Part 5
We thought, "When winter comes again, Where will these bright things be? All vanished, like a vision vain, An unreal mockery!
"The birds that now so blithely sing, Through deserts, frozen dry, Poor spectres of the perished spring, In famished troops will fly.
"And why should we be glad at all? The leaf is hardly green, Before a token of its fall Is on the surface seen!"
Now, whether it were really so, I never could be sure; But as in fit of peevish woe, I stretched me on the moor,
A thousand thousand gleaming fires Seemed kindling in the air; A thousand thousand silvery lyres Resounded far and near:
Methought, the very breath I breathed Was full of sparks divine, And all my heather-couch was wreathed By that celestial shine!
And, while the wide earth echoing rung To that strange minstrelsy The little glittering spirits sung, Or seemed to sing, to me:
"O mortal! mortal! let them die; Let time and tears destroy, That we may overflow the sky With universal joy!
"Let grief distract the sufferer's breast, And night obscure his way; They hasten him to endless rest, And everlasting day.
"To thee the world is like a tomb, A desert's naked shore; To us, in unimagined bloom, It brightens more and more!
"And, could we lift the veil, and give One brief glimpse to thine eye, Thou wouldst rejoice for those that live, BECAUSE they live to die."
The music ceased; the noonday dream, Like dream of night, withdrew; But Fancy, still, will sometimes deem Her fond creation true.
TO IMAGINATION.
When weary with the long day's care, And earthly change from pain to pain, And lost, and ready to despair, Thy kind voice calls me back again: Oh, my true friend! I am not lone, While then canst speak with such a tone!
So hopeless is the world without; The world within I doubly prize; Thy world, where guile, and hate, and doubt, And cold suspicion never rise; Where thou, and I, and Liberty, Have undisputed sovereignty.
What matters it, that all around Danger, and guilt, and darkness lie, If but within our bosom's bound We hold a bright, untroubled sky, Warm with ten thousand mingled rays Of suns that know no winter days?
Reason, indeed, may oft complain For Nature's sad reality, And tell the suffering heart how vain Its cherished dreams must always be; And Truth may rudely trample down The flowers of Fancy, newly-blown:
But thou art ever there, to bring The hovering vision back, and breathe New glories o'er the blighted spring, And call a lovelier Life from Death. And whisper, with a voice divine, Of real worlds, as bright as thine.
I trust not to thy phantom bliss, Yet, still, in evening's quiet hour, With never-failing thankfulness, I welcome thee, Benignant Power; Sure solacer of human cares, And sweeter hope, when hope despairs!
HOW CLEAR SHE SHINES.
How clear she shines! How quietly I lie beneath her guardian light; While heaven and earth are whispering me, "To morrow, wake, but dream to-night." Yes, Fancy, come, my Fairy love! These throbbing temples softly kiss; And bend my lonely couch above, And bring me rest, and bring me bliss.
The world is going; dark world, adieu! Grim world, conceal thee till the day; The heart thou canst not all subdue Must still resist, if thou delay!
Thy love I will not, will not share; Thy hatred only wakes a smile; Thy griefs may wound--thy wrongs may tear, But, oh, thy lies shall ne'er beguile! While gazing on the stars that glow Above me, in that stormless sea, I long to hope that all the woe Creation knows, is held in thee!
And this shall be my dream to-night; I'll think the heaven of glorious spheres Is rolling on its course of light In endless bliss, through endless years; I'll think, there's not one world above, Far as these straining eyes can see, Where Wisdom ever laughed at Love, Or Virtue crouched to Infamy;
Where, writhing 'neath the strokes of Fate, The mangled wretch was forced to smile; To match his patience 'gainst her hate, His heart rebellious all the while. Where Pleasure still will lead to wrong, And helpless Reason warn in vain; And Truth is weak, and Treachery strong; And Joy the surest path to Pain; And Peace, the lethargy of Grief; And Hope, a phantom of the soul; And life, a labour, void and brief; And Death, the despot of the whole!
SYMPATHY.
There should be no despair for you While nightly stars are burning; While evening pours its silent dew, And sunshine gilds the morning. There should be no despair--though tears May flow down like a river: Are not the best beloved of years Around your heart for ever?
They weep, you weep, it must be so; Winds sigh as you are sighing, And winter sheds its grief in snow Where Autumn's leaves are lying: Yet, these revive, and from their fate Your fate cannot be parted: Then, journey on, if not elate, Still, NEVER broken-hearted!
PLEAD FOR ME.
Oh, thy bright eyes must answer now, When Reason, with a scornful brow, Is mocking at my overthrow! Oh, thy sweet tongue must plead for me And tell why I have chosen thee!
Stern Reason is to judgment come, Arrayed in all her forms of gloom: Wilt thou, my advocate, be dumb? No, radiant angel, speak and say, Why I did cast the world away.
Why I have persevered to shun The common paths that others run; And on a strange road journeyed on, Heedless, alike of wealth and power-- Of glory's wreath and pleasure's flower.
These, once, indeed, seemed Beings Divine; And they, perchance, heard vows of mine, And saw my offerings on their shrine; But careless gifts are seldom prized, And MINE were worthily despised.
So, with a ready heart, I swore To seek their altar-stone no more; And gave my spirit to adore Thee, ever-present, phantom thing-- My slave, my comrade, and my king.
A slave, because I rule thee still; Incline thee to my changeful will, And make thy influence good or ill: A comrade, for by day and night Thou art my intimate delight,--
My darling pain that wounds and sears, And wrings a blessing out from tears By deadening me to earthly cares; And yet, a king, though Prudence well Have taught thy subject to rebel
And am I wrong to worship where Faith cannot doubt, nor hope despair, Since my own soul can grant my prayer? Speak, God of visions, plead for me, And tell why I have chosen thee!
SELF-INTEROGATION,
"The evening passes fast away. 'Tis almost time to rest; What thoughts has left the vanished day, What feelings in thy breast?
"The vanished day? It leaves a sense Of labour hardly done; Of little gained with vast expense-- A sense of grief alone?
"Time stands before the door of Death, Upbraiding bitterly And Conscience, with exhaustless breath, Pours black reproach on me:
"And though I've said that Conscience lies And Time should Fate condemn; Still, sad Repentance clouds my eyes, And makes me yield to them!
"Then art thou glad to seek repose? Art glad to leave the sea, And anchor all thy weary woes In calm Eternity?
"Nothing regrets to see thee go-- Not one voice sobs' farewell;' And where thy heart has suffered so, Canst thou desire to dwell?"
"Alas! the countless links are strong That bind us to our clay; The loving spirit lingers long, And would not pass away!
"And rest is sweet, when laurelled fame Will crown the soldier's crest; But a brave heart, with a tarnished name, Would rather fight than rest.
"Well, thou hast fought for many a year, Hast fought thy whole life through, Hast humbled Falsehood, trampled Fear; What is there left to do?
"'Tis true, this arm has hotly striven, Has dared what few would dare; Much have I done, and freely given, But little learnt to bear!
"Look on the grave where thou must sleep Thy last, and strongest foe; It is endurance not to weep, If that repose seem woe.
"The long war closing in defeat-- Defeat serenely borne,-- Thy midnight rest may still be sweet, And break in glorious morn!"
DEATH.
Death! that struck when I was most confiding. In my certain faith of joy to be-- Strike again, Time's withered branch dividing From the fresh root of Eternity!
Leaves, upon Time's branch, were growing brightly, Full of sap, and full of silver dew; Birds beneath its shelter gathered nightly; Daily round its flowers the wild bees flew.
Sorrow passed, and plucked the golden blossom; Guilt stripped off the foliage in its pride But, within its parent's kindly bosom, Flowed for ever Life's restoring tide.
Little mourned I for the parted gladness, For the vacant nest and silent song-- Hope was there, and laughed me out of sadness; Whispering, "Winter will not linger long!"
And, behold! with tenfold increase blessing, Spring adorned the beauty-burdened spray; Wind and rain and fervent heat, caressing, Lavished glory on that second May!
High it rose--no winged grief could sweep it; Sin was scared to distance with its shine; Love, and its own life, had power to keep it From all wrong--from every blight but thine!
Cruel Death! The young leaves droop and languish; Evening's gentle air may still restore-- No! the morning sunshine mocks my anguish- Time, for me, must never blossom more!
Strike it down, that other boughs may flourish Where that perished sapling used to be; Thus, at least, its mouldering corpse will nourish That from which it sprung--Eternity.
STANZAS TO ----
Well, some may hate, and some may scorn, And some may quite forget thy name; But my sad heart must ever mourn Thy ruined hopes, thy blighted fame! 'Twas thus I thought, an hour ago, Even weeping o'er that wretch's woe; One word turned back my gushing tears, And lit my altered eye with sneers. Then "Bless the friendly dust," I said, "That hides thy unlamented head! Vain as thou wert, and weak as vain, The slave of Falsehood, Pride, and Pain-- My heart has nought akin to thine; Thy soul is powerless over mine." But these were thoughts that vanished too; Unwise, unholy, and untrue: Do I despise the timid deer, Because his limbs are fleet with fear? Or, would I mock the wolf's death-howl, Because his form is gaunt and foul? Or, hear with joy the leveret's cry, Because it cannot bravely die? No! Then above his memory Let Pity's heart as tender be; Say, "Earth, lie lightly on that breast, And, kind Heaven, grant that spirit rest!"
HONOUR'S MARTYR.
The moon is full this winter night; The stars are clear, though few; And every window glistens bright With leaves of frozen dew.
The sweet moon through your lattice gleams, And lights your room like day; And there you pass, in happy dreams, The peaceful hours away!
While I, with effort hardly quelling The anguish in my breast, Wander about the silent dwelling, And cannot think of rest.
The old clock in the gloomy hall Ticks on, from hour to hour; And every time its measured call Seems lingering slow and slower:
And, oh, how slow that keen-eyed star Has tracked the chilly gray! What, watching yet! how very far The morning lies away!
Without your chamber door I stand; Love, are you slumbering still? My cold heart, underneath my hand, Has almost ceased to thrill.
Bleak, bleak the east wind sobs and sighs, And drowns the turret bell, Whose sad note, undistinguished, dies Unheard, like my farewell!
To-morrow, Scorn will blight my name, And Hate will trample me, Will load me with a coward's shame-- A traitor's perjury.
False friends will launch their covert sneers; True friends will wish me dead; And I shall cause the bitterest tears That you have ever shed.
The dark deeds of my outlawed race Will then like virtues shine; And men will pardon their disgrace, Beside the guilt of mine.
For, who forgives the accursed crime Of dastard treachery? Rebellion, in its chosen time, May Freedom's champion be;
Revenge may stain a righteous sword, It may be just to slay; But, traitor, traitor,--from THAT word All true breasts shrink away!
Oh, I would give my heart to death, To keep my honour fair; Yet, I'll not give my inward faith My honour's NAME to spare!
Not even to keep your priceless love, Dare I, Beloved, deceive; This treason should the future prove, Then, only then, believe!
I know the path I ought to go I follow fearlessly, Inquiring not what deeper woe Stern duty stores for me.
So foes pursue, and cold allies Mistrust me, every one: Let me be false in others' eyes, If faithful in my own.
STANZAS.
I'll not weep that thou art going to leave me, There's nothing lovely here; And doubly will the dark world grieve me, While thy heart suffers there.
I'll not weep, because the summer's glory Must always end in gloom; And, follow out the happiest story-- It closes with a tomb!
And I am weary of the anguish Increasing winters bear; Weary to watch the spirit languish Through years of dead despair.
So, if a tear, when thou art dying, Should haply fall from me, It is but that my soul is sighing, To go and rest with thee.
MY COMFORTER.
Well hast thou spoken, and yet not taught A feeling strange or new; Thou hast but roused a latent thought, A cloud-closed beam of sunshine brought To gleam in open view.
Deep down, concealed within my soul, That light lies hid from men; Yet glows unquenched--though shadows roll, Its gentle ray cannot control-- About the sullen den.
Was I not vexed, in these gloomy ways To walk alone so long? Around me, wretches uttering praise, Or howling o'er their hopeless days, And each with Frenzy's tongue;--
A brotherhood of misery, Their smiles as sad as sighs; Whose madness daily maddened me, Distorting into agony The bliss before my eyes!
So stood I, in Heaven's glorious sun, And in the glare of Hell; My spirit drank a mingled tone, Of seraph's song, and demon's moan; What my soul bore, my soul alone Within itself may tell!
Like a soft, air above a sea, Tossed by the tempest's stir; A thaw-wind, melting quietly The snow-drift on some wintry lea; No: what sweet thing resembles thee, My thoughtful Comforter?
And yet a little longer speak, Calm this resentful mood; And while the savage heart grows meek, For other token do not seek, But let the tear upon my cheek Evince my gratitude!
THE OLD STOIC.
Riches I hold in light esteem, And Love I laugh to scorn; And lust of fame was but a dream, That vanished with the morn:
And if I pray, the only prayer That moves my lips for me Is, "Leave the heart that now I bear, And give me liberty!"
Yes, as my swift days near their goal: 'Tis all that I implore; In life and death a chainless soul, With courage to endure.
*****
POEMS BY ACTON BELL,
A REMINISCENCE.
Yes, thou art gone! and never more Thy sunny smile shall gladden me; But I may pass the old church door, And pace the floor that covers thee,
May stand upon the cold, damp stone, And think that, frozen, lies below The lightest heart that I have known, The kindest I shall ever know.
Yet, though I cannot see thee more, 'Tis still a comfort to have seen; And though thy transient life is o'er, 'Tis sweet to think that thou hast been;
To think a soul so near divine, Within a form so angel fair, United to a heart like thine, Has gladdened once our humble sphere.
THE ARBOUR.
I'll rest me in this sheltered bower, And look upon the clear blue sky That smiles upon me through the trees, Which stand so thick clustering by;
And view their green and glossy leaves, All glistening in the sunshine fair; And list the rustling of their boughs, So softly whispering through the air.
And while my ear drinks in the sound, My winged soul shall fly away; Reviewing lone departed years As one mild, beaming, autumn day;
And soaring on to future scenes, Like hills and woods, and valleys green, All basking in the summer's sun, But distant still, and dimly seen.
Oh, list! 'tis summer's very breath That gently shakes the rustling trees-- But look! the snow is on the ground-- How can I think of scenes like these?
'Tis but the FROST that clears the air, And gives the sky that lovely blue; They're smiling in a WINTER'S sun, Those evergreens of sombre hue.
And winter's chill is on my heart-- How can I dream of future bliss? How can my spirit soar away, Confined by such a chain as this?
HOME.
How brightly glistening in the sun The woodland ivy plays! While yonder beeches from their barks Reflect his silver rays.
That sun surveys a lovely scene From softly smiling skies; And wildly through unnumbered trees The wind of winter sighs:
Now loud, it thunders o'er my head, And now in distance dies. But give me back my barren hills Where colder breezes rise;
Where scarce the scattered, stunted trees Can yield an answering swell, But where a wilderness of heath Returns the sound as well.
For yonder garden, fair and wide, With groves of evergreen, Long winding walks, and borders trim, And velvet lawns between;
Restore to me that little spot, With gray walls compassed round, Where knotted grass neglected lies, And weeds usurp the ground.
Though all around this mansion high Invites the foot to roam, And though its halls are fair within-- Oh, give me back my HOME!
VANITAS VANITATUM, OMNIA VANITAS.
In all we do, and hear, and see, Is restless Toil and Vanity. While yet the rolling earth abides, Men come and go like ocean tides;
And ere one generation dies, Another in its place shall rise; THAT, sinking soon into the grave, Others succeed, like wave on wave;
And as they rise, they pass away. The sun arises every day, And hastening onward to the West, He nightly sinks, but not to rest:
Returning to the eastern skies, Again to light us, he must rise. And still the restless wind comes forth, Now blowing keenly from the North;
Now from the South, the East, the West, For ever changing, ne'er at rest. The fountains, gushing from the hills, Supply the ever-running rills;
The thirsty rivers drink their store, And bear it rolling to the shore, But still the ocean craves for more. 'Tis endless labour everywhere! Sound cannot satisfy the ear,
Light cannot fill the craving eye, Nor riches half our wants supply, Pleasure but doubles future pain, And joy brings sorrow in her train;
Laughter is mad, and reckless mirth-- What does she in this weary earth? Should Wealth, or Fame, our Life employ, Death comes, our labour to destroy;
To snatch the untasted cup away, For which we toiled so many a day. What, then, remains for wretched man? To use life's comforts while he can,
Enjoy the blessings Heaven bestows, Assist his friends, forgive his foes; Trust God, and keep His statutes still, Upright and firm, through good and ill;
Thankful for all that God has given, Fixing his firmest hopes on Heaven; Knowing that earthly joys decay, But hoping through the darkest day.
THE PENITENT.
I mourn with thee, and yet rejoice That thou shouldst sorrow so; With angel choirs I join my voice To bless the sinner's woe.
Though friends and kindred turn away, And laugh thy grief to scorn; I hear the great Redeemer say, "Blessed are ye that mourn."
Hold on thy course, nor deem it strange That earthly cords are riven: Man may lament the wondrous change, But "there is joy in heaven!"
MUSIC ON CHRISTMAS MORNING.
Music I love--but never strain Could kindle raptures so divine, So grief assuage, so conquer pain, And rouse this pensive heart of mine-- As that we hear on Christmas morn, Upon the wintry breezes borne.
Though Darkness still her empire keep, And hours must pass, ere morning break; From troubled dreams, or slumbers deep, That music KINDLY bids us wake: It calls us, with an angel's voice, To wake, and worship, and rejoice;
To greet with joy the glorious morn, Which angels welcomed long ago, When our redeeming Lord was born, To bring the light of Heaven below; The Powers of Darkness to dispel, And rescue Earth from Death and Hell.
While listening to that sacred strain, My raptured spirit soars on high; I seem to hear those songs again Resounding through the open sky, That kindled such divine delight, In those who watched their flocks by night.
With them I celebrate His birth-- Glory to God, in highest Heaven, Good-will to men, and peace on earth, To us a Saviour-king is given; Our God is come to claim His own, And Satan's power is overthrown!
A sinless God, for sinful men, Descends to suffer and to bleed; Hell MUST renounce its empire then; The price is paid, the world is freed, And Satan's self must now confess That Christ has earned a RIGHT to bless:
Now holy Peace may smile from heaven, And heavenly Truth from earth shall spring: The captive's galling bonds are riven, For our Redeemer is our king; And He that gave his blood for men Will lead us home to God again.
STANZAS.
Oh, weep not, love! each tear that springs In those dear eyes of thine, To me a keener suffering brings Than if they flowed from mine.
And do not droop! however drear The fate awaiting thee; For MY sake combat pain and care, And cherish life for me!
I do not fear thy love will fail; Thy faith is true, I know; But, oh, my love! thy strength is frail For such a life of woe.
Were 't not for this, I well could trace (Though banished long from thee) Life's rugged path, and boldly face The storms that threaten me.
Fear not for me--I've steeled my mind Sorrow and strife to greet; Joy with my love I leave behind, Care with my friends I meet.
A mother's sad reproachful eye, A father's scowling brow-- But he may frown and she may sigh: I will not break my vow!
I love my mother, I revere My sire, but fear not me-- Believe that Death alone can tear This faithful heart from thee.
IF THIS BE ALL.
O God! if this indeed be all That Life can show to me; If on my aching brow may fall No freshening dew from Thee;
If with no brighter light than this The lamp of hope may glow, And I may only dream of bliss, And wake to weary woe;
If friendship's solace must decay, When other joys are gone, And love must keep so far away, While I go wandering on,--
Wandering and toiling without gain, The slave of others' will, With constant care, and frequent pain, Despised, forgotten still;
Grieving to look on vice and sin, Yet powerless to quell The silent current from within, The outward torrent's swell
While all the good I would impart, The feelings I would share, Are driven backward to my heart, And turned to wormwood there;
If clouds must EVER keep from sight The glories of the Sun, And I must suffer Winter's blight, Ere Summer is begun;
If Life must be so full of care, Then call me soon to thee; Or give me strength enough to bear My load of misery.
MEMORY.
Brightly the sun of summer shone Green fields and waving woods upon, And soft winds wandered by; Above, a sky of purest blue, Around, bright flowers of loveliest hue, Allured the gazer's eye.