No Muses haunt Parnassus’ lofty mount,Nor wander on by Castalie’s pure stream;Whose waters welling from their crystal fountBlushed with the light of heaven’s entrancing beam.Mere glorious visions of a Grecian dreamThose Muses were! on them I call in vain!And ye must all me most presumptious deem,That such high prize I struggle to attainAs 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 fallWhich gushed below, as if to sternly mockThe wild rage of the river, whose fierce shockStruck with the might of an eternal storm,But yet impressed not the immortal blockOf massive adamant, that reared its formEmbattled midst the skies with turrets multiform.And far around vast forests stretched their boughsIn one unpathed perplexity of shade;Upon whose skirts the purple mountains rose,As if they would the starry realms invadeWith their titanic summits. Midst each glade,And mossy valley, gently purling streamsGushed rippling on, and in their windings madeDeep woodland haunts, unpierced by sunny beams,Sweet bowers for purest love,—fit nooks for poet’s dreams.Here were rock-fragments clad with tangled mossAnd crowned with wildflowers’ gay and drooping bells;Here trees majestic shot wide boughs acrossTo 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 swellsTo 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 pileAnd made it seem a vision. Calm awhileAnd lonely, and in stillness lay the sceneSave tones of rushing waters, that beguileThe thoughts to them a moment. Now is seenA knight’s athletic form in armour’s dazzling sheen.Along the terrace, with majestic stride,He onward passed below the highest tower;And each step witnessed to the noble prideThat 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 hungBright-jewelled by his side, and like a flowerHis gay plume nodded, whilst he swiftly strungA 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 boughsAs 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’erflowUnlocked 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.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 airWhen, from the casement of a turret high,A white hand peeped, as beautiful and fairAs ever cloudlet on the radiant sky;And to that love-song gave a sweet replyBy letting fall a flower—a flower which toldOf love’s sublime delicious witcheryWithin the heart. Hid in his scarf’s gay foldThat boon to the wars he bore, more daring brave and bold.The last rich scion of an ancient lineWas fair Lenore; a lonely orphan, sheDwelt in that Castle by the rushing RhineIn days of tournament and chivalry:A creature fitted to inspire the freeAnd noble passion of a truthful breastAnd brave bold heart, whose inbred courtesyAnd gentler feelings, would seek out a rest,Mid valour’s peaceful pause, in woman’s love possessed.Oh! she was beautiful! a thing of lightOf life, of gladness and unsullied smiles;A glorious being fitted to delightBy gentle manners, innocent sweet wiles,And gay allurement, that full oft beguilesThe 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 heartOf 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 wallsOf many a lofty castle, held by knightsOf power and state, but none there is who callsMore wealth his own, inherited by right,Possessed in honour true, maintained by valour’s might.Whilst her heart’s lord, mid Palestine afar,In dauntless combat fought the Saracen,To drive him from the land, where first a starRevealed the Saviour to the sons of men,And give its sacred shrines and sites againTo 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 delightTowards him who wooed her, tenderly to meltIn one brief moment; whilst she swiftly speltAn unknown lesson from her burning breastAnd prized the lore it gave; a truth which giltWith sunset brightness all her thoughts, and blestHer 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 tearWould 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 nearHis stalwart form to glad her longing eyes.Hark to yon minstrel’s notes that waken her surprise!—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 causeHe cheerfully suffered the loss.He came to his native land againEnriched with fame—but poor!A truthful heart, and a strong bright swordFormed all his earthly store!He went like a troubadour, and sangTo his lady-love a strainThat 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 soulHad loved for the wealth alone,And she cast his high worth and his truth awayFrom 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 bleedBy such too cruel song! within me liesThe woman’s truthful heart that aye defiesThe 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!”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 beenUnfolded in their breasts. A peaceful sceneThe future offered; but before the timeTheir love had priestly sanction, valour keenAdvanced the infidel; with zeal sublimeThe 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 yoreHad worked deep mischief. Naught on earth could saveFrom his enchantments, when his soul would craveAnd lust for evil; with such direful aimHe 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 shewThe utmost want; for though he stole awayThe wealth of thousands, yet he never knewA benefit therefrom, but let it layDeep in a vast dark pit, all buried from the day.Soon as the knight had left his lady fair,He swiftly thought, by necromantic skill,To win her wealth; and it to slyly bearAway 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, untilIts 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 eyeIn such strange garb could recognise againThe maiden once so beautiful. A cryGushed 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 burnedWith agony’s wild fire, as o’er the land,Now desolate, he gazed; and with his handHeld high to heaven, a sacred vow he swore,To bring fit vengeance on the fiendish bandThat wrought the ruin; for the wild scene boreMarks of that wizard’s blast, all withered, burnt, or frore.“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 vowTo 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 showerOr want’s necessity, if still might shineOn 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 markTo guide his footsteps to Lenore again.Long days and months he sought with weary painAnd heart undaunted, but no track had yetBeen 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 thinkOn those bright moments when his hope was nighIts rich fruition; and he heaved a sighOf doubt and discontent, and wished he ne’erHad gone to th’ wars again, or chivalryBeen his heart’s choice; but soon he dashed the tearAway, and sang to his lute these mournful notes—now hear!The Melody.Oh! Lady, thou star of my life, no moreThy clear beams shine on me,And sorrow hath shrouded my lone days o’erWithheld 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’erAnd thrills me with fear to see thee no more.Oh! ne’er did I know till this fearful timeThe depths of my love for thee,Or proved the wild anguish my soul must feelWhen 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 theeSweet solace relieved me at night.For I dreamt to the cry of “Lenore!” there cameA soft gentle voice that whispered my name.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 mindHeard feeble accents borne upon the windAs 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 replyUnbounded gladness to his spirit gave:“Fidelio! ah, I know thou’rt come to saveThy 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 availTo rend the vastness of this dungeon wall;Then seek the hermit, dwelling in the vale,Beside the eastern mount, and straightway callHis wisdom to thine aid, for he can allThe 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.”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 wayTo free the maid from magic’s direful swayIs short and certain, but will try thy mightOf 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 cellOf golden ingots, and large diamonds full;And laid thereon, a wand of power, to quellThe might of magic and its spells annul;No more I utter! if thine heart be dullIn 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 flameOf silvery brightness shone within the grot;He struck the sides, and, answering to the same,Around full tones of music seemed to floatAloft in air, and soon appeared the Maid he sought!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 displayedNo signs of ruin, but it stood erectIn all its former gorgeousness arrayed,A noble building with a proud aspéctIts enemies to daunt, its inmates to protect.Bright was the morning, when that truth-tried pairTheir 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 LandHad won such treasures from the Infidel,All by the might of valour’s potent hand,When in these last wars he had sought to quellHis arrogant power; that to his share there fellSuch mighty wealth as all his sacrificeOf fervent piety repaid full well,Redeeming back his lands; mid gay surpriseTo twice endow Lenore, to him the noblest prize!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 aroseSome new and deep affection to disclose;Some fond remembrance, some delighted thoughtTo link their hearts. Oft in this hushed reposeOf mutual confidence their feelings caughtThe poet’s sacred fire, and thus in songs were wrought—Canzonet.How sweet, how delightful it is to rememberOur 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 awareOf 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 yieldedTo Hymen’s rich keeping his strength and his power,And the god on our passion smiled gaily, and sealed itIn bonds of endurance to life’s latest hour.Since then have we known the bright pleasures of living,That purest delight of heart beating with heart;When thoughts and affections, deep feelings, emotionsIn 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 heavenThan 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 airVisions and fancies that the muse hath penned;But let their brightness with our spirits blendAnd their clear moral elevate the heart.For now ’tis time this votive song had end,So poor in thought and music—pray impartDue pardon to my lyre that ill hath done its part!When she had ceased, each heart around confessedShe owned poetic powers, and that to herIt was a labour of devoted loveTo weave the rhythm of the poet’s song,And frame his numbered melody. An ear,By close acquaintance with the lofty tonesAnd modulations of the noble verseOf our great bards, may soon acquire the powerAnd skill to versify; and likewise thoughtMay be illumed by their poetic light,Until it shine with lustre, and give forthA seeming inbred poesy. The bard,The true and native bard, does more than this;There is within him a far deeper fountOf innate feeling; and his radiant mindShines not with light reflected, but gives forth,When warmed by passions burning in his heart,Its own clear coruscations; like those starsWhich flash across the sky, so swift and bright,We wonder whence they came. And so with herWas thought creative, and gave mystic birthTo things and beings, lifeless hitherto.Now all are waiting for the last regaleWhich is to crown the whole, and bring to endThis contest of sweet verse. A mother’s voiceWould give it utterance, a mother’s heartWas its warm birth-place; and each one presagedA 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 gaveA saint-like aspect—not the gloomy saintOf ghostly superstition—but the true,The real, the bright, the one whose cheerful heartAdores the love of Heaven, and lets its loveFlow freely o’er on all. And there she satClose by the fire-side, in the place assignedTo venerated guests. Yet none would takeThat antique chair, but with a general voiceAwarded it to her; and said the joysAnd innocent pastimes could not be commencedTill she consented to retain that seatAs her’s alone. And reverent she looked,And well she graced it, as the firelight playedOn her pure countenance, and silver hairWhose thin braids peeped beneath a seemly capOf snowy whiteness. Such a holy calmSuffused her features, as can spring aloneFrom peace of heart within. Her soul had knownDark trials on the earth, but they had wroughtTo purify and strengthen, till her faithWas bright and cheerful, and her hope serene.She now with retrospective eye beheldThat Goodness was in all, and hence her lifeWas bright and beautiful, as golden skiesThat usher in the calm repose of night.Before attempting to impart her verseAccording to old promise, with a voiceOf winning modesty she softly saidShe was no poetess, but merely broughtSome thoughts and feelings from a mother’s heartIn simple language rendered. She rejoicedWith soul-felt gladness to behold aroundSo many loving friends; and further stillTo see her sons and daughters glad and gayWith 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 voiceFrom that glad Hall, which but two years ago,On the same festive night, with accents softMixed in gay concert there. She knew that noneHad ’ere forgot her Edith, but that allBore her in loved remembrance; and some thoughtsOf sacred elevation well becameThe time and season; and she therefore broughtSome simple lines in memory of her,As fittest tribute from a mother’s breast—A song she best could frame. With few words moreOf 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 frameAlone reposes ’neath the sod;But her bright soul, that vital flameNow shines before the throne of God.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 beholdThat 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 leftTo us a legacy of tears;To be of her sweet love bereftMust dim the eye through future years!But ah! much deeper grief will wringAnd anguish tear that mother’s breast,Where she in infancy did clingAnd slumbered in a holy rest.But I forbear—and seek to calmAll earthly grief with heavenly hope,And aided by its healing balmGive not my hidden sorrow scope.Then let us raise our thoughts on high,And trace her spirit’s glorious flightFrom sorrow, pain, and agonyTo peace and joy in worlds of light.Is she afar? ah! thin the veilThat 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 furledTo us are kindred spirits nigh.And I can think that when I quitThis “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 madeAll bosoms move in sympathy, and eyesSuffuse themselves with tears. But not of griefAnd sorrow unalloyed. For there are thoughtsSo lofty, elevated, pure and sweet,Linked with affection and devotion, warmIn contemplating loved ones passed from earth,That the bright tears they strew upon the cheekAre more like dew-drops, ’neath some twilight skyAll glad and rosy, than the chilling rainThat falls from gloomy clouds. Now sacred thoughtWas kindled in each breast, and musings calmWhich suited well the season and the hour;Then all spoke of retiring, for the timeWhen the first star that shewed its feeble light,Whilst day was darkening, in the furthest east,Should have attained its highest point in heavenHad come, but oh how swiftly! Happy hoursAnd peaceful had been spent, and every heartWas filled with gladness; and a holier loveWarmed every bosom, such sweet fellowshipHad reigned triumphant there. With cheerful looksAnd grateful, farewell greetings for the nightTo host and hostess, each delighted guestWent to the room warm hospitalityHad set apart for him; yet with the hope,The glad and confident hope that day would bring—And many days succeeding—such pure joysAnd pleasures innocent, as o’er his heartHad softly flowed amid the recent hoursOf social glee. The antique hall was soonBy its gay crowd deserted. On the hearthThe giant yule-log, lessened to a stick,Burnt with a crimson glow, but through a veilOf thin white wavering ash. The warmth it gaveIs now diminished, and the keen frost-airPierces the lonely room. Farewell old sceneOf oft-remembered joys—to thee, good night!And now withdrawn to solitude, I mayLet thought make free excursions, and reviewThe recent hours of pleasure. There are timesWhen we think inwardly, that is more deepWithin our being, so that imagesDistinct and palpable, are scarcely seenTo flit before the mental eye; yet thoughtRolls on in fulness, like a mountain streamDeep, sweeping, vast, but ’neath the clouds of nightSilent and unrevealed. Such most is feltWhen many persons, actions, words, and thingsHave passed before us quickly; then they crowdThe mind too fully, to let each stand outIn individual being; but they allAre lodged within the memory, and come forthSo fresh and vital, during future days,And oft so unexpectedly, we startTo see them rise again as from the grave.Oh wondrous is our being! every thingThat e’er hath passed before us: every thoughtThat 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 leaveA certain impress stamped upon the soulAs with a seal eternal: sendeth forthA living substance, from the which is builtOur being and identity; conjoinsBy mystic sympathies, and secret links,Our spirits unto others. Little knowsPhilosophy, though brightly on advance,About the inner world, the world of mind.The earth’s deep crust she pierced hath, and madeMankind 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 seenWhole worlds of vital being in dim grainsAs small as summer dust. High are these truths,And mighty and ennobling; but still moreAnd greater have to come, when she hath searchedThe world of matter more, till its known laws,And comprehended principles have givenA greater strength, and more divining powerTo pierce far deeper mysteries, and scanThe inner world of spirit. Newton learntThe law that binds the universe in oneFrom a mere apple’s fall. If sages poreAs thoughtfully on mind, may they not bringSome hidden things to light, that may revealGreat laws and simple, that shall elevateAll science far beyond its present flight,Though eagle-like its wing now seems to reachThe sun of Truth, so loftily it soars.How warm and pleasant is this curtained roomAssigned for night’s repose. The cheerful fire,With its bright tongues of flame, illuminatesThe walls with fitful gleams, and ruddier lightThan issues from the lamp. ’Twere sweet to sitAnd muse for some hours longer, but the nightIs far advanced, and though the stillness roundInvites to contemplation, yet the timeAnd prudence too forbids. Before I giveMyself to slumber let me draw asideThe heavy curtain, o’er the window hung,Excluding cold and wind; and thence look forthUpon the landscape to behold the sceneArrayed in winter’s garb. Oh gorgeous sight,Unutterably grand! The morn was blackAnd dark and dismal; through the middle dayThe storm’s white burden was cast down to earthWith strange rapidity; and now the nightShines bright and glorious, beautiful and fair!Far o’er the head, so lofty that the eyeCan scarce rise up to view her, glows the moonWith keen intensity of silver light,And from her heavenly altitude pours downSuch floods of radiance on the snow-clad earthAs fills the heart with rapture. Scarce a starCan shew its beam amid the purple skySo rich her bright rays spread. The frosty air,Sharp, keen, and subtle, hath a delicate hazeThat beautifies all objects, giving themA softer aspect, a more lovely hue,A spirit-like appearance. On the trees,Leafless and verdureless, a foliage liesOf splendid whiteness. A strange stillness holdsTheir 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 nighThe summit of heaven’s arch. Along the lawnHow softly spreads the radiant plain of snow,More smooth and level than a temple floorOf alabaster framed. O’er all the bedsAnd borders ranged for flowers, no smaller shrubOr plant can shew a branch; but buried deepBeneath a downy burden, mark their tombsBy hemispheres of white. When looking farAcross the landscape, every object gleamsAs 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 woodWhich swells in highest grandeur, o’er the hillThat rises to the westward, stands the churchAll pure and peaceful in the holy light.On its embattled tower the moonbeams fall,And seem to hallow it, so fair and calmIt gleams within them. From its summit shootsThe tall and taper spire, and high o’ertopsThe loftiest trees around, and stands aloneAmid the ether, whilst its form sublimeWith emblematic finger points to heaven!When morn arises, from that ancient towerAn anthem-peal will ring, a music richAnd pregnant with deep thoughts. For centuriesThe selfsame tones have burst upon the airAnd made it thrill with harmony. It fellOn ears that listen on this earth no more,And when we hear it, it will be a linkUniting us with them. Oh! mysticalAnd wonderful is sound. A single noteMay call our past life up, and make it liveAll vivid in the present. Every thingHas 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 oftHad entered when a boy, the simple clickOf its loud latch, was recognised againIn one brief moment, and it brought to sightAll those companions who, in school-boy days,Had there surrounded me; and heavy thoughtsPressed on my spirit, for I knew that someWere carried to the grave; and some were goneI knew not whither; and the most, perhaps,I should behold no more! Then what deep thoughts,What thoughts of piety should Christmas bellsAwake within the soul! Their mighty tonesTeem with the memories of two thousand yearsOr nigh thereto. What wonderful eventsSince then have happened, how the world hath changed,And man hath been exalted, since the WordsDivine 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 seeJehovah manifest! To us “a childIs born, a son is given,” and his nameIs “Wonderful!” Oh wonderful indeedThat he who ’habiteth eternityShould stand revealed in time; that he who dwellsFar o’er the heavens, should yet descend to earth;That He, enthroned in “unapproached light”Should visit this world’s darkness! Many namesAnd titles glorious, hath the Son of God,In whom we see the Father, one with HimSo true and absolute, whoso beholdsThe Son beholds the Father. Search the WordAnd see if these things be so; let it tellThe truth in its own language. “In Him dwellsThe fullness of the Godhead bodily.” He is“The true God and Eternal life.” In fleshChrist came, and he “is over all God blestFor evermore.” Still further it reveals“God was in Christ,” and “reconciling” there“The world unto himself.” Jehovah saysTimes oft repeated in the elder WordHe is the Saviour, and none else but He;He is Redeemer, and he will not giveHis glory to another. We should holdExalted notions of that Saviour whoWas 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 theseTo waken thought within the humble mindAnd make it strive to apprehend and knowThe mystery sublime. But comprehendIt never can, such lies not in the powerOf finite mind, its feeble grasp can ne’erInclude infinity. Then let us pauseAnd ponder deeply, for the truth is notMore difficult to hold, or to believe,Than that creation at the first sprang forthBeneath the fiat of Almighty Will,And finitude was born, and time began!Ring out ye bells! and with glad notes proclaimThe glorious advent of the Prince of Peace.And let your melodies resound aloudTill every heart with pious joy is filled!Princes of war have desolated earthAnd ravaged nations, cities, homes, and hearths,Till men cried out in misery, and madeThe vaulted heaven re-echo to their cries.But wars shall cease, and men shall beat at lengthTheir swords to ploughshares; and all peaceful artsShall flourish on the earth. Then Truth shall shineWith her own cheerful radiant light, and blessThe kingdoms of the World, and Goodness dwellEnthroned in every heart. Then life shall runIn one pure current, as a crystal stream,And every deed in excellence shall shineLike stars of heaven. A bond of holy loveShall make a glorious brotherhood of man,And heaven-descended charity shall linkThe nations into one. Then holy joyShall elevate each heart, the song of praiseBurst gladly from each lip, and men shall liftTheir voice in anthems, whose ascending notesShall fill the skies with harmony sublime.Oh! that the bright and happy hour were comeWhen earth exulting shall behold the reignOf Christ the great Messiah! Once he came,In deep humility, to taste of death,In weakness and in weariness; but soonAs prophecy foretells, he shall appearRevealed to men, in majesty and might.In spirit and in power, to build his church,His kingdom, on the earth, and stablish itIn peace profound, in holiness secure,In truth unshaken, happiness supremeAnd rich with glory that shall know no end!Then shall Jerusalem lift up her voiceIn songs of gladness, when she is arrayedIn garments fair of righteousness; her headEncrowned with wisdom’s sparkling diadem,And she rejoiced o’er as a beauteous brideBy Him who framed her. Then her sun no moreShall 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 bringsUnnumbered thoughts like these! The human soulCreated in God’s image seems to shareIn His infinity. Evolving thought,For ever growing, can within it dwell,And oft ascending and ascending stillTo higher points of elevated Truth,View things around it with extended glance,And with more god-like insight. What can fillIts vast capacity, or quench the thirstIt bears for knowledge. It was born to riseFor ever upward into brighter light!Lift high the banner of “Excelsior.”On! on! the watchword! Let us search for TruthWith steadfast heart, and holy trust in God,Then never can we fail! Where shall we findThe thing we look for? In the musty tomesOf darkening ages, in the harsh decreesOf priests king-ruling, in the twilight dimThat settles on the past! Ah! no, not thereLook to the future, to the morning lightAppearing in the east! Three books are writ,Three books divine; their pages rightly connedWill blend their full triunity of TruthIn one bright blaze of wisdom. Pierce within,And read the volume there, and it will tellOf 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 turnAnother page, and read inscribed thereon,A like infinitude, within the smallAnd tiny measurements of living grainsAnd vital atoms, all disposed by lawsSublime in their simplicity, that bindThe great and little in one mighty whole.Lessons like these will fit the mind to seeThat in a written book, indeed divine,A like infinitude of Truth must dwellConcealed within the letter. Human mindsThat have enlodged themselves in books, leave thereA record of their greatness. Learned menHave conned the documents, that sages writ,With care unceasing, and at last confessedThey had not reached the ultimate of thoughtEmbodied in them. What must be the depths,The vast profundities of pages pennedFrom perfect inspiration? Christ hath saidFlesh profits nothing, but the words I speakAre spirit and are life. The letter kills,The spirit giveth life, hath Paul announced.How shall we pierce this body to let forthThe spirit of pure truth. From whence attainThe “key of knowledge” to unlock the storesOf 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 seeIts perfect harmony with truth divine,And find all streamlets from the Fount of TruthBlend in one lucid river. Let us waitIn patience and humility the timeOf this grand consummation! Let us upTo the high mountain tops, from thence to watchThe dawning sunlight of earth’s brighter day.Such day shall come, though it hath tarred long,And yet may tarry, for the certain harpOf sacred prophecy hath oft foretoldIts glorious advent—let us watch, and wait!It is full time that I should now arrestThought’s current in the midst. Though on a themeSo full and teeming, it might swiftly runIts rapid course for ever. O’er the earthThe cold increases, and the bitter frostDraws flowers upon each pane. I must retireFrom this unsullied prospect, fair and calmAnd eminently beautiful. The fireBurns low within the grate, and embers lieIn darkness on the hearth, that but of lateWere red and glowing. In the shade of sleep,And night’s oblivion, I must seek to quenchThe fire of thought, and for awhile foregoA life of consciousness. Yet with a hopeOf sweet refreshment, and with strength renewed,To spring up cheerful when the morning sunMakes bright the winter landscape, and enjoyThat intellectual pleasure, pure delight,And social intercourse, that ever formThe banquet rich of Christmas at the Hall!
No Muses haunt Parnassus’ lofty mount,Nor wander on by Castalie’s pure stream;Whose waters welling from their crystal fountBlushed with the light of heaven’s entrancing beam.Mere glorious visions of a Grecian dreamThose Muses were! on them I call in vain!And ye must all me most presumptious deem,That such high prize I struggle to attainAs 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 fallWhich gushed below, as if to sternly mockThe wild rage of the river, whose fierce shockStruck with the might of an eternal storm,But yet impressed not the immortal blockOf massive adamant, that reared its formEmbattled midst the skies with turrets multiform.And far around vast forests stretched their boughsIn one unpathed perplexity of shade;Upon whose skirts the purple mountains rose,As if they would the starry realms invadeWith their titanic summits. Midst each glade,And mossy valley, gently purling streamsGushed rippling on, and in their windings madeDeep woodland haunts, unpierced by sunny beams,Sweet bowers for purest love,—fit nooks for poet’s dreams.Here were rock-fragments clad with tangled mossAnd crowned with wildflowers’ gay and drooping bells;Here trees majestic shot wide boughs acrossTo 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 swellsTo 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 pileAnd made it seem a vision. Calm awhileAnd lonely, and in stillness lay the sceneSave tones of rushing waters, that beguileThe thoughts to them a moment. Now is seenA knight’s athletic form in armour’s dazzling sheen.Along the terrace, with majestic stride,He onward passed below the highest tower;And each step witnessed to the noble prideThat 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 hungBright-jewelled by his side, and like a flowerHis gay plume nodded, whilst he swiftly strungA 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 boughsAs 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’erflowUnlocked 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.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 airWhen, from the casement of a turret high,A white hand peeped, as beautiful and fairAs ever cloudlet on the radiant sky;And to that love-song gave a sweet replyBy letting fall a flower—a flower which toldOf love’s sublime delicious witcheryWithin the heart. Hid in his scarf’s gay foldThat boon to the wars he bore, more daring brave and bold.The last rich scion of an ancient lineWas fair Lenore; a lonely orphan, sheDwelt in that Castle by the rushing RhineIn days of tournament and chivalry:A creature fitted to inspire the freeAnd noble passion of a truthful breastAnd brave bold heart, whose inbred courtesyAnd gentler feelings, would seek out a rest,Mid valour’s peaceful pause, in woman’s love possessed.Oh! she was beautiful! a thing of lightOf life, of gladness and unsullied smiles;A glorious being fitted to delightBy gentle manners, innocent sweet wiles,And gay allurement, that full oft beguilesThe 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 heartOf 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 wallsOf many a lofty castle, held by knightsOf power and state, but none there is who callsMore wealth his own, inherited by right,Possessed in honour true, maintained by valour’s might.Whilst her heart’s lord, mid Palestine afar,In dauntless combat fought the Saracen,To drive him from the land, where first a starRevealed the Saviour to the sons of men,And give its sacred shrines and sites againTo 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 delightTowards him who wooed her, tenderly to meltIn one brief moment; whilst she swiftly speltAn unknown lesson from her burning breastAnd prized the lore it gave; a truth which giltWith sunset brightness all her thoughts, and blestHer 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 tearWould 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 nearHis stalwart form to glad her longing eyes.Hark to yon minstrel’s notes that waken her surprise!—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 causeHe cheerfully suffered the loss.He came to his native land againEnriched with fame—but poor!A truthful heart, and a strong bright swordFormed all his earthly store!He went like a troubadour, and sangTo his lady-love a strainThat 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 soulHad loved for the wealth alone,And she cast his high worth and his truth awayFrom 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 bleedBy such too cruel song! within me liesThe woman’s truthful heart that aye defiesThe 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!”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 beenUnfolded in their breasts. A peaceful sceneThe future offered; but before the timeTheir love had priestly sanction, valour keenAdvanced the infidel; with zeal sublimeThe 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 yoreHad worked deep mischief. Naught on earth could saveFrom his enchantments, when his soul would craveAnd lust for evil; with such direful aimHe 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 shewThe utmost want; for though he stole awayThe wealth of thousands, yet he never knewA benefit therefrom, but let it layDeep in a vast dark pit, all buried from the day.Soon as the knight had left his lady fair,He swiftly thought, by necromantic skill,To win her wealth; and it to slyly bearAway 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, untilIts 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 eyeIn such strange garb could recognise againThe maiden once so beautiful. A cryGushed 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 burnedWith agony’s wild fire, as o’er the land,Now desolate, he gazed; and with his handHeld high to heaven, a sacred vow he swore,To bring fit vengeance on the fiendish bandThat wrought the ruin; for the wild scene boreMarks of that wizard’s blast, all withered, burnt, or frore.“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 vowTo 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 showerOr want’s necessity, if still might shineOn 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 markTo guide his footsteps to Lenore again.Long days and months he sought with weary painAnd heart undaunted, but no track had yetBeen 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 thinkOn those bright moments when his hope was nighIts rich fruition; and he heaved a sighOf doubt and discontent, and wished he ne’erHad gone to th’ wars again, or chivalryBeen his heart’s choice; but soon he dashed the tearAway, and sang to his lute these mournful notes—now hear!The Melody.Oh! Lady, thou star of my life, no moreThy clear beams shine on me,And sorrow hath shrouded my lone days o’erWithheld 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’erAnd thrills me with fear to see thee no more.Oh! ne’er did I know till this fearful timeThe depths of my love for thee,Or proved the wild anguish my soul must feelWhen 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 theeSweet solace relieved me at night.For I dreamt to the cry of “Lenore!” there cameA soft gentle voice that whispered my name.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 mindHeard feeble accents borne upon the windAs 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 replyUnbounded gladness to his spirit gave:“Fidelio! ah, I know thou’rt come to saveThy 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 availTo rend the vastness of this dungeon wall;Then seek the hermit, dwelling in the vale,Beside the eastern mount, and straightway callHis wisdom to thine aid, for he can allThe 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.”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 wayTo free the maid from magic’s direful swayIs short and certain, but will try thy mightOf 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 cellOf golden ingots, and large diamonds full;And laid thereon, a wand of power, to quellThe might of magic and its spells annul;No more I utter! if thine heart be dullIn 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 flameOf silvery brightness shone within the grot;He struck the sides, and, answering to the same,Around full tones of music seemed to floatAloft in air, and soon appeared the Maid he sought!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 displayedNo signs of ruin, but it stood erectIn all its former gorgeousness arrayed,A noble building with a proud aspéctIts enemies to daunt, its inmates to protect.Bright was the morning, when that truth-tried pairTheir 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 LandHad won such treasures from the Infidel,All by the might of valour’s potent hand,When in these last wars he had sought to quellHis arrogant power; that to his share there fellSuch mighty wealth as all his sacrificeOf fervent piety repaid full well,Redeeming back his lands; mid gay surpriseTo twice endow Lenore, to him the noblest prize!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 aroseSome new and deep affection to disclose;Some fond remembrance, some delighted thoughtTo link their hearts. Oft in this hushed reposeOf mutual confidence their feelings caughtThe poet’s sacred fire, and thus in songs were wrought—Canzonet.How sweet, how delightful it is to rememberOur 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 awareOf 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 yieldedTo Hymen’s rich keeping his strength and his power,And the god on our passion smiled gaily, and sealed itIn bonds of endurance to life’s latest hour.Since then have we known the bright pleasures of living,That purest delight of heart beating with heart;When thoughts and affections, deep feelings, emotionsIn 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 heavenThan 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 airVisions and fancies that the muse hath penned;But let their brightness with our spirits blendAnd their clear moral elevate the heart.For now ’tis time this votive song had end,So poor in thought and music—pray impartDue pardon to my lyre that ill hath done its part!When she had ceased, each heart around confessedShe owned poetic powers, and that to herIt was a labour of devoted loveTo weave the rhythm of the poet’s song,And frame his numbered melody. An ear,By close acquaintance with the lofty tonesAnd modulations of the noble verseOf our great bards, may soon acquire the powerAnd skill to versify; and likewise thoughtMay be illumed by their poetic light,Until it shine with lustre, and give forthA seeming inbred poesy. The bard,The true and native bard, does more than this;There is within him a far deeper fountOf innate feeling; and his radiant mindShines not with light reflected, but gives forth,When warmed by passions burning in his heart,Its own clear coruscations; like those starsWhich flash across the sky, so swift and bright,We wonder whence they came. And so with herWas thought creative, and gave mystic birthTo things and beings, lifeless hitherto.Now all are waiting for the last regaleWhich is to crown the whole, and bring to endThis contest of sweet verse. A mother’s voiceWould give it utterance, a mother’s heartWas its warm birth-place; and each one presagedA 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 gaveA saint-like aspect—not the gloomy saintOf ghostly superstition—but the true,The real, the bright, the one whose cheerful heartAdores the love of Heaven, and lets its loveFlow freely o’er on all. And there she satClose by the fire-side, in the place assignedTo venerated guests. Yet none would takeThat antique chair, but with a general voiceAwarded it to her; and said the joysAnd innocent pastimes could not be commencedTill she consented to retain that seatAs her’s alone. And reverent she looked,And well she graced it, as the firelight playedOn her pure countenance, and silver hairWhose thin braids peeped beneath a seemly capOf snowy whiteness. Such a holy calmSuffused her features, as can spring aloneFrom peace of heart within. Her soul had knownDark trials on the earth, but they had wroughtTo purify and strengthen, till her faithWas bright and cheerful, and her hope serene.She now with retrospective eye beheldThat Goodness was in all, and hence her lifeWas bright and beautiful, as golden skiesThat usher in the calm repose of night.Before attempting to impart her verseAccording to old promise, with a voiceOf winning modesty she softly saidShe was no poetess, but merely broughtSome thoughts and feelings from a mother’s heartIn simple language rendered. She rejoicedWith soul-felt gladness to behold aroundSo many loving friends; and further stillTo see her sons and daughters glad and gayWith 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 voiceFrom that glad Hall, which but two years ago,On the same festive night, with accents softMixed in gay concert there. She knew that noneHad ’ere forgot her Edith, but that allBore her in loved remembrance; and some thoughtsOf sacred elevation well becameThe time and season; and she therefore broughtSome simple lines in memory of her,As fittest tribute from a mother’s breast—A song she best could frame. With few words moreOf 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 frameAlone reposes ’neath the sod;But her bright soul, that vital flameNow shines before the throne of God.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 beholdThat 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 leftTo us a legacy of tears;To be of her sweet love bereftMust dim the eye through future years!But ah! much deeper grief will wringAnd anguish tear that mother’s breast,Where she in infancy did clingAnd slumbered in a holy rest.But I forbear—and seek to calmAll earthly grief with heavenly hope,And aided by its healing balmGive not my hidden sorrow scope.Then let us raise our thoughts on high,And trace her spirit’s glorious flightFrom sorrow, pain, and agonyTo peace and joy in worlds of light.Is she afar? ah! thin the veilThat 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 furledTo us are kindred spirits nigh.And I can think that when I quitThis “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 madeAll bosoms move in sympathy, and eyesSuffuse themselves with tears. But not of griefAnd sorrow unalloyed. For there are thoughtsSo lofty, elevated, pure and sweet,Linked with affection and devotion, warmIn contemplating loved ones passed from earth,That the bright tears they strew upon the cheekAre more like dew-drops, ’neath some twilight skyAll glad and rosy, than the chilling rainThat falls from gloomy clouds. Now sacred thoughtWas kindled in each breast, and musings calmWhich suited well the season and the hour;Then all spoke of retiring, for the timeWhen the first star that shewed its feeble light,Whilst day was darkening, in the furthest east,Should have attained its highest point in heavenHad come, but oh how swiftly! Happy hoursAnd peaceful had been spent, and every heartWas filled with gladness; and a holier loveWarmed every bosom, such sweet fellowshipHad reigned triumphant there. With cheerful looksAnd grateful, farewell greetings for the nightTo host and hostess, each delighted guestWent to the room warm hospitalityHad set apart for him; yet with the hope,The glad and confident hope that day would bring—And many days succeeding—such pure joysAnd pleasures innocent, as o’er his heartHad softly flowed amid the recent hoursOf social glee. The antique hall was soonBy its gay crowd deserted. On the hearthThe giant yule-log, lessened to a stick,Burnt with a crimson glow, but through a veilOf thin white wavering ash. The warmth it gaveIs now diminished, and the keen frost-airPierces the lonely room. Farewell old sceneOf oft-remembered joys—to thee, good night!And now withdrawn to solitude, I mayLet thought make free excursions, and reviewThe recent hours of pleasure. There are timesWhen we think inwardly, that is more deepWithin our being, so that imagesDistinct and palpable, are scarcely seenTo flit before the mental eye; yet thoughtRolls on in fulness, like a mountain streamDeep, sweeping, vast, but ’neath the clouds of nightSilent and unrevealed. Such most is feltWhen many persons, actions, words, and thingsHave passed before us quickly; then they crowdThe mind too fully, to let each stand outIn individual being; but they allAre lodged within the memory, and come forthSo fresh and vital, during future days,And oft so unexpectedly, we startTo see them rise again as from the grave.Oh wondrous is our being! every thingThat e’er hath passed before us: every thoughtThat 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 leaveA certain impress stamped upon the soulAs with a seal eternal: sendeth forthA living substance, from the which is builtOur being and identity; conjoinsBy mystic sympathies, and secret links,Our spirits unto others. Little knowsPhilosophy, though brightly on advance,About the inner world, the world of mind.The earth’s deep crust she pierced hath, and madeMankind 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 seenWhole worlds of vital being in dim grainsAs small as summer dust. High are these truths,And mighty and ennobling; but still moreAnd greater have to come, when she hath searchedThe world of matter more, till its known laws,And comprehended principles have givenA greater strength, and more divining powerTo pierce far deeper mysteries, and scanThe inner world of spirit. Newton learntThe law that binds the universe in oneFrom a mere apple’s fall. If sages poreAs thoughtfully on mind, may they not bringSome hidden things to light, that may revealGreat laws and simple, that shall elevateAll science far beyond its present flight,Though eagle-like its wing now seems to reachThe sun of Truth, so loftily it soars.How warm and pleasant is this curtained roomAssigned for night’s repose. The cheerful fire,With its bright tongues of flame, illuminatesThe walls with fitful gleams, and ruddier lightThan issues from the lamp. ’Twere sweet to sitAnd muse for some hours longer, but the nightIs far advanced, and though the stillness roundInvites to contemplation, yet the timeAnd prudence too forbids. Before I giveMyself to slumber let me draw asideThe heavy curtain, o’er the window hung,Excluding cold and wind; and thence look forthUpon the landscape to behold the sceneArrayed in winter’s garb. Oh gorgeous sight,Unutterably grand! The morn was blackAnd dark and dismal; through the middle dayThe storm’s white burden was cast down to earthWith strange rapidity; and now the nightShines bright and glorious, beautiful and fair!Far o’er the head, so lofty that the eyeCan scarce rise up to view her, glows the moonWith keen intensity of silver light,And from her heavenly altitude pours downSuch floods of radiance on the snow-clad earthAs fills the heart with rapture. Scarce a starCan shew its beam amid the purple skySo rich her bright rays spread. The frosty air,Sharp, keen, and subtle, hath a delicate hazeThat beautifies all objects, giving themA softer aspect, a more lovely hue,A spirit-like appearance. On the trees,Leafless and verdureless, a foliage liesOf splendid whiteness. A strange stillness holdsTheir 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 nighThe summit of heaven’s arch. Along the lawnHow softly spreads the radiant plain of snow,More smooth and level than a temple floorOf alabaster framed. O’er all the bedsAnd borders ranged for flowers, no smaller shrubOr plant can shew a branch; but buried deepBeneath a downy burden, mark their tombsBy hemispheres of white. When looking farAcross the landscape, every object gleamsAs 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 woodWhich swells in highest grandeur, o’er the hillThat rises to the westward, stands the churchAll pure and peaceful in the holy light.On its embattled tower the moonbeams fall,And seem to hallow it, so fair and calmIt gleams within them. From its summit shootsThe tall and taper spire, and high o’ertopsThe loftiest trees around, and stands aloneAmid the ether, whilst its form sublimeWith emblematic finger points to heaven!When morn arises, from that ancient towerAn anthem-peal will ring, a music richAnd pregnant with deep thoughts. For centuriesThe selfsame tones have burst upon the airAnd made it thrill with harmony. It fellOn ears that listen on this earth no more,And when we hear it, it will be a linkUniting us with them. Oh! mysticalAnd wonderful is sound. A single noteMay call our past life up, and make it liveAll vivid in the present. Every thingHas 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 oftHad entered when a boy, the simple clickOf its loud latch, was recognised againIn one brief moment, and it brought to sightAll those companions who, in school-boy days,Had there surrounded me; and heavy thoughtsPressed on my spirit, for I knew that someWere carried to the grave; and some were goneI knew not whither; and the most, perhaps,I should behold no more! Then what deep thoughts,What thoughts of piety should Christmas bellsAwake within the soul! Their mighty tonesTeem with the memories of two thousand yearsOr nigh thereto. What wonderful eventsSince then have happened, how the world hath changed,And man hath been exalted, since the WordsDivine 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 seeJehovah manifest! To us “a childIs born, a son is given,” and his nameIs “Wonderful!” Oh wonderful indeedThat he who ’habiteth eternityShould stand revealed in time; that he who dwellsFar o’er the heavens, should yet descend to earth;That He, enthroned in “unapproached light”Should visit this world’s darkness! Many namesAnd titles glorious, hath the Son of God,In whom we see the Father, one with HimSo true and absolute, whoso beholdsThe Son beholds the Father. Search the WordAnd see if these things be so; let it tellThe truth in its own language. “In Him dwellsThe fullness of the Godhead bodily.” He is“The true God and Eternal life.” In fleshChrist came, and he “is over all God blestFor evermore.” Still further it reveals“God was in Christ,” and “reconciling” there“The world unto himself.” Jehovah saysTimes oft repeated in the elder WordHe is the Saviour, and none else but He;He is Redeemer, and he will not giveHis glory to another. We should holdExalted notions of that Saviour whoWas 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 theseTo waken thought within the humble mindAnd make it strive to apprehend and knowThe mystery sublime. But comprehendIt never can, such lies not in the powerOf finite mind, its feeble grasp can ne’erInclude infinity. Then let us pauseAnd ponder deeply, for the truth is notMore difficult to hold, or to believe,Than that creation at the first sprang forthBeneath the fiat of Almighty Will,And finitude was born, and time began!Ring out ye bells! and with glad notes proclaimThe glorious advent of the Prince of Peace.And let your melodies resound aloudTill every heart with pious joy is filled!Princes of war have desolated earthAnd ravaged nations, cities, homes, and hearths,Till men cried out in misery, and madeThe vaulted heaven re-echo to their cries.But wars shall cease, and men shall beat at lengthTheir swords to ploughshares; and all peaceful artsShall flourish on the earth. Then Truth shall shineWith her own cheerful radiant light, and blessThe kingdoms of the World, and Goodness dwellEnthroned in every heart. Then life shall runIn one pure current, as a crystal stream,And every deed in excellence shall shineLike stars of heaven. A bond of holy loveShall make a glorious brotherhood of man,And heaven-descended charity shall linkThe nations into one. Then holy joyShall elevate each heart, the song of praiseBurst gladly from each lip, and men shall liftTheir voice in anthems, whose ascending notesShall fill the skies with harmony sublime.Oh! that the bright and happy hour were comeWhen earth exulting shall behold the reignOf Christ the great Messiah! Once he came,In deep humility, to taste of death,In weakness and in weariness; but soonAs prophecy foretells, he shall appearRevealed to men, in majesty and might.In spirit and in power, to build his church,His kingdom, on the earth, and stablish itIn peace profound, in holiness secure,In truth unshaken, happiness supremeAnd rich with glory that shall know no end!Then shall Jerusalem lift up her voiceIn songs of gladness, when she is arrayedIn garments fair of righteousness; her headEncrowned with wisdom’s sparkling diadem,And she rejoiced o’er as a beauteous brideBy Him who framed her. Then her sun no moreShall 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 bringsUnnumbered thoughts like these! The human soulCreated in God’s image seems to shareIn His infinity. Evolving thought,For ever growing, can within it dwell,And oft ascending and ascending stillTo higher points of elevated Truth,View things around it with extended glance,And with more god-like insight. What can fillIts vast capacity, or quench the thirstIt bears for knowledge. It was born to riseFor ever upward into brighter light!Lift high the banner of “Excelsior.”On! on! the watchword! Let us search for TruthWith steadfast heart, and holy trust in God,Then never can we fail! Where shall we findThe thing we look for? In the musty tomesOf darkening ages, in the harsh decreesOf priests king-ruling, in the twilight dimThat settles on the past! Ah! no, not thereLook to the future, to the morning lightAppearing in the east! Three books are writ,Three books divine; their pages rightly connedWill blend their full triunity of TruthIn one bright blaze of wisdom. Pierce within,And read the volume there, and it will tellOf 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 turnAnother page, and read inscribed thereon,A like infinitude, within the smallAnd tiny measurements of living grainsAnd vital atoms, all disposed by lawsSublime in their simplicity, that bindThe great and little in one mighty whole.Lessons like these will fit the mind to seeThat in a written book, indeed divine,A like infinitude of Truth must dwellConcealed within the letter. Human mindsThat have enlodged themselves in books, leave thereA record of their greatness. Learned menHave conned the documents, that sages writ,With care unceasing, and at last confessedThey had not reached the ultimate of thoughtEmbodied in them. What must be the depths,The vast profundities of pages pennedFrom perfect inspiration? Christ hath saidFlesh profits nothing, but the words I speakAre spirit and are life. The letter kills,The spirit giveth life, hath Paul announced.How shall we pierce this body to let forthThe spirit of pure truth. From whence attainThe “key of knowledge” to unlock the storesOf 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 seeIts perfect harmony with truth divine,And find all streamlets from the Fount of TruthBlend in one lucid river. Let us waitIn patience and humility the timeOf this grand consummation! Let us upTo the high mountain tops, from thence to watchThe dawning sunlight of earth’s brighter day.Such day shall come, though it hath tarred long,And yet may tarry, for the certain harpOf sacred prophecy hath oft foretoldIts glorious advent—let us watch, and wait!It is full time that I should now arrestThought’s current in the midst. Though on a themeSo full and teeming, it might swiftly runIts rapid course for ever. O’er the earthThe cold increases, and the bitter frostDraws flowers upon each pane. I must retireFrom this unsullied prospect, fair and calmAnd eminently beautiful. The fireBurns low within the grate, and embers lieIn darkness on the hearth, that but of lateWere red and glowing. In the shade of sleep,And night’s oblivion, I must seek to quenchThe fire of thought, and for awhile foregoA life of consciousness. Yet with a hopeOf sweet refreshment, and with strength renewed,To spring up cheerful when the morning sunMakes bright the winter landscape, and enjoyThat intellectual pleasure, pure delight,And social intercourse, that ever formThe banquet rich of Christmas at the Hall!
No Muses haunt Parnassus’ lofty mount,Nor wander on by Castalie’s pure stream;Whose waters welling from their crystal fountBlushed with the light of heaven’s entrancing beam.Mere glorious visions of a Grecian dreamThose Muses were! on them I call in vain!And ye must all me most presumptious deem,That such high prize I struggle to attainAs sing some wild romance, some sweet Spenserian strain.
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 fallWhich gushed below, as if to sternly mockThe wild rage of the river, whose fierce shockStruck with the might of an eternal storm,But yet impressed not the immortal blockOf massive adamant, that reared its formEmbattled midst the skies with turrets multiform.
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.
And far around vast forests stretched their boughsIn one unpathed perplexity of shade;Upon whose skirts the purple mountains rose,As if they would the starry realms invadeWith their titanic summits. Midst each glade,And mossy valley, gently purling streamsGushed rippling on, and in their windings madeDeep woodland haunts, unpierced by sunny beams,Sweet bowers for purest love,—fit nooks for poet’s dreams.
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 mossAnd crowned with wildflowers’ gay and drooping bells;Here trees majestic shot wide boughs acrossTo 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 swellsTo woo the student calmly to repose,Or watch glad insects sport at days warm golden close.
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 pileAnd made it seem a vision. Calm awhileAnd lonely, and in stillness lay the sceneSave tones of rushing waters, that beguileThe thoughts to them a moment. Now is seenA knight’s athletic form in armour’s dazzling sheen.
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.
Along the terrace, with majestic stride,He onward passed below the highest tower;And each step witnessed to the noble prideThat 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 hungBright-jewelled by his side, and like a flowerHis gay plume nodded, whilst he swiftly strungA lute’s expressive chords, and thus in deep tones sung.
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 boughsAs rich as the glow of day!
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’erflowUnlocked by the moonbeam’s spell!
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.
Oh! Lady kind—Lenore! Lenore!
Let my soul’s impassioned tale,
With a heart so gentle and pure as thine,
In its truthfulness prevail.
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 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 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 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!
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 airWhen, from the casement of a turret high,A white hand peeped, as beautiful and fairAs ever cloudlet on the radiant sky;And to that love-song gave a sweet replyBy letting fall a flower—a flower which toldOf love’s sublime delicious witcheryWithin the heart. Hid in his scarf’s gay foldThat boon to the wars he bore, more daring brave and bold.
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.
The last rich scion of an ancient lineWas fair Lenore; a lonely orphan, sheDwelt in that Castle by the rushing RhineIn days of tournament and chivalry:A creature fitted to inspire the freeAnd noble passion of a truthful breastAnd brave bold heart, whose inbred courtesyAnd gentler feelings, would seek out a rest,Mid valour’s peaceful pause, in woman’s love possessed.
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 lightOf life, of gladness and unsullied smiles;A glorious being fitted to delightBy gentle manners, innocent sweet wiles,And gay allurement, that full oft beguilesThe 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.
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 heartOf 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 wallsOf many a lofty castle, held by knightsOf power and state, but none there is who callsMore wealth his own, inherited by right,Possessed in honour true, maintained by valour’s might.
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.
Whilst her heart’s lord, mid Palestine afar,In dauntless combat fought the Saracen,To drive him from the land, where first a starRevealed the Saviour to the sons of men,And give its sacred shrines and sites againTo 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.
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 delightTowards him who wooed her, tenderly to meltIn one brief moment; whilst she swiftly speltAn unknown lesson from her burning breastAnd prized the lore it gave; a truth which giltWith sunset brightness all her thoughts, and blestHer hours with musings sweet, her heart with richest rest.
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 tearWould 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 nearHis stalwart form to glad her longing eyes.Hark to yon minstrel’s notes that waken her surprise!—
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!—
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 causeHe cheerfully suffered the loss.
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 againEnriched with fame—but poor!A truthful heart, and a strong bright swordFormed all his earthly store!
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 sangTo his lady-love a strainThat told of his loss, and his heart’s deep truth,But she viewed him with chill disdain!
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 soulHad loved for the wealth alone,And she cast his high worth and his truth awayFrom her heart when that was gone.
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 bleedBy such too cruel song! within me liesThe woman’s truthful heart that aye defiesThe 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!”
“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!”
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 beenUnfolded in their breasts. A peaceful sceneThe future offered; but before the timeTheir love had priestly sanction, valour keenAdvanced the infidel; with zeal sublimeThe knight re-sought the wars—to stay he deemed a crime!
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 yoreHad worked deep mischief. Naught on earth could saveFrom his enchantments, when his soul would craveAnd lust for evil; with such direful aimHe wrought his purposes. The bold, the brave,The fair, the lovely, without ruth or shame,He brought to ill. Pauvero was his name.
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 shewThe utmost want; for though he stole awayThe wealth of thousands, yet he never knewA benefit therefrom, but let it layDeep in a vast dark pit, all buried from the day.
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.
Soon as the knight had left his lady fair,He swiftly thought, by necromantic skill,To win her wealth; and it to slyly bearAway 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, untilIts walls were stripped, its coffers emptied quite,And naught was left for use, and naught to please the sight.
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 eyeIn such strange garb could recognise againThe maiden once so beautiful. A cryGushed from her tortured heart, but no true help was nigh!
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 burnedWith agony’s wild fire, as o’er the land,Now desolate, he gazed; and with his handHeld high to heaven, a sacred vow he swore,To bring fit vengeance on the fiendish bandThat wrought the ruin; for the wild scene boreMarks of that wizard’s blast, all withered, burnt, or frore.
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.
“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 vowTo 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 showerOr want’s necessity, if still might shineOn me that loving look, that radiant smile of thine.”
“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 markTo guide his footsteps to Lenore again.Long days and months he sought with weary painAnd heart undaunted, but no track had yetBeen 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.
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 thinkOn those bright moments when his hope was nighIts rich fruition; and he heaved a sighOf doubt and discontent, and wished he ne’erHad gone to th’ wars again, or chivalryBeen his heart’s choice; but soon he dashed the tearAway, and sang to his lute these mournful notes—now hear!
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!
The Melody.
Oh! Lady, thou star of my life, no moreThy clear beams shine on me,And sorrow hath shrouded my lone days o’erWithheld from the sight of thee.Lenore! Lenore! in the forest I cry—Mere desolate echoes the sole reply!
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’erAnd thrills me with fear to see thee no more.
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 timeThe depths of my love for thee,Or proved the wild anguish my soul must feelWhen thou art afar from me.To my cry in the forest—Lenore! Lenore!Echo seems but to answer—“no more, 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 theeSweet solace relieved me at night.For I dreamt to the cry of “Lenore!” there cameA soft gentle voice that whispered my name.
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.
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 mindHeard feeble accents borne upon the windAs 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.
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 replyUnbounded gladness to his spirit gave:“Fidelio! ah, I know thou’rt come to saveThy 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.
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 availTo rend the vastness of this dungeon wall;Then seek the hermit, dwelling in the vale,Beside the eastern mount, and straightway callHis wisdom to thine aid, for he can allThe 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.”
“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.”
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 wayTo free the maid from magic’s direful swayIs short and certain, but will try thy mightOf 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.
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 cellOf golden ingots, and large diamonds full;And laid thereon, a wand of power, to quellThe might of magic and its spells annul;No more I utter! if thine heart be dullIn 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.”
“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 flameOf silvery brightness shone within the grot;He struck the sides, and, answering to the same,Around full tones of music seemed to floatAloft in air, and soon appeared the Maid he sought!
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!
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 displayedNo signs of ruin, but it stood erectIn all its former gorgeousness arrayed,A noble building with a proud aspéctIts enemies to daunt, its inmates to protect.
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 pairTheir 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.
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 LandHad won such treasures from the Infidel,All by the might of valour’s potent hand,When in these last wars he had sought to quellHis arrogant power; that to his share there fellSuch mighty wealth as all his sacrificeOf fervent piety repaid full well,Redeeming back his lands; mid gay surpriseTo twice endow Lenore, to him the noblest prize!
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!
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 aroseSome new and deep affection to disclose;Some fond remembrance, some delighted thoughtTo link their hearts. Oft in this hushed reposeOf mutual confidence their feelings caughtThe poet’s sacred fire, and thus in songs were wrought—
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 rememberOur first happy days when affection began,And Love, the gay truant, the roguish dissembler,Seemed sporting as lightly as spring breezes fan.
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 awareOf the pleasing deception, the mischief he wrought us,In mingling together rich joy and deep care.
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.
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 yieldedTo Hymen’s rich keeping his strength and his power,And the god on our passion smiled gaily, and sealed itIn bonds of endurance to life’s latest hour.
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.
Since then have we known the bright pleasures of living,That purest delight of heart beating with heart;When thoughts and affections, deep feelings, emotionsIn varied succession high rapture impart.
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 heavenThan the joy of true love in “for ever I’m thine!”
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 airVisions and fancies that the muse hath penned;But let their brightness with our spirits blendAnd their clear moral elevate the heart.For now ’tis time this votive song had end,So poor in thought and music—pray impartDue pardon to my lyre that ill hath done its part!
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 confessedShe owned poetic powers, and that to herIt was a labour of devoted loveTo weave the rhythm of the poet’s song,And frame his numbered melody. An ear,By close acquaintance with the lofty tonesAnd modulations of the noble verseOf our great bards, may soon acquire the powerAnd skill to versify; and likewise thoughtMay be illumed by their poetic light,Until it shine with lustre, and give forthA seeming inbred poesy. The bard,The true and native bard, does more than this;There is within him a far deeper fountOf innate feeling; and his radiant mindShines not with light reflected, but gives forth,When warmed by passions burning in his heart,Its own clear coruscations; like those starsWhich flash across the sky, so swift and bright,We wonder whence they came. And so with herWas thought creative, and gave mystic birthTo things and beings, lifeless hitherto.Now all are waiting for the last regaleWhich is to crown the whole, and bring to endThis contest of sweet verse. A mother’s voiceWould give it utterance, a mother’s heartWas its warm birth-place; and each one presagedA 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 gaveA saint-like aspect—not the gloomy saintOf ghostly superstition—but the true,The real, the bright, the one whose cheerful heartAdores the love of Heaven, and lets its loveFlow freely o’er on all. And there she satClose by the fire-side, in the place assignedTo venerated guests. Yet none would takeThat antique chair, but with a general voiceAwarded it to her; and said the joysAnd innocent pastimes could not be commencedTill she consented to retain that seatAs her’s alone. And reverent she looked,And well she graced it, as the firelight playedOn her pure countenance, and silver hairWhose thin braids peeped beneath a seemly capOf snowy whiteness. Such a holy calmSuffused her features, as can spring aloneFrom peace of heart within. Her soul had knownDark trials on the earth, but they had wroughtTo purify and strengthen, till her faithWas bright and cheerful, and her hope serene.She now with retrospective eye beheldThat Goodness was in all, and hence her lifeWas bright and beautiful, as golden skiesThat usher in the calm repose of night.Before attempting to impart her verseAccording to old promise, with a voiceOf winning modesty she softly saidShe was no poetess, but merely broughtSome thoughts and feelings from a mother’s heartIn simple language rendered. She rejoicedWith soul-felt gladness to behold aroundSo many loving friends; and further stillTo see her sons and daughters glad and gayWith 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 voiceFrom that glad Hall, which but two years ago,On the same festive night, with accents softMixed in gay concert there. She knew that noneHad ’ere forgot her Edith, but that allBore her in loved remembrance; and some thoughtsOf sacred elevation well becameThe time and season; and she therefore broughtSome simple lines in memory of her,As fittest tribute from a mother’s breast—A song she best could frame. With few words moreOf preface, or apology she read—
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
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
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
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.
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 frameAlone reposes ’neath the sod;But her bright soul, that vital flameNow shines before the throne of God.
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.
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.
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 beholdThat form so lovely, soft, and fair;Now blending with the earth’s damp mould,Or scattered through the realms of air.
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 leftTo us a legacy of tears;To be of her sweet love bereftMust dim the eye through future years!
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 wringAnd anguish tear that mother’s breast,Where she in infancy did clingAnd slumbered in a holy rest.
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 calmAll earthly grief with heavenly hope,And aided by its healing balmGive not my hidden sorrow scope.
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 flightFrom sorrow, pain, and agonyTo peace and joy in worlds of light.
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.
Is she afar? ah! thin the veilThat hides the spirit-land from view;Such thoughts instinctively prevail,And my fond heart believes them true.
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 furledTo us are kindred spirits nigh.
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 quitThis “earthly house” for glory bright,Me first her angel-smile will greet,And her hand lead through realms of light.
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 madeAll bosoms move in sympathy, and eyesSuffuse themselves with tears. But not of griefAnd sorrow unalloyed. For there are thoughtsSo lofty, elevated, pure and sweet,Linked with affection and devotion, warmIn contemplating loved ones passed from earth,That the bright tears they strew upon the cheekAre more like dew-drops, ’neath some twilight skyAll glad and rosy, than the chilling rainThat falls from gloomy clouds. Now sacred thoughtWas kindled in each breast, and musings calmWhich suited well the season and the hour;Then all spoke of retiring, for the timeWhen the first star that shewed its feeble light,Whilst day was darkening, in the furthest east,Should have attained its highest point in heavenHad come, but oh how swiftly! Happy hoursAnd peaceful had been spent, and every heartWas filled with gladness; and a holier loveWarmed every bosom, such sweet fellowshipHad reigned triumphant there. With cheerful looksAnd grateful, farewell greetings for the nightTo host and hostess, each delighted guestWent to the room warm hospitalityHad set apart for him; yet with the hope,The glad and confident hope that day would bring—And many days succeeding—such pure joysAnd pleasures innocent, as o’er his heartHad softly flowed amid the recent hoursOf social glee. The antique hall was soonBy its gay crowd deserted. On the hearthThe giant yule-log, lessened to a stick,Burnt with a crimson glow, but through a veilOf thin white wavering ash. The warmth it gaveIs now diminished, and the keen frost-airPierces the lonely room. Farewell old sceneOf oft-remembered joys—to thee, good night!And now withdrawn to solitude, I mayLet thought make free excursions, and reviewThe recent hours of pleasure. There are timesWhen we think inwardly, that is more deepWithin our being, so that imagesDistinct and palpable, are scarcely seenTo flit before the mental eye; yet thoughtRolls on in fulness, like a mountain streamDeep, sweeping, vast, but ’neath the clouds of nightSilent and unrevealed. Such most is feltWhen many persons, actions, words, and thingsHave passed before us quickly; then they crowdThe mind too fully, to let each stand outIn individual being; but they allAre lodged within the memory, and come forthSo fresh and vital, during future days,And oft so unexpectedly, we startTo see them rise again as from the grave.Oh wondrous is our being! every thingThat e’er hath passed before us: every thoughtThat 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 leaveA certain impress stamped upon the soulAs with a seal eternal: sendeth forthA living substance, from the which is builtOur being and identity; conjoinsBy mystic sympathies, and secret links,Our spirits unto others. Little knowsPhilosophy, though brightly on advance,About the inner world, the world of mind.The earth’s deep crust she pierced hath, and madeMankind 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 seenWhole worlds of vital being in dim grainsAs small as summer dust. High are these truths,And mighty and ennobling; but still moreAnd greater have to come, when she hath searchedThe world of matter more, till its known laws,And comprehended principles have givenA greater strength, and more divining powerTo pierce far deeper mysteries, and scanThe inner world of spirit. Newton learntThe law that binds the universe in oneFrom a mere apple’s fall. If sages poreAs thoughtfully on mind, may they not bringSome hidden things to light, that may revealGreat laws and simple, that shall elevateAll science far beyond its present flight,Though eagle-like its wing now seems to reachThe sun of Truth, so loftily it soars.How warm and pleasant is this curtained roomAssigned for night’s repose. The cheerful fire,With its bright tongues of flame, illuminatesThe walls with fitful gleams, and ruddier lightThan issues from the lamp. ’Twere sweet to sitAnd muse for some hours longer, but the nightIs far advanced, and though the stillness roundInvites to contemplation, yet the timeAnd prudence too forbids. Before I giveMyself to slumber let me draw asideThe heavy curtain, o’er the window hung,Excluding cold and wind; and thence look forthUpon the landscape to behold the sceneArrayed in winter’s garb. Oh gorgeous sight,Unutterably grand! The morn was blackAnd dark and dismal; through the middle dayThe storm’s white burden was cast down to earthWith strange rapidity; and now the nightShines bright and glorious, beautiful and fair!Far o’er the head, so lofty that the eyeCan scarce rise up to view her, glows the moonWith keen intensity of silver light,And from her heavenly altitude pours downSuch floods of radiance on the snow-clad earthAs fills the heart with rapture. Scarce a starCan shew its beam amid the purple skySo rich her bright rays spread. The frosty air,Sharp, keen, and subtle, hath a delicate hazeThat beautifies all objects, giving themA softer aspect, a more lovely hue,A spirit-like appearance. On the trees,Leafless and verdureless, a foliage liesOf splendid whiteness. A strange stillness holdsTheir 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 nighThe summit of heaven’s arch. Along the lawnHow softly spreads the radiant plain of snow,More smooth and level than a temple floorOf alabaster framed. O’er all the bedsAnd borders ranged for flowers, no smaller shrubOr plant can shew a branch; but buried deepBeneath a downy burden, mark their tombsBy hemispheres of white. When looking farAcross the landscape, every object gleamsAs 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 woodWhich swells in highest grandeur, o’er the hillThat rises to the westward, stands the churchAll pure and peaceful in the holy light.On its embattled tower the moonbeams fall,And seem to hallow it, so fair and calmIt gleams within them. From its summit shootsThe tall and taper spire, and high o’ertopsThe loftiest trees around, and stands aloneAmid the ether, whilst its form sublimeWith emblematic finger points to heaven!When morn arises, from that ancient towerAn anthem-peal will ring, a music richAnd pregnant with deep thoughts. For centuriesThe selfsame tones have burst upon the airAnd made it thrill with harmony. It fellOn ears that listen on this earth no more,And when we hear it, it will be a linkUniting us with them. Oh! mysticalAnd wonderful is sound. A single noteMay call our past life up, and make it liveAll vivid in the present. Every thingHas 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 oftHad entered when a boy, the simple clickOf its loud latch, was recognised againIn one brief moment, and it brought to sightAll those companions who, in school-boy days,Had there surrounded me; and heavy thoughtsPressed on my spirit, for I knew that someWere carried to the grave; and some were goneI knew not whither; and the most, perhaps,I should behold no more! Then what deep thoughts,What thoughts of piety should Christmas bellsAwake within the soul! Their mighty tonesTeem with the memories of two thousand yearsOr nigh thereto. What wonderful eventsSince then have happened, how the world hath changed,And man hath been exalted, since the WordsDivine 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 seeJehovah manifest! To us “a childIs born, a son is given,” and his nameIs “Wonderful!” Oh wonderful indeedThat he who ’habiteth eternityShould stand revealed in time; that he who dwellsFar o’er the heavens, should yet descend to earth;That He, enthroned in “unapproached light”Should visit this world’s darkness! Many namesAnd titles glorious, hath the Son of God,In whom we see the Father, one with HimSo true and absolute, whoso beholdsThe Son beholds the Father. Search the WordAnd see if these things be so; let it tellThe truth in its own language. “In Him dwellsThe fullness of the Godhead bodily.” He is“The true God and Eternal life.” In fleshChrist came, and he “is over all God blestFor evermore.” Still further it reveals“God was in Christ,” and “reconciling” there“The world unto himself.” Jehovah saysTimes oft repeated in the elder WordHe is the Saviour, and none else but He;He is Redeemer, and he will not giveHis glory to another. We should holdExalted notions of that Saviour whoWas 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 theseTo waken thought within the humble mindAnd make it strive to apprehend and knowThe mystery sublime. But comprehendIt never can, such lies not in the powerOf finite mind, its feeble grasp can ne’erInclude infinity. Then let us pauseAnd ponder deeply, for the truth is notMore difficult to hold, or to believe,Than that creation at the first sprang forthBeneath the fiat of Almighty Will,And finitude was born, and time began!Ring out ye bells! and with glad notes proclaimThe glorious advent of the Prince of Peace.And let your melodies resound aloudTill every heart with pious joy is filled!Princes of war have desolated earthAnd ravaged nations, cities, homes, and hearths,Till men cried out in misery, and madeThe vaulted heaven re-echo to their cries.But wars shall cease, and men shall beat at lengthTheir swords to ploughshares; and all peaceful artsShall flourish on the earth. Then Truth shall shineWith her own cheerful radiant light, and blessThe kingdoms of the World, and Goodness dwellEnthroned in every heart. Then life shall runIn one pure current, as a crystal stream,And every deed in excellence shall shineLike stars of heaven. A bond of holy loveShall make a glorious brotherhood of man,And heaven-descended charity shall linkThe nations into one. Then holy joyShall elevate each heart, the song of praiseBurst gladly from each lip, and men shall liftTheir voice in anthems, whose ascending notesShall fill the skies with harmony sublime.Oh! that the bright and happy hour were comeWhen earth exulting shall behold the reignOf Christ the great Messiah! Once he came,In deep humility, to taste of death,In weakness and in weariness; but soonAs prophecy foretells, he shall appearRevealed to men, in majesty and might.In spirit and in power, to build his church,His kingdom, on the earth, and stablish itIn peace profound, in holiness secure,In truth unshaken, happiness supremeAnd rich with glory that shall know no end!Then shall Jerusalem lift up her voiceIn songs of gladness, when she is arrayedIn garments fair of righteousness; her headEncrowned with wisdom’s sparkling diadem,And she rejoiced o’er as a beauteous brideBy Him who framed her. Then her sun no moreShall 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 bringsUnnumbered thoughts like these! The human soulCreated in God’s image seems to shareIn His infinity. Evolving thought,For ever growing, can within it dwell,And oft ascending and ascending stillTo higher points of elevated Truth,View things around it with extended glance,And with more god-like insight. What can fillIts vast capacity, or quench the thirstIt bears for knowledge. It was born to riseFor ever upward into brighter light!Lift high the banner of “Excelsior.”On! on! the watchword! Let us search for TruthWith steadfast heart, and holy trust in God,Then never can we fail! Where shall we findThe thing we look for? In the musty tomesOf darkening ages, in the harsh decreesOf priests king-ruling, in the twilight dimThat settles on the past! Ah! no, not thereLook to the future, to the morning lightAppearing in the east! Three books are writ,Three books divine; their pages rightly connedWill blend their full triunity of TruthIn one bright blaze of wisdom. Pierce within,And read the volume there, and it will tellOf 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 turnAnother page, and read inscribed thereon,A like infinitude, within the smallAnd tiny measurements of living grainsAnd vital atoms, all disposed by lawsSublime in their simplicity, that bindThe great and little in one mighty whole.Lessons like these will fit the mind to seeThat in a written book, indeed divine,A like infinitude of Truth must dwellConcealed within the letter. Human mindsThat have enlodged themselves in books, leave thereA record of their greatness. Learned menHave conned the documents, that sages writ,With care unceasing, and at last confessedThey had not reached the ultimate of thoughtEmbodied in them. What must be the depths,The vast profundities of pages pennedFrom perfect inspiration? Christ hath saidFlesh profits nothing, but the words I speakAre spirit and are life. The letter kills,The spirit giveth life, hath Paul announced.How shall we pierce this body to let forthThe spirit of pure truth. From whence attainThe “key of knowledge” to unlock the storesOf 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 seeIts perfect harmony with truth divine,And find all streamlets from the Fount of TruthBlend in one lucid river. Let us waitIn patience and humility the timeOf this grand consummation! Let us upTo the high mountain tops, from thence to watchThe dawning sunlight of earth’s brighter day.Such day shall come, though it hath tarred long,And yet may tarry, for the certain harpOf sacred prophecy hath oft foretoldIts glorious advent—let us watch, and wait!It is full time that I should now arrestThought’s current in the midst. Though on a themeSo full and teeming, it might swiftly runIts rapid course for ever. O’er the earthThe cold increases, and the bitter frostDraws flowers upon each pane. I must retireFrom this unsullied prospect, fair and calmAnd eminently beautiful. The fireBurns low within the grate, and embers lieIn darkness on the hearth, that but of lateWere red and glowing. In the shade of sleep,And night’s oblivion, I must seek to quenchThe fire of thought, and for awhile foregoA life of consciousness. Yet with a hopeOf sweet refreshment, and with strength renewed,To spring up cheerful when the morning sunMakes bright the winter landscape, and enjoyThat intellectual pleasure, pure delight,And social intercourse, that ever formThe banquet rich of Christmas at the Hall!
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
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
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,
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
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
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
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
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
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
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
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
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,
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
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!