HIGH fate is theirs, ye sleepless waves, whose ear | |
| Learns Freedom’s lesson from your voice of fear; | |
| Whose spell-bound sense from childhood’s hour hath known | |
| Familiar meanings in your mystic tone: | |
| Sounds of deep import—voices that beguile | 5 |
| Age of its tears and childhood of its smile, | |
| To yearn with speechless impulse to the free | |
| And gladsome greetings of the buoyant sea! | |
| High fate is theirs, who where the silent sky | |
| Stoops to the soaring mountains, live and die; | 10 |
| Who scale the cloud-capt height, or sink to rest | |
| In the deep stillness of its shelt’ring breast;— | |
| Around whose feet the exulting waves have sung, | |
| The eternal hills their giant shadows flung. | |
| |
| No wonders nurs’d thy childhood; not for thee | 15 |
| Did the waves chant their song of liberty! | |
| Thine was no mountain home, where Freedom’s form | |
| Abides enthron’d amid the mist and storm, | |
| And whispers to the listening winds, that swell | |
| With solemn cadence round her citadel! | 20 |
| These had no sound for thee: that cold calm eye | |
| Lit with no rapture as the storm swept by, | |
| To mark with shiver’d crest the reeling wave | |
| Hide his torn head beneath his sunless cave; | |
| Or hear, ’mid circling crags, the impatient cry | 25 |
| Of the pent winds, that scream in agony! | |
| Yet all high sounds that mountain children hear | |
| Flash’d from thy soul upon thine inward ear; | |
| All Freedom’s mystic language—storms that roar | |
| By hill or wave, the mountain or the shore,— | 30 |
| All these had stirr’d thy spirit, and thine eye | |
| In common sights read secret sympathy; | |
| Till all bright thoughts that hills or waves can yield, | |
| Deck’d the dull waste, and the familiar field; | |
| Or wondrous sounds from tranquil skies were borne | 35 |
| Far o’er the glistening sheets of windy corn: | |
| Skies—that unbound by clasp of mountain chain, | |
| Slope stately down, and melt into the plain; | |
| Sounds—such as erst the lone wayfaring man | |
| Caught, as he journeyed, from the lips of Pan; | 40 |
| Or that mysterious cry, that smote with fear, | |
| Like sounds from other worlds, the Spartan’s ear, | |
| While o’er the dusty plain, the murmurous throng | |
| Of Heaven’s embattled myriads swept along. | |
| |
| Say not such dreams are idle: for the man | 45 |
| Still toils to perfect what the child began; | |
| And thoughts, that were but outlines, time engraves | |
| Deep on his life; and childhood’s baby waves, | |
| Made rough with care, become the changeful sea, | |
| Stemm’d by the strength of manhood fearlessly; | 50 |
| And fleeting thoughts, that on the lonely wild | |
| Swept o’er the fancy of that heedless child, | |
| Perchance had quicken’d with a living truth | |
| The cold dull soil of his unfruitful youth; | |
| Till, with his daily life, a life, that threw | 55 |
| Its shadows o’er the future, flower’d and grew, | |
| With common cares unmingling, and apart, | |
| Haunting the shrouded chambers of his heart; | |
| Till life, unstirr’d by action, life became | |
| Threaded and lighten’d by a track of flame; | 60 |
| An inward light, that, with its streaming ray, | |
| On the dark current of his changeless day | |
| Bound all his being with a silver chain— | |
| Like a swift river through a silent plain! | |
| |
| High thoughts were his, when by the gleaming flood, | 65 |
| With heart new strung, and stern resolve, he stood; | |
| Where rode the tall dark ships, whose loosen’d sail | |
| All idly flutter’d in the eastern gale; | |
| High thoughts were his;—but Memory’s glance the while | |
| Fell on the cherish’d past with tearful smile; | 70 |
| And peaceful joys and gentler thoughts swept by, | |
| Like summer lightnings o’er a darken’d sky. | |
| The peace of childhood, and the thoughts that roam, | |
| Like loving shadows, round that childhood’s home; | |
| Joys that had come and vanish’d, half unknown, | 75 |
| Then slowly brighten’d, as the days had flown; | |
| Years that were sweet or sad, becalm’d or toss’d | |
| On life’s wild waves—the living and the lost. | |
| Youth stain’d with follies: and the thoughts of ill | |
| Crush’d, as they rose, by manhood’s sterner will. | 80 |
| Repentant prayers, that had been strong to save; | |
| And the first sorrow, which is childhood’s grave! | |
| All shapes that haunt remembrance—soft and fair, | |
| Like a green land at sunset, all were there! | |
| Eyes that he knew, old faces, unforgot, | 85 |
| Gaz’d sadly down on his unrestful lot, | |
| And Memory’s calm clear voice, and mournful eye, | |
| Chill’d every buoyant hope that floated by; | |
| Like frozen winds on southern vales that blow | |
| From a far land—the children of the snow— | 90 |
| O’er flowering plain and blossom’d meadow fling | |
| The cold dull shadow of their icy wing. | |
| |
| Then Fancy’s roving visions, bold and free, | |
| A moment dispossess’d reality. | |
| All airy hopes that idle hearts can frame, | 95 |
| Like dreams between two sorrows, went and came; | |
| Fond hearts that fain would clothe the unwelcome truth | |
| Of toilsome manhood in the dreams of youth, | |
| To bend in rapture at some idle throne, | |
| Some lifeless soulless phantom of their own; | 100 |
| Some shadowy vision of a tranquil life, | |
| Of joys unclouded, years unstirr’d by strife; | |
| Of sleep unshadow’d by a dream of woe; | |
| Of many a lawny hill, and streams with silver flow; | |
| Of giant mountains by the western main, | 105 |
| The sunless forest, and the sea-like plain; | |
| Those lingering hopes of coward hearts, that still | |
| Would play the traitor to the steadfast will, | |
| One moment’s space, perchance, might charm his eye | |
| From the stern future, and the years gone by. | 110 |
| One moment’s space might waft him far away | |
| To western shores—the death-place of the day! | |
| Might paint the calm, sweet peace—the rest of home, | |
| Far o’er the pathless waste of labouring foam— | |
| Peace, that recall’d his childish hours anew, | 115 |
| More calm, more deep, than childhood ever knew! | |
| Green happy places—like a flowery lea | |
| Between the barren mountains and the stormy sea. | |
| |
| O pleasant rest, if once the race were run! | |
| O happy slumber, if the day were done! | 120 |
| Dreams that were sweet at eve, at morn were sin; | |
| With cares to conquer, and a goal to win! | |
| His were no tranquil years—no languid sleep— | |
| No life of dreams—no home beyond the deep— | |
| No softening ray—no visions false and wild— | 125 |
| No glittering hopes on life’s grey distance smiled— | |
| Like isles of sunlight on a mountain’s brow, | |
| Lit by a wandering gleam, we know not how, | |
| Far on the dim horizon, when the sky | |
| With glooming clouds broods dark and heavily. | 130 |
| |
| Then his eye slumber’d, and the chain was broke | |
| That bound his spirit, and his heart awoke; | |
| Then—like a kingly river—swift and strong, | |
| The future roll’d its gathering tides along! | |
| The shout of onset and the shriek of fear | 135 |
| Smote, like the rush of waters, on his ear; | |
| And his eye kindled with the kindling fray, | |
| The surging battle and the mail’d array! | |
| All wondrous deeds the coming days should see, | |
| And the long Vision of the years to be. | 140 |
| Pale phantom hosts, like shadows, faint and far, | |
| Councils, and armies, and the pomp of war! | |
| And one sway’d all, who wore a kingly crown, | |
| Until another rose and smote him down: | |
| A form that tower’d above his brother men; | 145 |
| A form he knew—but it was shrouded then! | |
| With stern, slow steps—unseen—yet still the same, | |
| By leaguer’d tower and tented field it came; | |
| By Naseby’s hill, o’er Marston’s heathy waste, | |
| By Worcester’s field the warrior-vision pass’d! | 150 |
| From their deep base, thy beetling cliffs, Dunbar, | |
| Rang, as he trode them, with the voice of war! | |
| The soldier kindled at his words of fire; | |
| The statesman quail’d before his glance of ire! | |
| Worn was his brow with cares no thought could scan, | 155 |
| His step was loftier than the steps of man; | |
| And the winds told his glory, and the wave | |
| Sonorous witness to his empire gave! | |
| |
| What forms are these, that with complaining sound, | |
| And slow, reluctant steps are gathering round? | 160 |
| Forms that with him shall tread life’s changing stage, | |
| Cross his lone path, or share his pilgrimage. | |
| There, as he gazed, a wondrous band—they came, | |
| Pym’s look of hate, and Strafford’s glance of flame. | |
| There Laud, with noiseless steps and glittering eye, | 165 |
| In priestly garb, a frail old man, went by; | |
| His drooping head bowed meekly on his breast; | |
| His hands were folded, like a saint at rest! | |
| There Hampden bent him o’er his saddle bow, | |
| And death’s cold dews bedimm’d his earnest brow; | 170 |
| Still turn’d to watch the battle—still forgot | |
| Himself, his sufferings, in his country’s lot! | |
| There Falkland eyed the strife that would not cease, | |
| Shook back his tangled locks, and murmur’d—‘Peace!’ | |
| With feet that spurn’d the ground, lo! Milton there | 175 |
| Stood like a statue; and his face was fair— | |
| Fair beyond human beauty; and his eye, | |
| That knew not earth, soar’d upwards to the sky! | |
| |
| He, too, was there—it was the princely boy, | |
| The child-companion of his childish joy! | 180 |
| But oh! how chang’d—those deathlike features wore | |
| Childhood’s bright glance, and sunny smile no more! | |
| That brow so sad, so pale, so full of care— | |
| What trace of careless childhood linger’d there? | |
| What spring of youth in that majestic mien, | 185 |
| So sadly calm, so kingly, so serene? | |
| No—all was chang’d—the monarch wept alone, | |
| Between a ruin’d church and shatter’d throne! | |
| Friendless and hopeless—like a lonely tree, | |
| On some bare headland, straining mournfully, | 190 |
| That all night long its weary moan doth make | |
| To the vex’d waters of a mountain lake! | |
| Still, as he gaz’d, the phantom’s mournful glance | |
| Shook the deep slumber of his deathlike trance; | |
| Like some forgotten strain that haunts us still, | 195 |
| That calm eye follow’d, turn him where he will; | |
| Till the pale monarch, and the long array, | |
| Pass’d, like a morning mist, in tears away! | |
| |
| Then all his dream was troubled, and his soul | |
| Thrill’d with a dread no slumber could control; | 200 |
| On that dark form his eyes had gaz’d before, | |
| Nor known it then;—but it was veil’d no more! | |
| In broad clear light the ghastly vision shone,— | |
| That form was his,—those features were his own! | |
| The night of terrors, and the day of care, | 205 |
| The years of toil, all, all were written there! | |
| Sad faces watch’d around him, and his breath | |
| Came faint and feeble in the embrace of death. | |
| The gathering tempest, with its voice of fear, | |
| His latest loftiest music, smote his ear! | 210 |
| That day of boundless hope and promise high, | |
| That day that hail’d his triumphs, saw him die! | |
| Then from those whitening lips, as death drew near, | |
| The imprisoning chains fell off, and all was clear! | |
| Like lowering clouds, that at the close of day, | 215 |
| Bath’d in a blaze of sunset, melt away; | |
| And with its clear calm tones, that dying prayer | |
| Cheer’d all the failing hearts that sorrow’d there! | |
| |
| A life—whose ways no human thought could scan; | |
| A life—that was not as the life of man; | 220 |
| A life—that wrote its purpose with a sword, | |
| Moulding itself in action, not in word! | |
| Rent with tumultuous thoughts, whose conflict rung | |
| Deep thro’ his soul, and chok’d his faltering tongue; | |
| A heart that reck’d not of the countless dead | 225 |
| That strew’d the blood-stain’d path where Empire led; | |
| A daring hand, that shrunk not to fulfil | |
| The thought that spurr’d it; and a dauntless will, | |
| Bold action’s parent; and a piercing ken | |
| Through the dark chambers of the hearts of men, | 230 |
| To read each thought, and teach that master-mind | |
| The fears and hopes and passions of mankind; | |
| All these were thine—Oh thought of fear!—and thou | |
| Stretch’d on that bed of death, art nothing now. | |
| |
| Then all his vision faded, and his soul | 235 |
| Sprang from its sleep! and lo, the waters roll | |
| Once more beneath him; and the fluttering sail, | |
| Where the dark ships rode proudly, woo’d the gale; | |
| And the wind murmur’d round him, and he stood | |
| Once more alone beside the gleaming flood. | 240 |
| |
