Noughtwholly waste or wretched will appearThrough all the world of Nature or of mind;Hope's tender beamings soften Sorrow's tear,The homeless outcast happy hours will find:To polar snows the Aurora-fires are given,The voice of friendship cheers the groping blind;The dreary night hath stars to deck the heaven;One law prevails beneficently kind:E'en not all darkness is the silent tomb,Faith points to bowers of bliss beyond the gloom.So, Libya, in thy wide and fiery waste,Gladdening the traveller, plots of verdure lie,As if, when demons thence all life had chased,They dropped in beauty from the pitying sky.How weary pilgrims, dragging o'er the plain,When first green Siwah's valleys they espy,[1]Cast off their faintness! swiftly on they strain,Drinking sweet odours, as the breeze floats by:They see the greenery of the swelling hills,They hear, they hear the gush of bubbling rills!Oh! beautiful that soul-enchanting scene!The fresh leaves twinkling, and the wild-birds singing;The rocks so mossy, and the grass so green,From tree to tree the vine's young tendrils swinging:Fruits of all hue—pomegranate, plum, and peach,Tempting the eye, and thoughts luxurious bringing;Flowers of all breath that each stray hand may reach,The glittering bee among them blithely winging:While skies more clear, more bluely seem to glow,To match the bright and fairy scene below.
Noughtwholly waste or wretched will appearThrough all the world of Nature or of mind;Hope's tender beamings soften Sorrow's tear,The homeless outcast happy hours will find:To polar snows the Aurora-fires are given,The voice of friendship cheers the groping blind;The dreary night hath stars to deck the heaven;One law prevails beneficently kind:E'en not all darkness is the silent tomb,Faith points to bowers of bliss beyond the gloom.
So, Libya, in thy wide and fiery waste,Gladdening the traveller, plots of verdure lie,As if, when demons thence all life had chased,They dropped in beauty from the pitying sky.How weary pilgrims, dragging o'er the plain,When first green Siwah's valleys they espy,[1]Cast off their faintness! swiftly on they strain,Drinking sweet odours, as the breeze floats by:They see the greenery of the swelling hills,They hear, they hear the gush of bubbling rills!
Oh! beautiful that soul-enchanting scene!The fresh leaves twinkling, and the wild-birds singing;The rocks so mossy, and the grass so green,From tree to tree the vine's young tendrils swinging:Fruits of all hue—pomegranate, plum, and peach,Tempting the eye, and thoughts luxurious bringing;Flowers of all breath that each stray hand may reach,The glittering bee among them blithely winging:While skies more clear, more bluely seem to glow,To match the bright and fairy scene below.
Nicholas Michell.
FOOTNOTES:[1]Siwah, the Ammonia of the ancients, the most fertile of the Oases of Libya, presenting a succession of undulating hills and green meadows, watered by many springs, and producing every description of fruit-bearing trees.
[1]Siwah, the Ammonia of the ancients, the most fertile of the Oases of Libya, presenting a succession of undulating hills and green meadows, watered by many springs, and producing every description of fruit-bearing trees.
[1]Siwah, the Ammonia of the ancients, the most fertile of the Oases of Libya, presenting a succession of undulating hills and green meadows, watered by many springs, and producing every description of fruit-bearing trees.
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The Rev. Mr Stewart advised three questions to be put to ourselves before speaking evil of any man: First, is it true? Second, is it kind? Third, is it necessary?—Poynder's Literary Extracts.
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