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(From The New Pastoral)
ONCE came an exile, longing to be free, | |
| Born in the greenest island of the sea; | |
| He sought out this, the fairest blooming isle | |
| That ever gemmed a river; and its smile | |
| Of summer green and freedom on his heart | 5 |
| Fell, like the light of Paradise. Apart | |
| It lay, remote and wild; and in his breast | |
| He fancied this an Island of the Blest; | |
| And here he deemed the world might never mar | |
| The tranquil air with its molesting jar. | 10 |
| Long had his soul, among the strife of men, | |
| Gone out and fought, and, fighting, failed; and then | |
| Withdrew into itself; as when some fount | |
| Finds space within, and will no longer mount, | |
| Content to hear its own secluded waves | 15 |
| Make lonely music in the new-found caves. | |
| And here he brought his household; here his wife, | |
| As happy as her children, round his life | |
| Sang as she were an echo, or a part | |
| Of the deep pleasure springing in his heart,— | 20 |
| A silken string which with the heavier cord | |
| Made music, such as well-strung harps afford. | |
| She was the embodied spirit of the man, | |
| His second self, but on a fairer plan. | |
| And here they came, and here they built their home, | 25 |
| And set the rose and taught the vines to roam, | |
| Until the place became an isle of bowers, | |
| Where odors, mist-like, swam above the flowers. | |
| It was a place where one might lie and dream, | |
| And see the Naiads, from the river-stream, | 30 |
| Stealing among the umbrous, drooping limbs; | |
| Where Zephyr, mid the willows, tuned her hymns | |
| Round rippling shores. Here would the first birds throng | |
| In early spring-time, and their latest song | |
| Was given in autumn; when all else had fled, | 35 |
| They half forgot to go; such beauty here was spread. | |
| It was, in sooth, a fair enchanted isle, | |
| Round which the unbroken forest, many a mile, | |
| Reached the horizon like a boundless sea;— | |
| A sea whose waves, at last, were forced to flee | 40 |
| On either hand, before the westward host, | |
| To meet no more upon its ancient coast. | |
| But all things fair, save truth, are frail and doomed; | |
| And brightest beauty is the first consumed | |
| By envious Time; as if he crowned the brow | 45 |
| With loveliest flowers, before he gave the blow | |
| Which laid the victim on the hungry shrine;— | |
| Such was the dreamer’s fate, and such, bright isle, was thine. | |
| There came the stranger, heralded by fame, | |
| Whose eloquent soul was like a tongue of flame, | 50 |
| Which brightened and despoiled whate’er it touched. | |
| A violet, by an iron gauntlet clutched, | |
| Were not more doomed than whosoe’er he won | |
| To list his plans, with glowing words o’errun: | |
| And Blennerhasset hearkened as he planned. | 55 |
| Far in the South there was a glorious land, | |
| Crowned with perpetual flowers, and where repute | |
| Pictured the gold more plenteous than the fruit,— | |
| The Persia of the West. There would he steer | |
| His conquering course; and o’er the bright land rear | 60 |
| His far-usurping banner, till his home | |
| Should rest beneath a wide, imperial dome, | |
| Where License, round his thronèd feet, should whirl | |
| Her dizzy mazes like an orient girl. | |
| His followers should be lords; their ladies each | 65 |
| Wear wreaths of gems beyond the old world’s reach; | |
| And emperors, gazing at that land of bloom, | |
| With impotent fire of envy should consume. | |
| Such was the gorgeous vision which he drew. | |
| The listener saw; and, dazzled by the view,— | 70 |
| As one in some enchanter’s misty room, | |
| His senses poisoned by the strange perfume, | |
| Beholds with fierce desire the picture fair, | |
| And grasps at nothing in the painted air,— | |
| Gave acquiescence, in a fatal hour, | 75 |
| And wealth and hope and peace were in the tempter’s power. | |
| The isle became a rendezvous; and then | |
| Came in the noisy rule of lawless men. | |
| Domestic calm, affrighted, fled afar, | |
| And Riot revelled ’neath the midnight star. | 80 |
| Continuous music rustled through the trees, | |
| Where banners danced responsive on the breeze; | |
| Or in festoons, above the astonished bowers, | |
| With flaming colors shamed the modest flowers. | |
| There clanged the mimic combat of the sword, | 85 |
| Like daily glasses round the festive board; | |
| Here lounged the chiefs, there marched the plumèd file, | |
| And martial splendor overrun the isle. | |
| Already, the shrewd leader of the sport | |
| The shadowy sceptre grasped, and swayed his court. | 90 |
| In dreams or waking, revelling or alone, | |
| Before him swam the visionary throne; | |
| Until a voice, as if the insulted woods | |
| Had risen to claim their ancient solitudes, | |
| Broke on his spirit, like a trumpet rude, | 95 |
| Shattering his dream to nothing where he stood! | |
| The revellers vanished, and the banners fell, | |
| Like the red leaves beneath November’s spell. | |
| Full of great hopes, sustained by mighty will, | |
| Urged by ambition, confident of skill, | 100 |
| As fearless to perform as to devise, | |
| Aflush, but now he saw the glittering prize | |
| Flame like a cloud in day’s descending track; | |
| But, lo, the sun went down, and left it black! | |
| Alone, despised, defiance in his eye, | 105 |
| He heard the shout, and “Treason!” was the cry; | |
| And that harsh word, with its unpitying blight, | |
| Swept o’er the island like an arctic night. | |
| Cold grew the hearthstone, withered fell the flowers, | |
| And desolation walked among the bowers. | 110 |
| This was the mansion. Through the ruined hall | |
| The loud winds sweep, with gusty rise and fall, | |
| Or glide, like phantoms, through the open doors; | |
| And winter drifts his snow along the floors, | |
| Blown through the yawning rafters, where the stars | 115 |
| And moon look in as through dull prison bars. | |
| On yonder gable, through the nightly dark, | |
| The owl replies unto the dreary bark | |
| Of lonely fox, beside the grass-grown sill; | |
| And here, on summer eves, the whippoorwill | 120 |
| Exalts her voice, and to the traveller’s ear | |
| Proclaims how Ruin rules with full contentment here. | |
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