ISABEL.As the leaf upon the tree,Fluttering, gleaming constantly,Such a lightsome thing was she,My gay and gentle Isabel!Her heart was fed with love-springs sweet,And in her face you'd see it beatTo hear the sound of welcome feet—And were not mine so, Isabel?She knew it not, but she was fair,And like a moonbeam was her hair,That falls where flowing ripples areIn summer evenings, Isabel!Her heart and tongue were scarce apart,Unwittingly her lips would part,And love came gushing from her heart,The woman's heart of Isabel.So pure her flesh-garb, and like dew,That in her features glimmered throughEach working of her spirit true,In wondrous beauty, Isabel!A sunbeam struggling through thick leaves,A reaper's song mid yellow sheaves,Less gladsome were;—my spirit grievesTo think of thee, mild Isabel!I know not when I loved thee first;Not loving, I had been accurst,Yet, having loved, my heart will burst,Longing for thee, dear Isabel!With silent tears my cheeks are wet,I would be calm, I would forget,But thy blue eyes gaze on me yet,When stars have risen, Isabel.The winds mourn for thee, Isabel,The flowers expect thee in the dell,Thy gentle spirit loved them well;And I for thy sake, Isabel!The sunsets seem less lovely nowThan when, leaf checkered, on thy browThey fell as lovingly as thouLingered'st till moon-rise, Isabel!At dead of night I seem to seeThy fair, pale features constantlyUpturned in silent prayer for me,O'er moveless clasped hands, Isabel!I call thee, thou dost not reply;The stars gleam coldly on thine eye,As like a dream thou flittest by,And leav'st me weeping, Isabel!
MUSIC.I.I seem to lie with drooping eyes,Dreaming sweet dreams,Half longings and half memories,In woods where streamsWith trembling shades and whirling gleams,Many and bright,In song and light,Are ever, ever flowing;While the wind, if we list to the rustling grass,Which numbers his footsteps as they pass,Seems scarcely to be blowing;And the far-heard voice of Spring,From sunny slopes comes wandering,Calling the violets from the sleep,That bound them under snow-drifts deep,To open their childlike, asking eyesOn the new summer's paradise,And mingled with the gurgling waters—As the dreamy witcheryOf Acheloüs' silver-voiced daughtersRose and fell with the heaving sea,Whose great heart swelled with ecstasy—The song of many a floating bird,Winding through the rifted trees,Is dreamily half-heard—A sister stream of melodiesRippled by the flutteringsOf rapture-quivered wings.II.And now beside a cataractI lie, and through my soul,From over me and under,The never-ceasing thunderArousingly doth roll;Through the darkness all compact,Through the trackless sea of gloom,Sad and deep I hear it boom;At intervals the cloud is crackedAnd a livid flash doth hissDownward from its floating home,Lighting up the precipiceAnd the never-resting foamWith a dim and ghastly glare,Which, for a heart-beat, in the air,Shows the sweeping shroudsOf the midnight cloudsAnd their wildly-scattered hair.III.Now listening to a woman's tone,In a wood I sit alone—Alone because our souls are one;—All around my heart it flows,Lulling me in deep repose;I fear to speak, I fear to move,Lest I should break the spell I love—Low and gentle, calm and clear,Into my inmost soul it goes,As if my brother dear,Who is no longer here,Had bended from the skyAnd murmured in my earA strain of that high harmony,Which they may sing aloneWho worship round the throne.IV.Now in a fairy boat,On the bright waves of song,Full merrily I float,Merrily float along;My helm is veered, I care not how,My white sail bellies over me,And bright as gold the ripples beThat plash beneath the bow;Before, behind,They feel the wind,And they are dancing joyously—While, faintly heard, along the far-off shoreThe surf goes plunging with a lingering roar;Or anchored in a shadowy cove,Entranced with harmonies,Slowly I sink and riseAs the slow waves of music move.V.Now softly dashing,Bubbling, plashing,Mazy, dreamy,Faint and streamy,Ripples into ripples melt,Not so strongly heard as felt;Now rapid and quick,While the heart beats thick,The music silver wavelets crowd,Distinct and clear, but never loudAnd now all solemnly and slow,In mild, deep tones they warble low,Like the glad song of angels, whenThey sang good will and peace to men;Now faintly heard and far,As if the spirit's earsHad caught the anthem of a starChanting with his brother-spheresIn the midnight dark and deep,When the body is asleepAnd wondrous shadows pour in streamsFrom the twofold gate of dreams;Now onward roll the billows, swellingWith a tempest-sound of might,As of voices doom foretellingTo the silent ear of Night;And now a mingled ecstasyOf all sweet sounds it is;—O! who may tell the agonyOf rapture such as this?VI.I have drunk of the drink of immortals,I have drunk of the life-giving wine,And now I may pass the bright portalsThat open into a realm divine!I have drunk it through mine earsIn the ecstasy of song,When mine eyes would fill with tearsThat its life were not more long;I have drunk it through mine eyesIn beauty's every shape,And now around my soul it lies,No juice of earthly grape!Wings! wings are given to me,I can flutter, I can rise,Like a new life gushing through meSweep the heavenly harmonies!
SONG.O! I must look on that sweet face once more before I die;God grant that it may lighten up with joy when I draw nigh;God grant that she may look on me as kindly as she seemsIn the long night, the restless night, i' the sunny land of dreams!I hoped, I thought, she loved me once, and yet, I know not why,There is a coldness in her speech, and a coldness in her eye.Something that in another's look would not seem cold to me,And yet like ice I feel it chill the heart of memory.She does not come to greet me so frankly as she did,And in her utmost openness I feel there's something hid;She almost seems to shun me, as if she thought that IMight win her gentle heart again to feelings long gone by.I sought the first spring-buds for her, the fairest and the best,And she wore them for their loveliness upon her spotless breast,The blood-root and the violet, the frail anemone,She wore them, and alas! I deemed it was for love of me!As flowers in a darksome place stretch forward to the light,So to the memory of her I turn by day and night;As flowers in a darksome place grow thin and pale and wan,So is it with my darkened heart, now that her light is gone.The thousand little things that love doth treasure up for aye,And brood upon with moistened eyes when she that's loved's away,The word, the look, the smile, the blush, the ribbon that she wore,Each day they grow more dear to me, and pain me more and more.My face I cover with my hands, and bitterly I weep,That the quick-gathering sands of life should choke a love so deep,And that the stream, so pure and bright, must turn it from its track,Or to the heart-springs, whence it rose, roll its full waters back!As calm as doth the lily float close by the lakelet's brim,So calm and spotless, down time's stream, her peaceful days did swim,And I had longed, and dreamed, and prayed, that closely by her side,Down to a haven still and sure, my happy life might glide.But now, alas! those golden days of youth and hope are o'er,And I must dream those dreams of joy, those guiltless dreams no more;Yet there is something in my heart that whispers ceaselessly,"Would God that I might see that face once more before I die!"
IANTHE.I.There is a light within her eyes,Like gleams of wandering fire-flies;From light to shade it leaps and movesWhenever in her soul ariseThe holy shapes of things she loves;Fitful it shines and changes ever,Like star-lit ripples on a river,Or summer sunshine on the eavesOf silver-trembling poplar leaves,Where the lingering dew-drops quiver.I may not tell the blessednessHer mild eyes send to mine,The sunset-tinted hazinessOf their mysterious shine,The dim and holy mournfulnessOf their mellow light divine;The shadow of the lashes lieOver them so lovingly,That they seem to melt awayIn a doubtful twilight-gray,While I watch the stars ariseIn the evening of her eyes,I love it, yet I almost dreadTo think what it foreshadoweth;And, when I muse how I have readThat such strange light betokened death—Instead of fire-fly gleams, I seeWild corpse-lights gliding waveringly.II.With wayward thoughts her eyes are bright,Like shiftings of the northern-light,Hither, thither, swiftly glance they,In a mazy twining dance they,Like ripply lights the sunshine weaves,Thrown backward from a shaken nook,Below some tumbling water-brook,On the o'erarching platan-leaves,All through her glowing face they flit,And rest in their deep dwelling-place,Those fathomless blue eyes of hers,Till, from her burning soul re-lit,While her upheaving bosom stirs,They stream again across her faceAnd with such hope and glory fill it,Death could not have the heart to chill it.Yet when their wild light fades again,I feel a sudden sense of pain,As if, while yet her eyes were gleaming,And like a shower of sun-lit rainBright fancies from her face were streaming,Her trembling soul might flit awayAs swift and suddenly as they.III.A wild, inspirèd earnestnessHer inmost being fills,And eager self-forgetfulness,That speaks not what it wills,But what unto her soul is given,A living oracle from Heaven,Which scarcely in her breast is bornWhen on her trembling lips it thrills,And, like a burst of golden skiesThrough storm-clouds on a sudden torn,Like a glory of the morn,Beams marvellously from her eyes.And then, like a Spring-swollen river,Roll the deep waves of her full-hearted thoughtCrested with sun-lit spray,Her wild lips curve and quiver,And my rapt soul, on the strong tide upcaught,Unwittingly is borne away,Lulled by a dreamful music ever,Far—through the solemn twilight-grayOf hoary woods—through valleys greenWhich the trailing vine embowers,And where the purple-clustered grapes are seenDeep-glowing through rich clumps of waving flowers—Now over foaming rapids sweptAnd with maddening rapture shook—Now gliding where the water-plants have sleptFor ages in a moss-rimmed nook—Enwoven by a wild-eyed bandOf earth-forgetting dreams,I float to a delicious landBy a sunset heaven spanned,And musical with streams;—Around, the calm, majestic formsAnd god-like eyes of early Greece I see,Or listen, till my spirit warms,To songs of courtly chivalry,Or weep, unmindful if my tears be seen,For the meek, suffering love of poor Undine.IV.Her thoughts are never memories,But ever changeful, ever new,Fresh and beautiful as dewThat in a dell at noontide lies,Or, at the close of summer day,The pleasant breath of new-mown hay:Swiftly they come and passAs golden birds across the sun,As light-gleams on tall meadow-grassWhich the wind just breathes upon.And when she speaks, her eyes I seeDown-gushing through their silken lattices,Like stars that quiver tremblinglyThrough leafy branches of the trees,And her pale cheeks do flush and glowWith speaking flashes bright and rareAs crimson North-lights on new-fallen snow,From out the veiling of her hair—Her careless hair that scatters downOn either side her eyes,A waterfall leaf-tinged with brownAnd lit with the sunrise.V.When first I saw her, not of earth,But heavenly both in grief and mirth,I thought her; she did seemAs fair and full of mystery,As bodiless, as forms we seeIn the rememberings of a dream;A moon-lit mist, a strange, dim light,Circled her spirit from my sight;—Each day more beautiful she grew,More earthly every day,Yet that mysterious, moony hueFaded not all away;She has a sister's sympathyWith all the wanderers of the sky,But most I've seen her bosom stirWhen moonlight round her fell,For the mild moon it loveth her,She loveth it as well,And of their love perchance this graceWas born into her wondrous face.I cannot tell how it may be,For both, methinks, can scarce be true,Still, as she earthly grew to me,She grew more heavenly too;She seems one born in HeavenWith earthly feelings,For, while unto her soul are givenMore pure revealingsOf holiest love and truth,Yet is the mildness of her eyesMade up of quickest sympathies,Of kindliness and ruth;So, though some shade of awe doth stirOur souls for one so far above us,We feel secure that she will love us,And cannot keep from loving her.She is a poem, which to meIn speech and look is written bright,And to her life's rich harmonyDoth ever sing itself aright;Dear, glorious creature!With eyes so dewy bright,And tenderest feelingItself revealingIn every look and feature,Welcome as a homestead lightTo one long-wandering in a clouded night,O, lovelier for her woman's weakness,Which yet is strongly mailedIn armor of courageous meeknessAnd faith that never failed!VI.Early and late, at her soul's gate,Sits Chastity in warderwise,No thoughts unchallenged, small or great,Go thence into her eyes;Nor may a low, unworthy thoughtBeyond that virgin warder win,Nor one, whose password is not "ought,"May go without or enter in.I call her, seeing those pure eyes,The Eve of a new Paradise,Which she by gentle word and deed,And look no less, doth still createAbout her, for her great thoughts breedA calm that lifts us from our fallen state,And makes us while with her both good and great—Nor is their memory wanting in our need:With stronger loving, every hour,Turneth my heart to this frail flower,Which, thoughtless of the world, hath grownTo beauty and meek gentleness,Here in a fair world of its own—By woman's instinct trained alone—A lily fair which God did bless,And which from Nature's heart did drawLove, wisdom, peace, and Heaven's perfect law.
LOVE'S ALTAR.I.I built an altar in my soul,I builded it to one alone;And ever silently I stole,In happy days of long-agone,To make rich offerings to that ONE.II.'Twas garlanded with purest thought,And crowned with fancy's flowers bright,With choicest gems 'twas all inwroughtOf truth and feeling; in my sightIt seemed a spot of cloudless light.III.Yet when I made my offering there,Like Cain's, the incense would not rise;Back on my heart down-sank the prayer,And altar-stone and sacrificeGrew hateful in my tear-dimmed eyes.IV.O'er-grown with age's mosses green,The little altar firmly stands;It is not, as it once hath been,A selfish shrine;—these time-taught handsBring incense now from many lands.V.Knowledge doth only widen love;The stream, that lone and narrow rose,Doth, deepening ever, onward move,And with an even current flowsCalmer and calmer to the close.VI.The love, that in those early daysGirt round my spirit like a wall,Hath faded like a morning haze,And flames, unpent by self's mean thrall,Rise clearly to the perfectall.
IMPARTIALITY.I.I cannot say a scene is fairBecause it is beloved of thee,But I shall love to linger there,For sake of thy dear memory;I would not be so coldly justAs to love only what I must.II.I cannot say a thought is goodBecause thou foundest joy in it;Each soul must choose its proper foodWhich Nature hath decreed most fit;But I shall ever deem it soBecause it made thy heart o'erflow.III.I love thee for that thou art fair;And that thy spirit joys in aughtCreateth a new beauty there,With thine own dearest image fraught;And love, for others' sake that springs,Gives half their charm to lovely things.
BELLEROPHON.DEDICATED TO MY FRIEND, JOHN F. HEATH.I.I feel the bandages unrollThat bound my inward seeing;Freed are the bright wings of my soul,Types of my god-like being;High thoughts are swelling in my heartAnd rushing through my brain;May I never more lose partIn my soul's realm again!All things fair, where'er they be,In earth or air, in sky or sea,I have loved them all, and takenAll within my throbbing breast;No more my spirit can be shakenFrom its calm and kingly rest!Love hath shed its light around me,Love hath pierced the shades that bound me;Mine eyes are opened, I can seeThe universe's mystery,The mighty heart and coreOf After and BeforeI see, and I am weak no more!II.Upward! upward evermore,To Heaven's open gate I soar!Little thoughts are far behind me,Which, when custom weaves together,All the nobler man can tether—Cobwebs now no more can bind me!Now fold thy wings a little while,My trancèd soul, and lieAt rest on this Calypso-isleThat floats in mellow sky,A thousand isles with gentle motionRock upon the sunset ocean;A thousand isles of thousand hues,How bright! how beautiful! how rare!Into my spirit they infuseA purer, a diviner air;The earth is growing dimmer,And now the last faint glimmerHath faded from the hill;But in my higher atmosphereThe sun-light streameth red and clear,Fringing the islets still;—Love lifts us to the sun-light,Though the whole world would be dark;Love, wide Love, is the one light,All else is but a fading spark;Love is the nectar which doth fillOur soul's cup even to overflowing,And, warming heart, and thought, and will,Doth lie within us mildly glowing,From its own centre raying outBeauty and Truth on all without.III.Each on his golden throne,Full royally, alone,I see the stars above me,With sceptre and with diadem;Mildly they look down and love me,For I have ever yet loved them;I see their ever-sleepless eyesWatching the growth of destinies;Calm, sedate,The eyes of Fate,They wink not, nor do roll,But search the depths of soul—And in those mighty depths they seeThe germs of all Futurity,Waiting but the fitting timeTo burst and ripen into prime,As in the womb of mother EarthThe seeds of plants and forests lieAge upon age and never die—So in the souls of all men wait,Undyingly the seeds of Fate;Chance breaks the clod and forth they spring,Filling blind men with wondering.Eternal stars! with holy awe,As if a present God I saw,I look into those mighty eyesAnd see great destinies arise,As in those of mortal menFeelings glow and fade again!All things below, all things above,Are open to the eyes of Love.IV.Of Knowledge Love is master-key,Knowledge of Beauty; passing dearIs each to each, and mutuallyEach one doth make the other clear;Beauty is Love, and what we loveStraightway is beautiful,So is the circle round and full,And so dear Love doth live and moveAnd have his being,Finding his proper foodBy sure inseeing,In all things pure and good,Which he at will doth cull,Like a joyous butterflyHiving in the sunny bowersOf the soul's fairest flowers,Or, between the earth and sky,Wandering at libertyFor happy, happy hours!V.The thoughts of Love are Poesy,As this fair earth and all we seeAre the thoughts of Deity—And Love is ours by our birthright!He hath cleared mine inward sight;Glorious shapes with glorious eyesRound about my spirit glance,Shedding a mild and golden lightOn the shadowy face of Night;To unearthly melodies,Hand in hand, they weave their dance,While a deep, ambrosial lustreFrom their rounded limbs doth shine,Through many a rich and golden clusterOf streaming hair divine.In our gross and earthly hoursWe cannot see the Love-given powersWhich ever round the soul awaitTo do its sovereign will,When, in its moments calm and still,It re-assumes its royal state,Nor longer sits with eyes downcast,A beggar, dreaming of the past,At its own palace-gate.VI.I too am a Maker and a Poet;Through my whole soul I feel it and know it;My veins are fired with ecstasy!All-mother EarthDid ne'er give birthTo one who shall be matched with me;The lustre of my coronalShall cast a dimness over all.—Alas! alas! what have I spoken?My strong, my eagle wings are broken,And back again to earth I fall!
SOMETHING NATURAL.I.When first I saw thy soul-deep eyes,My heart yearned to thee instantly,Strange longing in my soul did rise;I cannot tell the reason why,But I must love thee till I die.II.The sight of thee hath well-nigh grownAs needful to me as the light;I am unrestful when alone,And my heart doth not beat arightExcept it dwell within thy sight.III.And yet—and yet—O selfish love!I am not happy even with thee;I see thee in thy brightness move,And cannot well contented be,Save thou should'st shine alone for me.IV.We should love beauty even as flowers—For all, 'tis said, they bud and blow,They are the world's as well as ours—But thou—alas! God made thee growSo fair, I cannot love thee so!
A FEELING.The flowers and the grass to meAre eloquent reproachfully;For would they wave so pleasantlyOr look so fresh and fair,If a man, cunning, hollow, mean,Or one in anywise unclean,Were looking on them there?No; he hath grown so foolish-wiseHe cannot see with childhood's eyes;He hath forgot that purityAnd lowliness which are the keyOf Nature's mysteries;No; he hath wandered off so longFrom his own place of birth,That he hath lost his mother-tongue,And, like one come from far-off lands,Forgetting and forgot, he standsBeside his mother's hearth.
THE LOST CHILD.I.I wandered down the sunny gladeAnd ever mused, my love, of thee;My thoughts, like little children, played,As gayly and as guilelessly.II.If any chanced to go astray,Moaning in fear of coming harms,Hope brought the wanderer back alway,Safe nestled in her snowy arms.III.From that soft nest the happy oneLooked up at me and calmly smiled;Its hair shone golden in the sun,And made it seem a heavenly child.IV.Dear Hope's blue eyes smiled mildly down,And blest it with a love so deep,That, like a nursling of her own,It clasped her neck and fell asleep.
THE CHURCH.I.I love the rites of England's church;I love to hear and seeThe priest and people reading slowThe solemn Litany;I love to hear the glorious swellOf chanted psalm and prayer,And the deep organ's bursting heart,Throb through the shivering air.II.Chants, that a thousand years have heard,I love to hear again,For visions of the olden timeAre wakened by the strain;With gorgeous hues the window-glassSeems suddenly to glow,And rich and red the streams of lightDown through the chancel flow.III.And then I murmur, "Surely GodDelighteth here to dwell;This is the temple of his SonWhom he doth love so well;"But, when I hear the creed which saith,This church alone is His,I feel within my soul that HeHath purer shrines than this.IV.For his is not the builded church,Nor organ-shaken dome;In every thing that lovely isHe loves and hath his home;And most in soul that loveth wellAll things which he hath made,Knowing no creed but simple faithThat may not be gainsaid.V.His church is universal Love,And whoso dwells thereinShall need no customed sacrificeTo wash away his sin;And music in its aisles shall swell,Of lives upright and true,Sweet as dreamed sounds of angel-harpsDown-quivering through the blue.VI.They shall not ask a litany,The souls that worship there,But every look shall be a hymn,And every word a prayer;Their service shall be written brightIn calm and holy eyes,And every day from fragrant heartsFit incense shall arise.
THE UNLOVELY.The pretty things that others wearLook strange and out of place on me,I never seem dressed tastefully,Because I am not fair;And, when I would most pleasing seem,And deck myself with joyful care,I find it is an idle dream,Because I am not fair.If I put roses in my hair,They bloom as if in mockery;Nature denies her sympathy,Because I am not fair;Alas! I have a warm, true heart,But when I show it people stare;I must forever dwell apart,Because I am not fair.I am least happy being whereThe hearts of others are most light,And strive to keep me out of sight,Because I am not fair;The glad ones often give a glance,As I am sitting lonely there,That asks me why I do not dance—Because I am not fair.And if to smile on them I dare,For that my heart with love runs o'er,They say: "What is she laughing for?"—Because I am not fair;Love scorned or misinterpreted—It is the hardest thing to bear;I often wish that I were dead,Because I am not fair.In joy or grief I must not share,For neither smiles nor tears on meWill ever look becomingly,Because I am not fair;Whole days I sit alone and cry,And in my grave I wish I were—Yet none will weep me if I die,Because I am not fair.My grave will be so lone and bare,I fear to think of those dark hours,For none will plant it o'er with flowers,Because I am not fair;They will not in the summer comeAnd speak kind words above me there;To me the grave will be no home,Because I am not fair.
LOVE-SONG.Nearer to thy mother-heart,Simple Nature, press me,Let me know thee as thou art,Fill my soul and bless me!I have loved thee long and well,I have loved thee heartily;Shall I never with thee dwell,Never be at one with thee?Inward, inward to thy heart,Kindly Nature, take me,Lovely even as thou art,Full of loving make me!Thou knowest naught of dead-cold forms,Knowest naught of littleness,Lifeful Truth thy being warms,Majesty and earnestness.Homeward, homeward to thy heart,Dearest Nature, call me;Let no halfness, no mean part,Any longer thrall me!I will be thy lover true,I will be a faithful soul,Then circle me, then look me through,Fill me with the mighty Whole.