In the course
Of varied conversation on the art
Of poesy, the skill required to make
Words run in music, subjects fit to frame
A song of beauty, desultory talk
On power of language, criticism just,
And kindred subjects; it was then proposed,
Half jest, half earnest, that Sir Arthur should,
With each one of his family, present
A poem as portion of the Christmas feast
When next they met. With merry laugh from all
The challenge was accepted, and the scheme
Of reading then laid down: Sir Arthur first
Should bring forth his production; then the sons
And daughters, each in order of their years,
Should offer theirs; and to conclude the scene,
The Mother chose, with modest diffidence,
To rank the last. Now seated round the hearth
In one vast circle, with the sparkling eye
Of expectation, and the eager glance
Of curiosity, the group are ranged
[45]
To have the plan fulfilled. The ruddy glow
Of blazing faggots gives the cheek of youth
Redoubled beauty. As the firelight smiles
Throughout th’ illumined room, its lustre falls
On looks more cheerful still. The lively warmth
That fills the sprightly air, now clear by frost,
Diffuses gladness, and a cheerful sense
Of home-born pleasures—purest of the earth!
Delighted with the scene, as one he loved
And prized beyond all price, Sir Arthur brought
Without delay, his manuscript, and read
In tones that shewed the utterance of his heart,
To auditors attentive, what he’d named—
The Social Hearth.
How oft man looks for happiness afar,
Amid loud tumult, or the din of war;
O’er foreign lands, through distant climes, he’ll roam
To win that pleasure he may gain at home.
Here does the error in its root begin;
He seeks without when he should search within,
And strive to see included in his breast
The seeds of happiness, the germs of rest.
All bounteous nature upon man doth shower
Her gifts of pleasure, with more equal dower
Than we, dim-sighted and unwise, discern,
But by due effort we the truth may learn.
[46]
In the charmed circle of the cheerful hearth
Life’s purest pleasures, richest joys have birth;
Where heart meets heart with confidence serene,
Truth smiles in brightness, Goodness rules benign.
How calmly sweet, how soothing to retire
From pains and toils to peace beside the fire;
Whilst round the blaze, true-hearted friends are met,
In whose gay converse we all care forget.
The merry laugh, the simple playful jest,
The soul of gladness in each look expressed,
The wit retorted, and the temperate mirth,
Are like rich sunshine glowing o’er the earth.
Fresh thoughts imparted, truths unknown before,
In freedom given but increase our store;
And each kind feeling with prolific reign
In kindred breasts is multiplied again.
When song or music elevates the time,
The homely dance or poet’s lofty rhyme,
All feel their pleasure and delight increased
By each partaking in the social feast.
When thus we mingle, how it will impart
Feelings more kind and noble to the heart,
Increase its warmth by love unknown before,
And where it has loved, make it love the more.
[47]
The sacred psalmist strung his harp to tell
How goodly ’tis in harmony to dwell;
E’en like the ointment poured upon the head,
That to the skirts of priestly vestments spread!
Oh! ne’er should scandal, or detraction mean,
Or words unkindly desecrate the scene;
But all with pure sincerity conspire
To strengthen friendship, fan love’s holy fire.
If thus we meet—if thus in peace unite,
And make each home a temple of delight,
Our hearts will tell us there is not on earth
A place more sacred than the social hearth.
As this sweet strain of poesy came forth,
All felt its truth and beauty. It described
The pleasures now enjoyed, and but portrayed
Such scenes of innocent and social glee
As often filled that room. The feelings pure
Therein expressed, the higher tone of life,
The sweeter charity, unfolded clear,
Was but a transcript of that law which ruled
The spirit of their Host. Whene’er the life
Is tuned accordant to the poet’s song,
And all his actions manifest his lays
The offspring of sincerity, how great
How wonderful their power! And not alone
[48]
Its truthfulness was valued; but the skill
In poetry its melody displayed
Surpassed expectance. Each delighted guest
Felt curiosity within him rise
To know what subject would compose the next,
And how it would be treated. Arthur then
Was called upon for his. With roguish look
He begged them all to guess the theme he chose
To render into verse. Some thought it War,
Some Peace, some Honour, some Heroic life,
Some Solitude. At last a venturous voice
Whispered it might be Love. The simple word
Gave birth to pleasant smiles. When does it not?
To old, to young, to those of middle years,
It aye comes welcome. Those who have not known
The power of love, with curious longing hope,
Still wish that they may know it. Those who feel
Its present sway, if they but hear its name,
Have sacred visions to their fancy brought
Of certain curling locks, bright eyes, sweet smiles,
And forms to them angelic. Those who’ve past
That passion’s mysteries, recall with joy
The season of its sway, and dote to see
Young hearts just flitting o’er the selfsame net
By which they were entangled. Is not this
A picture of the truth, all ye who bear
The hearts of warm humanity? The smile
Was not diminished when the heir confessed
[49]
Such guess was near the mark. With steady voice,
And gravity maintained by effort firm,
As conscious that the subject well deserved
High thought and lofty sentiment, he gave
A quick recital to a lyric piece
Entitled simply—
Passing Thoughts on Love.
The ancient poets sang a love
Whose spell of wild and fiery power
Ruled men below, and gods above,
And conquered in its burning hour.
The wine-cup’s rich delicious draught
Ne’er maddened more the reeling brain,
Or filled the heart so full, when quaffed,
With ecstacy akin to pain.
Then like a dream it passed away,
A fervid vision of the night,
Till some bright beauty’s potent sway
Awoke again the fierce delight.
Such might be passion’s wayward course
That flashes like the lightning’s gleam;
But ne’er was love, whose fountain-source
Sends ever forth a constant stream.
[50]
True love is like the stars on high
That shine with undiminished ray,
And glows all warm and fervently
As does the splendid orb of day.
Naught but the beauty of the soul,
Arrayed in virtue’s peerless dress,
Can pure love waken, or controul
The bosom with its loveliness.
It is the glorious bond of life
That joins two kindred souls in one;
And when they meet, amid earth’s strife,
The same bright path they journey on.
Heart yields to heart a living strength,
And thought to thought increase of light,
Until their happy days at length
Well nigh partake of heaven’s delight.
’Tis not the high and manly brow
Enlinked to beauty’s witching charm,
Can make such deep-soul’d passion glow,
Or keep it from decay and harm.
The pure in heart, the pure in thought,
Alone such inward union gain;
And by the law in heaven wrought
Such souls can never more be twain.
[51]
Alas! for earth where love is sold
For station, honour, pride, and power;
Bartered for fame, betrayed for gold,
And often scarcely lasts an hour.
Yet some there be who do partake
A measure of this love divine;
Then such deep love, for love’s pure sake,
Oh may I own, or none be mine!
The smiling look, and cheerful playfulness,
Continued through the piece. But many found
A loftier element pervade the song,
And deeper sentiments than they had deemed
Indwellers of such theme. When he had done
He cast around a furtive glance to see
The influence of his verse. All faces wore
A look of bland approval. One alone
Hung bending down, as if to mark the bloom
Of rosy flowerets in the rich bouquet
That beautified her bosom. Did her cheek
Catch deeper crimson from their loveliness
That made it glow so brightly? Sooth to tell
There was a hue like that of sunset clouds
Which fluttered sweetly there. It might be caught
By strong reflection from those happy flowers
Which hung upon that breast; or it might spring
From thoughts still happier, nestled warm within,
[52]
Whose stirring motions made the pure blood flow
More freely o’er that cheek. Were such the truth,
It might betoken sympathy of soul
With those high sentiments, and with the heart
That gave them utterance. Young Arthur long
Had deemed her beautiful, and she to him
Had moved a star of light; but mutual words
Of loving import had not yet revealed
Their hearts unto each other. With a glance
Of quick delight, like to the lambent flash
Of summer lightning, he beheld that blush,
So meek and rosy, and with instinct true
His soul divined its meaning. With a word
Of rapid whisper in Matilda’s ear,
He bad that sister hasten to bring forth
Her promised verse; whilst he awhile withdrew
From the gay circle, that in solitude
He might indulge the overpowering thought
Which filled his raptured breast. His joy intense,
No words could tell; whilst now in soul convinced
That Emma’s noble and susceptive heart
Was his for ever! Shortly he returned
With looks elate, and joys delightful glow
On his proud countenance. When he rejoined
His father’s guests, his sister had not yet
Commenced her promised task. With timid heart
And shrinking feeling, she awhile forbore
In modest diffidence; for she was one
[53]
Of tender nature, of affections warm,
And delicately sensitive of soul.
Her truth of heart, and nobleness of thought,
Made her abhor all wrong. Her simple mind,
As clear as crystal, made her ever love
Simplicity in all things. Hence she chose
To frame a ballad of domestic scenes
And their endearments. In a gentle voice,
Replete with feeling, she began to read
A tale of rural life, of fervent passion,
That bore inscribed the humble name of—
Lucy.
Sweet Lucy, in the Pastor’s house
Had dwelt from early years,
The scene of all her childish joys,
Gay hopes, young smiles and tears.
It stood beside the rustic church
Engirt with noble trees;
A quiet nook, a calm abode,
A home for rural peace.
Before its walls with roses twined,
And ivy interlaced,
A lovely plot of cultered flowers
The simple dwelling graced
[54]
A rustic fence, with lattice gate,
The sole dividing bound,
Between that garden, fair and rich,
And grassy graves around.
And here, an infant, free from care,
In summer’s jocund hours
Glad Lucy played, as insect blithe,
Companion of the flowers.
To her, amidst the dawning blush
Of life’s unfolding bloom,
The grave was not a thing to wake
A thought of pain or gloom.
Yet well it might—beneath the sod
Her parents both were laid;
The father ere her hour of birth
Was numbered with the dead.
Her mother, pierced with keenest grief,
Heart-broken with deep woe,
Scarce heard the little infant cry
Ere she departed too.
The babe, forlorn, compassion found,
Though kindred she had none;
The Pastor took her to his heart
And reared her as his own.
[55]
He childless was, yet with a soul
In children to delight;
To see the love he bore to this
It was a touching sight!
An orphan! O, the very thought
Brings tenderness of heart;
Then what must one so frail and young
To his pure breast impart?
’Twas like some holy vision fair
To see his glance so mild,
His hoary head, his moistened eye,
Bent over that sweet child.
How joyed he at the first clear sounds
Her infant lips could make,
And o’er the first free wandering steps
Her little feet could take.
His friend of life, his wife beloved,
In all felt equal glee,
And joined to rear the orphan maid
In truth and purity.
As feeling grew within her breast,
To them a love she bore
As fervent as an own child’s love—
Yea warmer, deeper, more.
[56]
Yet were her parents oft in mind;
A holier thought was given,
And purer love to those she deemed
Her guardians in heaven.
What can so elevate the soul,
Refine its richest love,
As to be linked by kindred’s ties
To radiant worlds above?
A mind so delicate and pure
In learning took delight,
And treasured up each noble thought
And deed with virtue bright.
But chiefly was the Sacred page
Engraven on her heart,
And did to her its lofty hopes,
Its joys, its peace impart.
Thus she who was his highest joy
In childhood’s sprightly day,
Became the Vicar’s cheerful friend
And aid in life’s decay.
How graceful was her lovely form,
How rich her curling hair,
And her cheeks’ hue like rosy beams
Of evening blushing there.
[57]
Her gladsome smile’s delicious play,
Her eyes’ entrancing light
Won sweet regard from every heart
And filled it with delight.
Such peerless charms! how could they fail
To rouse impassioned love?
And bind some willing heart in chains,
A captive loth to move.
Young Albert to the village came
And saw the maid so fair;
Then straight resolved to win her heart
A trophy rich to wear.
His manly form, his dauntless look,
His elegance of mien;
A voice that spoke in dulcet tones,
An eye with glances keen;
A ready flow of touching words
To tell a tender tale;
Must they not fire a maiden’s soul
And make a suit prevail?
His words of love! as dew they fell
Upon her stainless heart,
And made it, like fresh fragrant flowers,
To loftier being start.
[58]
All simple, guileless, framed of truth,
It knew no frail disguise;
But let unchecked its passions spring
Its deepest feelings rise.
And oft at even-time they strolled
The rural lanes alone,
In converse deep, with kindred thoughts
And feelings blent in one.
Both nature prized, and took delight
In sunset skies and flowers,
And talking of all fairest things,
They wiled away the hours.
Naught can so swiftly light two breasts
With mutual flames of love;
As finding that all beauteous scenes
The same deep pulses move.
Pure, simple, Lucy, scarcely knew
Her heart’s full passion won,
Until the idol of its hope
From her fond side was gone.
He bad farewell in gentle tone
And vowed with hasty breath;
Farewell, she cried, in truth’s own voice,
“Albert! I’m thine till death!”
[59]
And such she was! but oh that he
Like faithfulness had shewn,
Then we upon her maiden grave
No timeless flowers had strewn.
He went and mingled with the world,
And learnt its sordid ways;
Till noble thought, and feeling true
Within his soul decays.
Then gold for love, and state for worth,
For truth parade and show,
His bosom prized, and soon forgot
His first-love and his vow.
Soon for him, and a maid of wealth,
Pealed forth the marriage bell;
But its gay sound assumed afar
A tone like Lucy’s knell.
Soon as she heard—from her gay cheek
The roses swiftly fled,
And left fair lillies, pale and wan,
To flourish in their stead.
The lillies fluttered there awhile,
But lost their bloom with speed,
And withering swift, shewed on their root,
The canker worm did feed.
[60]
She calmly pined—all meek of soul;
The grief she strove to hide
Like poison wrought, and caused life’s stream
To flow with feeble tide:
Just ere it ceased, with gentle voice—
All pain and wrong forgiven—
She said—I leave false earth to gain
Unfailing truth in heaven.
And now she in the church-yard lies,
And soon was followed there
By those two loving hearts who’d made
Her life their bounteous care.
In five green graves together ranged,
Their frail remains abide;
Her foster parents, and her own,
And hers, all side by side.
All ye who win a true heart’s love,
Of faithlessness beware!
Go view that simple midmost grave
And learn a lesson there!
When she had ceased, the simple pathos shewn
In that pure song, had touched each feeling heart,
And some bright eyes were brighter for a tear
[61]
That gemmed their loveliness. A pause ensued
Of few brief moments, and then Alfred stepped
With freedom forward to impart his share
Of promised verse. He had but just returned
From college, where his studious hours were spent
With fervour most devoted, to acquire
An ample store of learning. He had found
Rich treasures hid amidst the ponderous tomes
Of ancient days, and with determined heart
He sought to make them his. A fervent love
Glowed in his bosom for their noble thoughts
And sentiments and feelings, and he gave
His hours with zeal, enthusiastic zeal,
To communings with them. Short time had he
To dally with the muse, or let the play
Of vagrant fancy interrupt his aims;
Yet in the festival he would take part,
And brought, as fittest offspring of his harp—
A Sonnet To the Master-Minds of Earth.
Immortal bards, philosophers, and sages
Whose glorious thoughts have lit this darkened world
And raised Truth’s banner, a bright flag unfurled,
To guide men onwards through all future ages
To liberty and peace. Upon your pages
[62]
My mind would pasture, as along the meads
The simple flock in innocency feeds,
Till nourished into strength. Through all life’s stages,
In youth, in manhood, and in calm decline
At your clear fountains may my spirit drink
To quench her thirst for knowledge, to refine
Each feeling quick, and learn to nobly think!
Oh! much we need ye! ye bright stars from heaven,
And to our aid may thousands more be given!
Fair Eva next came forward to the task;
She was a joyous creature full of life
And health and beauty. In her rich blue eye
There was a light of gladness, and her cheek
Was clear and rosy as the flowers of spring.
Her step was free, as if the morning breeze
Were ever her companion, and each limb
Had motions graceful as the waving bough.
The love of nature dwelt within her heart
In all its aspects; but her chief delight
Was in the silver, sunny loveliness
Of noontide splendours, or the gorgeous scenes
All gold and crimson, when the day declines
And bids farewell to earth with kingly pomp.
On such she looked with ever-raptured eye,
Until their brilliance had imbued her soul
With joyous thoughts and bright. The theme she chose
Was one expressive of that cheerful tone
[63]
Which filled her spirit, and with mellow voice
She gave glad utterance to her—
Love of Spring.
I love the time when buds and bells
Hang fragrant in the woodland dells;
The primrose and the violet
On richest mossy banks are set.
How joyous when the warmth of spring
Invites the merry birds to sing,
And their sweet bowers of love are made
Amid the flowering hawthorn’s shade.
Then robed in verdure, stately trees
Stretch their broad branches to the breeze,
Rejoicing in the glorious light
Of sun and sky, like silver bright.
Amid fair meads young lambkins play
Their sprightly games in pure array;
And insects sport on gauzy wing,
Live gems in sunshine fluttering.
Each rural scent, each rustic sound,
Enchantment lend the landscape round;
And every sight conspires to bless
My heart with wild sweet happiness.
[64]
I love the summer’s golden reign,
And autumn’s ripeness o’er the plain;
But to my spirit naught can bring
Such gladness as the days of spring.
For then I rove the woodland wild,
With heart as simple as a child,
And spend the pure fresh morning hours
Amid the breezes, birds, and flowers.
Reclining on some grassy seat
Within a leafy dark retreat,
I con the Poet’s living book
Beside the clear-streamed stony brook.
Such calm seclusion strengthens thought,
And all His visions bright are brought
Across my mind, more fair and clear,
Mid scenes His spirit would hold dear.
I love stern winter’s reign sublime,
Rich autumn, and sweet summer time;
But nothing to my heart can bring
Such gladness as the days of spring!
The blithesome tone of this gay melody,
This pastoral song, spread cheerfulness around,
And made all hearts beside the winter fire
Think hopefully of spring. Some moments passed
[65]
In pleasant converse; then Lucrece was urged
Her poem to recite. With gentle grace
And modest diffidence, she forward came,
Yet with becoming confidence, as one
Who knew, but did not over-rate, her powers.
She was a poetess by nature framed
And had a soul for song. Her flowing thought
Moved on in hidden melody, that gave
Each word expressive feeling; and her face
In every feature, witnessed to a mind
Of passions strong and pure. Her eye was dark,
And black, and eagle-like. It shone a star
By its own inward light; but o’er it hung
Silk, raven lashes, that subdued its blaze
But lessened not its power. Her lofty brow,
By its expansion, shewed a kingdom wide
Where thought might rule; and o’er her well-formed head
Rich sable hair, in smooth and glossy braids,
Displayed its shining beauty. Down her cheek
Some bright curls clustered, and amid their shade
There peeped the pearl-white lustre of her ear.
O’er her fair countenance the pallid rose
Assumed the precedence, and nigh subdued
Its rich and blushing sister. ’Twas the hue
Of thought spread o’er her features, leaving there
The marble’s clear transparence. You might dream
She were a statue, did not feelings flash
Their radiance from her look, and mind’s pure light
[66]
Float halo-like around her. Tall her form
And moulded into grace; each polished limb
Seemed full of life and motion; and her step,
Though light and agile, yet had stateliness
And maiden dignity. She older seemed
Than were her years, for eighteen summer suns
Alone had passed with ripening influence,
Her beauty to mature; but you might date
Her more advanced in womanhood, her mind
By its expansion, and the thrill of thought
And earlier strength of feeling, had impressed
Such semblance on her aspect. She was one
To whom the world was beautiful; but yet
Her mind had thirst for higher beauty still
Than met her waking vision. One to whom
The tales of old romance, and fairy lore,
And songs of chivalry, were needful food.
Each noble thought, bold deed, and virtue bright,
Found echoes in her breast; heroic acts,
Undaunted words, or patriotic love
Met sympathy with her. Creative thought,
Imagination’s realising power,
Gave form and substance to the visions fair
That flitted o’er her fancy; abstract themes
Lost their elusive subtlety and gained
Embodiment and shape. And thus in truth
She was a poetess; and all her verse,
Though wrought from fancy’s airy gossamer,
[67]
Had strength and life and strange reality.
She thoughts refined, and spirit-like could chain
In binding language, and give power and life
To evanescent sentiments. She chose
To frame a legend full of rich romance,
Such as we picture in the days of old,
When love was lofty passion—woman seemed
A more etherial being sent to tame
Man’s rude stern heart mid glorious chivalry.
With thought concentred on the theme; with heart
Alive to changing feelings, and with voice
Deep, rich, and varied, such as well could shew
The latent beauty in a poet’s song,
She read the story, not unfitly named—
Fidelio and Lenore.
Oh! Muse, inspirer of the old romance,
Sweet songs of chivalry, rich fairy lore,
Let thy deep influence through my spirit glance,
For I would vision forth a tale of yore,—
A legend of true love, that evermore
May in bright fiction to the mind display
The power of constant truth, to triumph o’er
The ills of life in all their dire array,
And how that virtue pure speeds conquering on its way.
[68]
But thus to sing my soul must be subdued
To softest tenderness and gentle thought,
And every feeling dissonant and rude
To full and perfect harmony be brought;
Whilst richest colours, from gay fancy caught,
Must paint the whole, and with their light illume
Well-chosen words, though seemingly unsought,
That run in cheerful music, and assume
Rich melodies of verse,—like breezes o’er spring’s bloom.
No Muses haunt Parnassus’ lofty mount,
Nor wander on by Castalie’s pure stream;
Whose waters welling from their crystal fount
Blushed with the light of heaven’s entrancing beam.
Mere glorious visions of a Grecian dream
Those Muses were! on them I call in vain!
And ye must all me most presumptious deem,
That such high prize I struggle to attain
As sing some wild romance, some sweet Spenserian strain.
The moonbeams shone upon the castle wall,
That rearing proudly from its native rock,
Gave back the accents of the torrent’s fall
Which gushed below, as if to sternly mock
The wild rage of the river, whose fierce shock
Struck with the might of an eternal storm,
But yet impressed not the immortal block
Of massive adamant, that reared its form
Embattled midst the skies with turrets multiform.
[69]
And far around vast forests stretched their boughs
In one unpathed perplexity of shade;
Upon whose skirts the purple mountains rose,
As if they would the starry realms invade
With their titanic summits. Midst each glade,
And mossy valley, gently purling streams
Gushed rippling on, and in their windings made
Deep woodland haunts, unpierced by sunny beams,
Sweet bowers for purest love,—fit nooks for poet’s dreams.
Here were rock-fragments clad with tangled moss
And crowned with wildflowers’ gay and drooping bells;
Here trees majestic shot wide boughs across
To form vast arbours, or green leafy cells,
Amidst whose verdure coolness ever dwells;
And on the brook-sides’ grassy banks arose,
Whose glossy richness in soft couches swells
To woo the student calmly to repose,
Or watch glad insects sport at days warm golden close.
O’er tower and turret, bastion, portal, keep,
The bright moon glancing with serenest smile,
Threw on their grandeur, mid the hours of sleep,
A sacred light that glorified the pile
And made it seem a vision. Calm awhile
And lonely, and in stillness lay the scene
Save tones of rushing waters, that beguile
The thoughts to them a moment. Now is seen
A knight’s athletic form in armour’s dazzling sheen.
[70]
Along the terrace, with majestic stride,
He onward passed below the highest tower;
And each step witnessed to the noble pride
That fills a warrior’s heart—the sense of power,
Of free-born might, and fame’s immortal dower.
His shield he had not, but his keen sword hung
Bright-jewelled by his side, and like a flower
His gay plume nodded, whilst he swiftly strung
A lute’s expressive chords, and thus in deep tones sung.
Serenade.
Sweet Lady bright—Lenore! Lenore!
Oh! list to thy lover’s lay,
Whilst the moonbeams shine o’er the forest boughs
As rich as the glow of day!
Oh! Lady fair—Lenore! Lenore!
My deep love to thee I’ll tell,
For the secret founts of my heart o’erflow
Unlocked by the moonbeam’s spell!
Oh! Lady kind—Lenore! Lenore!
Let my soul’s impassioned tale,
With a heart so gentle and pure as thine,
In its truthfulness prevail.
[71]
Oh! Lady dear—Lenore! Lenore!
I have loved thee deep and long,
And I love thee now, and for evermore,—
Give ear to my pleading song!
Oh! Lady true—Lenore! Lenore!
Like yon constant stars above,
Or the changeless light of the sun’s glad beam,
To thee is my fervent love.
Oh! Lady mine—Lenore! Lenore!
Would that I might call thee so,
In the faithful vow of united love,
Ere I to the wild wars go.
Oh! Lady love—Lenore! Lenore!
Might I have the rich delight,
To believe in thy dreams thou’lt think on me?
Sweet Lady—good night! good night!
The last “good night” rang sweetly on the air
When, from the casement of a turret high,
A white hand peeped, as beautiful and fair
As ever cloudlet on the radiant sky;
And to that love-song gave a sweet reply
By letting fall a flower—a flower which told
Of love’s sublime delicious witchery
Within the heart. Hid in his scarf’s gay fold
That boon to the wars he bore, more daring brave and bold.
[72]
The last rich scion of an ancient line
Was fair Lenore; a lonely orphan, she
Dwelt in that Castle by the rushing Rhine
In days of tournament and chivalry:
A creature fitted to inspire the free
And noble passion of a truthful breast
And brave bold heart, whose inbred courtesy
And gentler feelings, would seek out a rest,
Mid valour’s peaceful pause, in woman’s love possessed.
Oh! she was beautiful! a thing of light
Of life, of gladness and unsullied smiles;
A glorious being fitted to delight
By gentle manners, innocent sweet wiles,
And gay allurement, that full oft beguiles
The heart of sadness with its soothing power;
Like sunbeams striking on the ocean isles,
And dissipating mists that on them lour,
Till all shine fair and bright in noon’s resplendent hour.
Thus had her goodness won the noble heart
Of brave Fidelio, whose princely halls,
Broad spreading vineyards, forest lands apart,
And mountain-holds, stood nigh the blue Rhine-falls;
Whose gliding waters pass the lordly walls
Of many a lofty castle, held by knights
Of power and state, but none there is who calls
More wealth his own, inherited by right,
Possessed in honour true, maintained by valour’s might.
[73]
Whilst her heart’s lord, mid Palestine afar,
In dauntless combat fought the Saracen,
To drive him from the land, where first a star
Revealed the Saviour to the sons of men,
And give its sacred shrines and sites again
To be a gladness to the pilgrims’ heart;
The fair Lenore, with absent lovers’ pain,
Sat all secluded in her bower apart,
And wrought rich tapestry bright, and handyworks of art.
Two years had fled since that auspicious night,
When music taught how deep the love she felt,
And bade her heart, with exquisite delight
Towards him who wooed her, tenderly to melt
In one brief moment; whilst she swiftly spelt
An unknown lesson from her burning breast
And prized the lore it gave; a truth which gilt
With sunset brightness all her thoughts, and blest
Her hours with musings sweet, her heart with richest rest.
But now her days were mingled with deep care,
And oft with agony and doubtful fear,
For of her true knight there no tidings were,
And as she thought thereon, the sparkling tear
Would drop from her blue eye, so bright and clear,
And sorrow’s sadness heave her breast in sighs.
Intense she watched, but never there drew near
His stalwart form to glad her longing eyes.
Hark to yon minstrel’s notes that waken her surprise!—
[74]
Troubadour’s Song.
A wealthy knight to the wars went forth,
To fight for the Holy Cross;
But of all his goods in the sacred cause
He cheerfully suffered the loss.
He came to his native land again
Enriched with fame—but poor!
A truthful heart, and a strong bright sword
Formed all his earthly store!
He went like a troubadour, and sang
To his lady-love a strain
That told of his loss, and his heart’s deep truth,
But she viewed him with chill disdain!
She knew it was he, but her sordid soul
Had loved for the wealth alone,
And she cast his high worth and his truth away
From her heart when that was gone.
“Ah! my Fidelio that is thee indeed!
My heart can pierce thy troubadour’s disguise;
Oh do not make my faithful bosom bleed
By such too cruel song! within me lies
The woman’s truthful heart that aye defies
The frowns of fortune, the decrees of fate,
And all the change in mortal destinies.
How light to me the pomp of wealth and state;
Thy truth, and sword alone, make thee my fitter mate!”
[75]
How glad their hearts in that enraptured hour!
What joy they felt, what confidence serene,
And like the blooming of a glorious flower,
Deep thoughts came forth that never yet had been
Unfolded in their breasts. A peaceful scene
The future offered; but before the time
Their love had priestly sanction, valour keen
Advanced the infidel; with zeal sublime
The knight re-sought the wars—to stay he deemed a crime!
Nigh to that ancient castle of Lenore,
Within the forest, in a gloomy cave,
A vile enchanter dwelt, who oft of yore
Had worked deep mischief. Naught on earth could save
From his enchantments, when his soul would crave
And lust for evil; with such direful aim
He wrought his purposes. The bold, the brave,
The fair, the lovely, without ruth or shame,
He brought to ill. Pauvero was his name.
He was in sooth a most repulsive wight,
With matted locks, and sallow livid hue;
His red eyes glared as if in wild affright,
And lank, spare frame, seemed pinched by hunger blue:
Torn filthy rags he wore, that seemed to shew
The utmost want; for though he stole away
The wealth of thousands, yet he never knew
A benefit therefrom, but let it lay
Deep in a vast dark pit, all buried from the day.
[76]
Soon as the knight had left his lady fair,
He swiftly thought, by necromantic skill,
To win her wealth; and it to slyly bear
Away with him that wicked pit to fill.
Palled by the dark, with thievish pace and still,
He stole into that castle night on night,
Aided by imps and magic power, until
Its walls were stripped, its coffers emptied quite,
And naught was left for use, and naught to please the sight.
And further yet to shew his hellish spite,
He bore the lady to a noisome den,
And chained her there, all hidden from the light,
Beneath his cave, far from the haunts of men;
Of her bright garments he disrobed her then,
And clad in coarse vile rags, that not an eye
In such strange garb could recognise again
The maiden once so beautiful. A cry
Gushed from her tortured heart, but no true help was nigh!
When brave Fidelio from the fight returned,
He found her castle all in ruin stand,
Grey-mossed and broken-walled. His spirit burned
With agony’s wild fire, as o’er the land,
Now desolate, he gazed; and with his hand
Held high to heaven, a sacred vow he swore,
To bring fit vengeance on the fiendish band
That wrought the ruin; for the wild scene bore
Marks of that wizard’s blast, all withered, burnt, or frore.
[77]
“Sweet lady mine! where art thou dwelling now?
That vile enchanter hath thee in his power!
Oh! that thou coulds’t but hear my spirit vow
To search earth for thee to life’s latest hour.
And though he hath deprived thee of thy dower,
’Tis naught to me, for wert thou still but mine,
I would not heed bright fortune’s richest shower
Or want’s necessity, if still might shine
On me that loving look, that radiant smile of thine.”
He rushed impassioned to that forest dark,
To search each fastness for the wizard’s den,
And seek if chance had left some trace or mark
To guide his footsteps to Lenore again.
Long days and months he sought with weary pain
And heart undaunted, but no track had yet
Been found to prove his quest was not in vain,
Till one bright evening, when the sun had set,
He stopped by a stony brook to hear its waters fret.
And as he lay upon the flowery brink,
Close by a wild rock that ascended high,
In dark despondency he ’gan to think
On those bright moments when his hope was nigh
Its rich fruition; and he heaved a sigh
Of doubt and discontent, and wished he ne’er
Had gone to th’ wars again, or chivalry
Been his heart’s choice; but soon he dashed the tear
Away, and sang to his lute these mournful notes—now hear!
[78]
The Melody.
Oh! Lady, thou star of my life, no more
Thy clear beams shine on me,
And sorrow hath shrouded my lone days o’er
Withheld from the sight of thee.
Lenore! Lenore! in the forest I cry—
Mere desolate echoes the sole reply!
My spirit is pining to hear thy voice,
My heart to behold thy smile;
How at the sweet sound would my soul rejoice,
Thy glances my woe beguile;
But despondency clouds each bright hope o’er
And thrills me with fear to see thee no more.
Oh! ne’er did I know till this fearful time
The depths of my love for thee,
Or proved the wild anguish my soul must feel
When thou art afar from me.
To my cry in the forest—Lenore! Lenore!
Echo seems but to answer—“no more, no more.”
No balm to keen sorrow, by day I find,
No joy in the noonday light,
And but once mid my watchings and thoughts on thee
Sweet solace relieved me at night.
For I dreamt to the cry of “Lenore!” there came
A soft gentle voice that whispered my name.
[79]
Was it the last tones of his moving lay,
Reverberating from the rock behind,
Which gave that sound? He rose to pass away,
But ’twas repeated, and his startled mind
Heard feeble accents borne upon the wind
As from a voice, but hollow, faint, and low,
Like human wailings deep in earth enshrined.
Breathless he listened, whence they came to know,
And found them from a cleft, near that rock’s haughty brow.
He swiftly climbed, and gained that fissure high,
Like some air-passage to a hidden cave;
He spoke aloud, and then a sweet reply
Unbounded gladness to his spirit gave:
“Fidelio! ah, I know thou’rt come to save
Thy sad Lenore from this enchanter’s power,
And raise her joyful from this living grave,
To be thine own, thy loved for evermore;
My heart said thou wouldst come, and to despond forbore.
“But human strength can be of no avail
To rend the vastness of this dungeon wall;
Then seek the hermit, dwelling in the vale,
Beside the eastern mount, and straightway call
His wisdom to thine aid, for he can all
The spells of magic by his skill destroy,
And make the strongholds of enchantment fall;
For naught so pleases him as to annoy
“Those powers of hell, and mar their fiendish joy.”
[80]
Soon was that good and holy hermit found,
In his lone habitation far away,
And help implored. Said he, “Sir Knight, if sound,
True, pure, and perfect, be thy love, the way
To free the maid from magic’s direful sway
Is short and certain, but will try thy might
Of heart and arm. Beneath where she doth lay,
Through that hard rock, for full five fathoms straight,
Thine hand must dig along, and mine thro’ jewels bright.
“This having done, thou wilt behold a cell
Of golden ingots, and large diamonds full;
And laid thereon, a wand of power, to quell
The might of magic and its spells annul;
No more I utter! if thine heart be dull
In its affections, or thy love untrue,
And seek those gay gems round about to cull,
Then thou thy daring enterprise wilt rue;
“But if thy soul be pure, then triumph waits on you.”
The knight returned, and to his task applied,
With joyful heart and persevering aim;
No gold veins tempting in the rock’s rich side,
Nor diamond treasures when he to them came;
He seized the wand, and, waving it, a flame
Of silvery brightness shone within the grot;
He struck the sides, and, answering to the same,
Around full tones of music seemed to float
Aloft in air, and soon appeared the Maid he sought!
[81]
When that sweet moment of entrancement passed,
They found themselves within a woody glade;
And hoards of glittering wealth around them cast,
Which to the Castle unseen hands conveyed;
And now that mighty fortalice displayed
No signs of ruin, but it stood erect
In all its former gorgeousness arrayed,
A noble building with a proud aspéct
Its enemies to daunt, its inmates to protect.
Bright was the morning, when that truth-tried pair
Their glad vows plighted to the sacred priest;
Brave banners fluttered in the mountain air,
Proud music floated, and the marriage feast,
By regal bounty and rich gifts increased,
Was gaily honoured through the realms around;
Nor yet for many days those pleasures ceased,
But they in castle, and in cot were found,
Making each spirit blithe, each joyous heart rebound.
The brave Fidelio in the Holy Land
Had won such treasures from the Infidel,
All by the might of valour’s potent hand,
When in these last wars he had sought to quell
His arrogant power; that to his share there fell
Such mighty wealth as all his sacrifice
Of fervent piety repaid full well,
Redeeming back his lands; mid gay surprise
To twice endow Lenore, to him the noblest prize!
[82]
Rich were the hours of their unfolding love,
And sweeter still the time of plighted vows,
But richer, sweeter far than these above,
Their wedded life, when every hour arose
Some new and deep affection to disclose;
Some fond remembrance, some delighted thought
To link their hearts. Oft in this hushed repose
Of mutual confidence their feelings caught
The poet’s sacred fire, and thus in songs were wrought—
Canzonet.
How sweet, how delightful it is to remember
Our first happy days when affection began,
And Love, the gay truant, the roguish dissembler,
Seemed sporting as lightly as spring breezes fan.
But soon that designer in strong finks had caught us,
And smiled at our bondage ere we were aware
Of the pleasing deception, the mischief he wrought us,
In mingling together rich joy and deep care.
Then oft on our absence what sadness awaited,
What hope and despondency, pleasure and pain,
In varied succession, with thrill unabated,
Till calmed by our meeting to gladness again.
But sweetest that season, when young Love had yielded
To Hymen’s rich keeping his strength and his power,
And the god on our passion smiled gaily, and sealed it
In bonds of endurance to life’s latest hour.
[83]
Since then have we known the bright pleasures of living,
That purest delight of heart beating with heart;
When thoughts and affections, deep feelings, emotions
In varied succession high rapture impart.
Of all the rich boons that to mortals are given,
With wreaths of pure pleasure their brows to entwine;
Ah! none can be dearer, more breathing of heaven
Than the joy of true love in “for ever I’m thine!”
Here will we leave this soul-devoted pair,
Their wedded days in happiness to spend;
Nor bid again to vanish into air
Visions and fancies that the muse hath penned;
But let their brightness with our spirits blend
And their clear moral elevate the heart.
For now ’tis time this votive song had end,
So poor in thought and music—pray impart
Due pardon to my lyre that ill hath done its part!
When she had ceased, each heart around confessed
She owned poetic powers, and that to her
It was a labour of devoted love
To weave the rhythm of the poet’s song,
And frame his numbered melody. An ear,
By close acquaintance with the lofty tones
And modulations of the noble verse
Of our great bards, may soon acquire the power
[84]
And skill to versify; and likewise thought
May be illumed by their poetic light,
Until it shine with lustre, and give forth
A seeming inbred poesy. The bard,
The true and native bard, does more than this;
There is within him a far deeper fount
Of innate feeling; and his radiant mind
Shines not with light reflected, but gives forth,
When warmed by passions burning in his heart,
Its own clear coruscations; like those stars
Which flash across the sky, so swift and bright,
We wonder whence they came. And so with her
Was thought creative, and gave mystic birth
To things and beings, lifeless hitherto.
Now all are waiting for the last regale
Which is to crown the whole, and bring to end
This contest of sweet verse. A mother’s voice
Would give it utterance, a mother’s heart
Was its warm birth-place; and each one presaged
A song that breathed affection. Oh how calm,
How sweet she looked, amidst that family,
Her mild cheek beaming with maternal love:
How simple and how fair! her very dress,
So plain and neat, to her appearance gave
A saint-like aspect—not the gloomy saint
Of ghostly superstition—but the true,
The real, the bright, the one whose cheerful heart
Adores the love of Heaven, and lets its love
[85]
Flow freely o’er on all. And there she sat
Close by the fire-side, in the place assigned
To venerated guests. Yet none would take
That antique chair, but with a general voice
Awarded it to her; and said the joys
And innocent pastimes could not be commenced
Till she consented to retain that seat
As her’s alone. And reverent she looked,
And well she graced it, as the firelight played
On her pure countenance, and silver hair
Whose thin braids peeped beneath a seemly cap
Of snowy whiteness. Such a holy calm
Suffused her features, as can spring alone
From peace of heart within. Her soul had known
Dark trials on the earth, but they had wrought
To purify and strengthen, till her faith
Was bright and cheerful, and her hope serene.
She now with retrospective eye beheld
That Goodness was in all, and hence her life
Was bright and beautiful, as golden skies
That usher in the calm repose of night.
Before attempting to impart her verse
According to old promise, with a voice
Of winning modesty she softly said
She was no poetess, but merely brought
Some thoughts and feelings from a mother’s heart
In simple language rendered. She rejoiced
With soul-felt gladness to behold around
[86]
So many loving friends; and further still
To see her sons and daughters glad and gay
With native cheerfulness, and strong in health.
For this her heart was thankful. But her ear—
And whose is quicker than a mother’s ear—
Had missed the gentle tones of one sweet voice
From that glad Hall, which but two years ago,
On the same festive night, with accents soft
Mixed in gay concert there. She knew that none
Had ’ere forgot her Edith, but that all
Bore her in loved remembrance; and some thoughts
Of sacred elevation well became
The time and season; and she therefore brought
Some simple lines in memory of her,
As fittest tribute from a mother’s breast—
A song she best could frame. With few words more
Of preface, or apology she read—
An Elegy on Edith.
Place o’er her tomb a simple cross,
The emblem of Redemptive love,
To bid us hope, amidst our loss,
And trace her flight to realms above.
She lies not there—the feeble frame
Alone reposes ’neath the sod;
But her bright soul, that vital flame
Now shines before the throne of God.
[87]
Her eye so dark, will glance no more,
Her raven hair in ringlets wave;
The music of her voice is o’er,
And her light step is in the grave.
No more will mortal eye behold
That form so lovely, soft, and fair;
Now blending with the earth’s damp mould,
Or scattered through the realms of air.
Her tears are dried, but she hath left
To us a legacy of tears;
To be of her sweet love bereft
Must dim the eye through future years!
But ah! much deeper grief will wring
And anguish tear that mother’s breast,
Where she in infancy did cling
And slumbered in a holy rest.
But I forbear—and seek to calm
All earthly grief with heavenly hope,
And aided by its healing balm
Give not my hidden sorrow scope.
Then let us raise our thoughts on high,
And trace her spirit’s glorious flight
From sorrow, pain, and agony
To peace and joy in worlds of light.
[88]
Is she afar? ah! thin the veil
That hides the spirit-land from view;
Such thoughts instinctively prevail,
And my fond heart believes them true.
The angels’ is an inner world,
Not distant, but in life more high;
Though now in fleshly vestments furled
To us are kindred spirits nigh.
And I can think that when I quit
This “earthly house” for glory bright,
Me first her angel-smile will greet,
And her hand lead through realms of light.
Throughout the strain a mournful sadness breathed,
Yet mixed with elevated hope, and made
All bosoms move in sympathy, and eyes
Suffuse themselves with tears. But not of grief
And sorrow unalloyed. For there are thoughts
So lofty, elevated, pure and sweet,
Linked with affection and devotion, warm
In contemplating loved ones passed from earth,
That the bright tears they strew upon the cheek
Are more like dew-drops, ’neath some twilight sky
All glad and rosy, than the chilling rain
That falls from gloomy clouds. Now sacred thought
Was kindled in each breast, and musings calm
[89]
Which suited well the season and the hour;
Then all spoke of retiring, for the time
When the first star that shewed its feeble light,
Whilst day was darkening, in the furthest east,
Should have attained its highest point in heaven
Had come, but oh how swiftly! Happy hours
And peaceful had been spent, and every heart
Was filled with gladness; and a holier love
Warmed every bosom, such sweet fellowship
Had reigned triumphant there. With cheerful looks
And grateful, farewell greetings for the night
To host and hostess, each delighted guest
Went to the room warm hospitality
Had set apart for him; yet with the hope,
The glad and confident hope that day would bring—
And many days succeeding—such pure joys
And pleasures innocent, as o’er his heart
Had softly flowed amid the recent hours
Of social glee. The antique hall was soon
By its gay crowd deserted. On the hearth
The giant yule-log, lessened to a stick,
Burnt with a crimson glow, but through a veil
Of thin white wavering ash. The warmth it gave
Is now diminished, and the keen frost-air
Pierces the lonely room. Farewell old scene
Of oft-remembered joys—to thee, good night!
And now withdrawn to solitude, I may
Let thought make free excursions, and review
[90]
The recent hours of pleasure. There are times
When we think inwardly, that is more deep
Within our being, so that images
Distinct and palpable, are scarcely seen
To flit before the mental eye; yet thought
Rolls on in fulness, like a mountain stream
Deep, sweeping, vast, but ’neath the clouds of night
Silent and unrevealed. Such most is felt
When many persons, actions, words, and things
Have passed before us quickly; then they crowd
The mind too fully, to let each stand out
In individual being; but they all
Are lodged within the memory, and come forth
So fresh and vital, during future days,
And oft so unexpectedly, we start
To see them rise again as from the grave.
Oh wondrous is our being! every thing
That e’er hath passed before us: every thought
That flitted cloud-like o’er our realm of mind;
And every feeling that hath urged the heart,
E’en with a slight vibration, seems to leave
A certain impress stamped upon the soul
As with a seal eternal: sendeth forth
A living substance, from the which is built
Our being and identity; conjoins
By mystic sympathies, and secret links,
Our spirits unto others. Little knows
Philosophy, though brightly on advance,
[91]
About the inner world, the world of mind.
The earth’s deep crust she pierced hath, and made
Mankind astonished at its boundless age;
Her outstretched hand has spanned the wilds of space,
And shewn the distance infinite of stars;
Her hawk-like glance hath downward looked, and seen
Whole worlds of vital being in dim grains
As small as summer dust. High are these truths,
And mighty and ennobling; but still more
And greater have to come, when she hath searched
The world of matter more, till its known laws,
And comprehended principles have given
A greater strength, and more divining power
To pierce far deeper mysteries, and scan
The inner world of spirit. Newton learnt
The law that binds the universe in one
From a mere apple’s fall. If sages pore
As thoughtfully on mind, may they not bring
Some hidden things to light, that may reveal
Great laws and simple, that shall elevate
All science far beyond its present flight,
Though eagle-like its wing now seems to reach
The sun of Truth, so loftily it soars.
How warm and pleasant is this curtained room
Assigned for night’s repose. The cheerful fire,
With its bright tongues of flame, illuminates
The walls with fitful gleams, and ruddier light
Than issues from the lamp. ’Twere sweet to sit
[92]
And muse for some hours longer, but the night
Is far advanced, and though the stillness round
Invites to contemplation, yet the time
And prudence too forbids. Before I give
Myself to slumber let me draw aside
The heavy curtain, o’er the window hung,
Excluding cold and wind; and thence look forth
Upon the landscape to behold the scene
Arrayed in winter’s garb. Oh gorgeous sight,
Unutterably grand! The morn was black
And dark and dismal; through the middle day
The storm’s white burden was cast down to earth
With strange rapidity; and now the night
Shines bright and glorious, beautiful and fair!
Far o’er the head, so lofty that the eye
Can scarce rise up to view her, glows the moon
With keen intensity of silver light,
And from her heavenly altitude pours down
Such floods of radiance on the snow-clad earth
As fills the heart with rapture. Scarce a star
Can shew its beam amid the purple sky
So rich her bright rays spread. The frosty air,
Sharp, keen, and subtle, hath a delicate haze
That beautifies all objects, giving them
A softer aspect, a more lovely hue,
A spirit-like appearance. On the trees,
Leafless and verdureless, a foliage lies
Of splendid whiteness. A strange stillness holds
[93]
Their forms gigantic, and their stretching boughs,
As if they slumbered in the midnight air.
Short shadows cast they on the even ground,
Night’s silver regent hath her throne so nigh
The summit of heaven’s arch. Along the lawn
How softly spreads the radiant plain of snow,
More smooth and level than a temple floor
Of alabaster framed. O’er all the beds
And borders ranged for flowers, no smaller shrub
Or plant can shew a branch; but buried deep
Beneath a downy burden, mark their tombs
By hemispheres of white. When looking far
Across the landscape, every object gleams
As it recedes by distance, more refined,
More unsubstantial, till the veiling mist,
Long ere the eye can reach th’ horizon’s bound,
In softened beauty, blends the earth with heaven.
Far to the left, some cottage roofs appear,
Where lies the village, rearing chimneys tall,
Now smokeless in the moonlight. Nigh the wood
Which swells in highest grandeur, o’er the hill
That rises to the westward, stands the church
All pure and peaceful in the holy light.
On its embattled tower the moonbeams fall,
And seem to hallow it, so fair and calm
It gleams within them. From its summit shoots
The tall and taper spire, and high o’ertops
The loftiest trees around, and stands alone
[94]
Amid the ether, whilst its form sublime
With emblematic finger points to heaven!
When morn arises, from that ancient tower
An anthem-peal will ring, a music rich
And pregnant with deep thoughts. For centuries
The selfsame tones have burst upon the air
And made it thrill with harmony. It fell
On ears that listen on this earth no more,
And when we hear it, it will be a link
Uniting us with them. Oh! mystical
And wonderful is sound. A single note
May call our past life up, and make it live
All vivid in the present. Every thing
Has its own voice, its sound. As once I passed—
Not having passed it for a length of years—
An old park-gate in manhood, which I oft
Had entered when a boy, the simple click
Of its loud latch, was recognised again
In one brief moment, and it brought to sight
All those companions who, in school-boy days,
Had there surrounded me; and heavy thoughts
Pressed on my spirit, for I knew that some
Were carried to the grave; and some were gone
I knew not whither; and the most, perhaps,
I should behold no more! Then what deep thoughts,
What thoughts of piety should Christmas bells
Awake within the soul! Their mighty tones
Teem with the memories of two thousand years
[95]
Or nigh thereto. What wonderful events
Since then have happened, how the world hath changed,
And man hath been exalted, since the Words
Divine of Christ were mingled with his lore!
And who is he? “Emanuel, God with us!”
O mighty name and nature, on his arm
“The government shall rest!” In him we see
Jehovah manifest! To us “a child
Is born, a son is given,” and his name
Is “Wonderful!” Oh wonderful indeed
That he who ’habiteth eternity
Should stand revealed in time; that he who dwells
Far o’er the heavens, should yet descend to earth;
That He, enthroned in “unapproached light”
Should visit this world’s darkness! Many names
And titles glorious, hath the Son of God,
In whom we see the Father, one with Him
So true and absolute, whoso beholds
The Son beholds the Father. Search the Word
And see if these things be so; let it tell
The truth in its own language. “In Him dwells
The fullness of the Godhead bodily.” He is
“The true God and Eternal life.” In flesh
Christ came, and he “is over all God blest
For evermore.” Still further it reveals
“God was in Christ,” and “reconciling” there
“The world unto himself.” Jehovah says
Times oft repeated in the elder Word
[96]
He is the Saviour, and none else but He;
He is Redeemer, and he will not give
His glory to another. We should hold
Exalted notions of that Saviour who
Was born to David, and is “Christ the Lord.”
Whom prophecy hath named “the Mighty God,
The everlasting Father, Prince of Peace.”
What mighty words, and wonderful are these
To waken thought within the humble mind
And make it strive to apprehend and know
The mystery sublime. But comprehend
It never can, such lies not in the power
Of finite mind, its feeble grasp can ne’er
Include infinity. Then let us pause
And ponder deeply, for the truth is not
More difficult to hold, or to believe,
Than that creation at the first sprang forth
Beneath the fiat of Almighty Will,
And finitude was born, and time began!
Ring out ye bells! and with glad notes proclaim
The glorious advent of the Prince of Peace.
And let your melodies resound aloud
Till every heart with pious joy is filled!
Princes of war have desolated earth
And ravaged nations, cities, homes, and hearths,
Till men cried out in misery, and made
The vaulted heaven re-echo to their cries.
But wars shall cease, and men shall beat at length
[97]
Their swords to ploughshares; and all peaceful arts
Shall flourish on the earth. Then Truth shall shine
With her own cheerful radiant light, and bless
The kingdoms of the World, and Goodness dwell
Enthroned in every heart. Then life shall run
In one pure current, as a crystal stream,
And every deed in excellence shall shine
Like stars of heaven. A bond of holy love
Shall make a glorious brotherhood of man,
And heaven-descended charity shall link
The nations into one. Then holy joy
Shall elevate each heart, the song of praise
Burst gladly from each lip, and men shall lift
Their voice in anthems, whose ascending notes
Shall fill the skies with harmony sublime.
Oh! that the bright and happy hour were come
When earth exulting shall behold the reign
Of Christ the great Messiah! Once he came,
In deep humility, to taste of death,
In weakness and in weariness; but soon
As prophecy foretells, he shall appear
Revealed to men, in majesty and might.
In spirit and in power, to build his church,
His kingdom, on the earth, and stablish it
In peace profound, in holiness secure,
In truth unshaken, happiness supreme
And rich with glory that shall know no end!
Then shall Jerusalem lift up her voice
[98]
In songs of gladness, when she is arrayed
In garments fair of righteousness; her head
Encrowned with wisdom’s sparkling diadem,
And she rejoiced o’er as a beauteous bride
By Him who framed her. Then her sun no more
Shall set in darkness, or her moon withdraw,
But God shall be her everlasting light,
Her walls Salvation, her wide portals Praise,
And her deep mourning cease for evermore!
My meditations have ascended high,
Yet are they fitting to the time; it brings
Unnumbered thoughts like these! The human soul
Created in God’s image seems to share
In His infinity. Evolving thought,
For ever growing, can within it dwell,
And oft ascending and ascending still
To higher points of elevated Truth,
View things around it with extended glance,
And with more god-like insight. What can fill
Its vast capacity, or quench the thirst
It bears for knowledge. It was born to rise
For ever upward into brighter light!
Lift high the banner of “Excelsior.”
On! on! the watchword! Let us search for Truth
With steadfast heart, and holy trust in God,
Then never can we fail! Where shall we find
The thing we look for? In the musty tomes
Of darkening ages, in the harsh decrees
[99]
Of priests king-ruling, in the twilight dim
That settles on the past! Ah! no, not there
Look to the future, to the morning light
Appearing in the east! Three books are writ,
Three books divine; their pages rightly conned
Will blend their full triunity of Truth
In one bright blaze of wisdom. Pierce within,
And read the volume there, and it will tell
Of something higher than the world around,
More living, more substantial; look abroad,
O’er the vast universe of worlds and suns,
That border on infinitude; then turn
Another page, and read inscribed thereon,
A like infinitude, within the small
And tiny measurements of living grains
And vital atoms, all disposed by laws
Sublime in their simplicity, that bind
The great and little in one mighty whole.
Lessons like these will fit the mind to see
That in a written book, indeed divine,
A like infinitude of Truth must dwell
Concealed within the letter. Human minds
That have enlodged themselves in books, leave there
A record of their greatness. Learned men
Have conned the documents, that sages writ,
With care unceasing, and at last confessed
They had not reached the ultimate of thought
Embodied in them. What must be the depths,
[100]
The vast profundities of pages penned
From perfect inspiration? Christ hath said
Flesh profits nothing, but the words I speak
Are spirit and are life. The letter kills,
The spirit giveth life, hath Paul announced.
How shall we pierce this body to let forth
The spirit of pure truth. From whence attain
The “key of knowledge” to unlock the stores
Of hidden wisdom in the word divine.
The promise saith that brighter light shall come,
And many hearts now need it! Thought, with them,
Hath been enlarged by pure philosophy,
From nature’s pregnant book. They yearn to see
Its perfect harmony with truth divine,
And find all streamlets from the Fount of Truth
Blend in one lucid river. Let us wait
In patience and humility the time
Of this grand consummation! Let us up
To the high mountain tops, from thence to watch
The dawning sunlight of earth’s brighter day.
Such day shall come, though it hath tarred long,
And yet may tarry, for the certain harp
Of sacred prophecy hath oft foretold
Its glorious advent—let us watch, and wait!
It is full time that I should now arrest
Thought’s current in the midst. Though on a theme
So full and teeming, it might swiftly run
Its rapid course for ever. O’er the earth
[101]
The cold increases, and the bitter frost
Draws flowers upon each pane. I must retire
From this unsullied prospect, fair and calm
And eminently beautiful. The fire
Burns low within the grate, and embers lie
In darkness on the hearth, that but of late
Were red and glowing. In the shade of sleep,
And night’s oblivion, I must seek to quench
The fire of thought, and for awhile forego
A life of consciousness. Yet with a hope
Of sweet refreshment, and with strength renewed,
To spring up cheerful when the morning sun
Makes bright the winter landscape, and enjoy
That intellectual pleasure, pure delight,
And social intercourse, that ever form
The banquet rich of Christmas at the Hall!
