Which brightens on thee!-Oh! guide thou right
My thought's weak pinion, clear mine inward sight,
The eternal springs of beauty to discern,
Welling beside thy throne; unseal mine ear,
Nature's true oracles in joy to hear:
Keep my soul wakeful still to listen and to learn.
XXI.-MEMORIAL OF A CONVERSATION.
YES! all things tell us of a birthright lost,
A brightness from our nature pass'd away!
Wanderers we seem, that from an alien coast,
Would turn to where their Father's mansion lay,
And but by some lone flower, that 'midst decay
Smiles mournfully, or by some sculptured stone,
Revealing dimly, with grey moss o'ergrown,
The faint-worn impress of its glory's day,
Can trace their once-free heritage; though dreams
Fraught with its picture, oft in startling gleams
Flash o'er their souls.-But One, oh! One alone,
For us the ruin'd fabric may rebuild,
And bid the wilderness again be fill'd,
With Eden-flowers-One, mighty to atone !
RECORDS OF THE AUTUMN OF 1834.
I.—THE RETURN TO POETRY.
ONCE more the eternal melodies from far
Woo me like songs of home: once more discerning
Through fitful clouds the pure majestic star,
Above the poet's world serenely burning,
Thither my soul, fresh-wing'd by love is turning,
As o'er the waves the wood-bird seeks her nest,
For those green heights of dewy stillness yearning,
Whence glorious minds o'erlook this earth's unrest.
Now be the spirit of Heaven's truth my guide
Through the bright land!-that no brief gladness found
In passing bloom, rich odor, or sweet sound,
May lure my footsteps from their aim aside:
Their true, high quest-to seek, if ne'er to gain,
The inmost, purest shrine of that august domain.
September 9th.
II-TO SILVIO PELLICO, ON READING HIS "PRIGIONE.'
THERE are who climb the mountain's heathery side,
Or, in life's vernal strength triumphant, urge
RECORDS OF THE AUTUMN OF 1834.
The bark's fleet rushing through the crested surge,
Or spur the courser's fiery race of pride
Over the green savannas, gleaming wide
By some vast lake; yet thus, on foaming sea,
Or chainless wild, reign far less nobly free,
Than thou, in that lone dungeon, glorified
By thy brave suffering.-Thou from its dark cell
Fierce thought and baleful passion didst exclude,
Filling the dedicated solitude
With God; and where His Spirit deigns to dwell,
Though the worn frame in fetters withering lie,
There throned in peace divine is liberty!
III. TO THE SAME, RELEASED.
How flows thy being now?-like some glad hymn,
One strain of solemn rapture ?-doth thine eye
Wander through tears of voiceless feeling dim,
O'er the crown'd Alps, that, 'midst the upper sky,
Sleep in the sunlight of thine Italy?
Or is thy gaze of reverent love profound,
Unto these dear parental faces bound,
Which, with their silvery hair, so oft glanced by,
Haunting thy prison-dreams?-Where'er thou art,
Blessings be shed upon thine inmost heart,
Joy, from kind looks, blue skies, and flowery sod,
For that pure voice of thoughtful wisdom sent
Forth from thy cell, in sweetness eloquent,
Of love to man, and quenchless trust in God!
IV.-ON A SCENE IN THE DARGLE.*
'Twas a bright moment of my life when first,
O thou pure stream through rocky portals flowing!
That temple-chamber of thy glory burst
On my glad sight!-thy pebbly couch lay glowing
With deep mosaic hues: and, richly throwing
O'er thy cliff-walls a tinge of autumn's vest,
High bloom'd the heath-flowers, and the wild wood's crest
Was touch'd with gold.-Flow ever thus, bestowing
Gifts of delight, sweet stream! on all who move
Gently along thy shores; and oh! if love,
-True love, in secret nursed, with sorrow fraught-
Should sometimes bear his treasured grief to thee,
Then full of kindness let thy music be,
Singing repose to every troubled thought!
A beautiful valley in the county of Wicklow.
V.-ON READING COLERIDGE'S EPITAPH.
WRITTEN BY HIMSELF.
"Stop, Christian passer-by! stop child of God!
And read with gentle breast ;-Beneath this sod
A Poet lies, or that which once seemed he;
Oh! lift one thought in prayer for S. T. C.!
That He, who once in vain, with toil of breath,
Found death in life, may here find life in death'.
Mercy, for praise; to be forgiven, for Fame,
He ask'd and hoped through Christ. Do thou the san.e'
SPIRIT! so oft in radiant freedom soaring,
High through seraphic mysteries unconfined,
And oft, a diver through the deep of mind,
Its caverns, far below its waves, exploring;
And oft such strains of breezy music pouring,
As, with the floating sweetness of their sighs,
Could still all fevers of the heart, restoring
Awhile that freshness left in Paradise;
Say, of those glorious wanderings what the goal?
What the rich fruitage to man's kindred soul
From wealth of thine bequeathed? O strong and nigh,
And sceptred intellect! thy goal confess'd
Was the Redeemer's Cross-thy last bequest
One lesson breathing thence profound humility!
VI.-ON THE DATURA ARBOREA.
MAJESTIC plant! such fairy dreams as lie
Nursed, where the bee sucks in the cowslip's bell,
Are not thy train :-those flowers of vase-like swell
Clear, large, with dewy moonlight fill'd from high,
And in their monumental purity
Serenely drooping, round thee seem to draw
Visions link'd strangely with that silent awe
Which broods o'er Sculpture's works.-A meet ally
For those heroic forms, the simply grand
Art thou and worthy, carved by plastic hand,
Above some kingly poet's tomb to shine
In spotless marble; honoring one, whose strain
Soar'd upon wings of thought that knew no stain
Free through the starry heavens of truth divine.
VII.--DESIGN AND PERFORMANCE.
THEY float before my soul, the fair designs
Which I would body forth to Life and Power,
Like clouds, that with their wavering hues and lines
Portray majestic buildings:-Dome and tower,
Bright spire, that through the rainbow and the shower
Points to th' unchanging stars; and high arcade
RECORDS OF THE AUTUMN OF 1834.
Far-sweeping to some glorious altar, made
For holiest rites:-meanwhile the waning hour
Melts from me, and by fervent dreams o'erwrought,
I sink ;-O friend! O'link'd with each high thought
Aid me, of those rich visions to detain
All I may grasp; until thou see'st fulfill'd,
While time and strength allow, my hope to build
For lowly hearts devout, but one enduring fane!'
VIII.-HOPE OF FUTURE COMMUNION WITH NATUhE.
IF e'er again my spirit be allow'd
Converse with nature in her chambers deep,
Where lone, and mantled with the rolling cloud,
She broods o'er new-born waters, as they leap
In sword-like flashes down the heathery steep
From caves of mystery;-if I roam once more
Where dark pines quiver to the torrent's roar,
And voiceful oaks respond ;-shall I not reap
A more ennobling joy, a loftier power,
Than e'er was shed on life's more vernal hour,
From such communion?-yes! I then shall know,
That not in vain have sorrow, love and thought,
Their long still work of preparation wrought,
For that more perfect sense of God reveal'd below.
IX.-DREAMS OF THE DEAD.
OFT in still night-dreams a departed face
Bends o'er me with sweet earnestness of eye,
Wearing no more of earthly pains a trace,
But all the tender pity that may lie
On the clear brow of Immortality,
Calm, yet profound. Soft rays illume that mien,
Th' unshadow'd moonlight of some far-off sky
Around it floats transparently serene
As a pure veil of waters. O rich sleep!
Thou hast strong spirits in thy regions deep
Which glorify with reconciling breath,
Effacing, brightening, giving forth to shine
Beauty's high truth, and how much more divine
Thy power when link'd in this, with thy stern brother-Death
X.-THE POETRY OF THE PSALMS.
NOBLY thy song, O minstrel! rush'd to meet
Th' Eternal on the pathway of the blast,
With darkness round him, as a mantle, cast,
And cherubim to waft his flying seat;
Amidst the hills that smoked beneath his feet,
With trumpet-voice thy spirit call'd aloud,
And bade the trembling rocks his name repeat,
And the bent cedars, and the bursting cloud.
But far more gloriously to earth made known
By that high strain than by the thunder's tone,
The flashing torrents, or the ocean's roll,
Jehovah spake, through the imbreathing fire,
Nature's vast realms for ever to inspire
With the deep worship of a living soul.
DESPONDENCY AND ASPIRATION.*
"Per correr miglior acqua alza le vele,
Omai la navicella del mio Intelletto.”—Dante.
My soul was mantled with dark shadows, born
Of lonely Fear, disquieted in vain:
Its phantoms hung around the star of morn,
A cloud-like weeping train;
Through the long day they dimm'd the autumn gold
On all the glistening leaves; and wildly roll'd,
When the last farewell flush of light was glowing,
Across the sunset sky;
O'er its rich isles of vaporous glory throwing
One melancholy dye.
And when the solemn Night
Came rushing with her might
Of stormy oracles from caves unknown,
Then with each fitful blast
Prophetic murmurs pass'd,
Wakening or answering some deep Sibil tone,
Fer buried in my breast, yet prompt to rise
With every gusty wail that o'er the wind-harp flies. "Fold, fold thy wings," they cried, "and strive no more, Faint spirit, strive no more!-for thee too strong
Are outward ill and wrong,
And inward wasting fires!-Thou canst not soar
Free on a starry way
Beyond their blighting sway,
At Heaven's high gate serenely to adore!
How shouldst thou hope Earth's fetters to unbind?
O passionate, yet weak! O trembler to the wind!
"Never shall aught but broken music flow
From joy of thine, deep love, or fearful woe;
Such homeless notes as through the forest sigh,
From the reeds hollow shaken,
When sudden breezes waken
* Partly composed during the Author's last illness.
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