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| TTHE CALM, 1 reposing shades of evening hours, | |
| Thrown from the forest-tops on fields of flowers; | |
| The gentle hill-side sloping to the plain; | |
| The faint blue islet on the distant main; | |
| And, over all, the reaching bend of sky, | 5 |
| Where floating clouds pass on, and others lie | |
| In heavenly watch, that the gone sun hath shaded | |
| With hues like rainbow arches broke and braided; | |
| With idle oar uplift, the gliding barge, | |
| O’er winding waters, with close-shaven marge; | 10 |
| And then, the wavy voices of the tide, | |
| Lapsing along the narrowing river’s side; | |
| The low winds, passing mute across the plain, | |
| Then murmuring their forest tones again, | |
| And freshening to a cool and plaintive breeze, | 15 |
| Catching a dirge-like measure from the trees; | |
| Such scenes before mine eye, such sounds that glide | |
| Along the woody path and water’s side, | |
| Fling on my mind a deep poetic feeling, | |
| From every hue and tone a beauty stealing: | 20 |
| Like a rich mantle it comes folding o’er me, | |
| Woven of all the harmonies before me; | |
| And then I close my eyes, and seem to see, | |
| Within, the feeling thus enthralling me. | |
| In such a musing mood a vision pass’d | 25 |
| Sudden before me, and was still—then cast | |
| Off from mine eye the dream’s obscurity, | |
| And was unveil’d, in its fine mystery. | |
| Such reveries the sages of old days | |
| Were wont to have, and call them visiting rays | 30 |
| From caring Deities, that they might then | |
| Bless, with good thoughts and truth, the souls of men; | |
| And on their eyes holy revealings broke, | |
| And in their ears great teaching voices spoke. | |
| The vision. It came forth, and there it stood, | 35 |
| And I beheld it; the tall, solemn wood | |
| Smiled greenly in the slant sunbeams, that linger’d | |
| Yet on the hovering cloud shapes, rosy finger’d, | |
| Pointing Day’s hidden place; along its edges | |
| Wander’d a brooklet, loosing, ’neath the sedges | 40 |
| Frequent its silver course, and only telling | |
| Its secret roaming by its musical welling; | |
| And thence went down the long smooth slope; below | |
| Spread out the meadow, with its exquisite show | |
| Of tall grass waving verdantly, and flowers, | 45 |
| Lifting their grateful eyes for morning showers; | |
| And clumps of bunchy hazel; farther still | |
| Went by the river, as if with grave will | |
| Going down straight, or curving with strong grace, | |
| Passing, for ever, to his destined place. | 50 |
| Yet the sweet vision. From the dusky verging | |
| Of the gray wood’s recess it came emerging, | |
| A dreamy shape, as of the sea-born daughter, | |
| Light as a mist wreath o’er a moonlit water; | |
| Yet with calm eye distinct, and lip and brow | 55 |
| Like the low sun-tints on a hill of snow. | |
| She spake to me; her voice, the utterless tone | |
| That comes down by us when we muse alone, | |
| Calling our names familiarly, and when | |
| We lift our pleased eyes, straight is still again. | 60 |
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| Poet, with bent ear, to thee | |
| Call I, the spirit of poesy. | |
| Music’s elder sister I, | |
| That dwell i’ the earth, and sea, and sky, | |
| Chosen from my birth to be | 65 |
| Attendant on the Deity. | |
| And through air, and earth, and sea, | |
| By his power, I speak to thee. | |
| My voice is in the “thunder’s mouth,” | |
| And in the breath of the sweet south; | 70 |
| In the hollow sounding sea | |
| Of storms; and in its quiet glee, | |
| When the winds of summer run | |
| Along the pathways of the sun. | |
| I am in the torrent’s going, | 75 |
| And the brooklet’s silver flowing; | |
| In the great, heart-chilling cranch | |
| Of the coming avalanche, | |
| When the groaning forests cower, | |
| Like slaves beneath his steps of power, | 80 |
| And beast, and bird, and peasant cry | |
| Once, in death’s strong agony— | |
| All noises of destruction blending; | |
| And in the flaky snow’s descending, | |
| On whose feathery, printless bed, | 85 |
| Silence lies embodied. | |
| When the pleasant spring-time comes | |
| To palaces and cotter’s homes, | |
| My voice is in the low heard laughings | |
| That stir in the air, like fairy quaffings; | 90 |
| ’T is I who tune the summer trees | |
| To their soft breezy cadences, | |
| And in their autumn wails draw near | |
| To sing a moral in man’s ear | |
| I, who in the pattering rain | 95 |
| Soothe the dying harvest’s pain, | |
| So my liquid talkings then | |
| Are happy sounds to husbandmen. | |
| When the lighten’d clouds go by, | |
| Unveiling the sun’s great eye, | 100 |
| I soar up in its warm blaze, | |
| And divide the coming rays; | |
| Contriving, with poetic knowing, | |
| What bending tints to wreathe his bow in; | |
| Then, when my gamut is complete, | 105 |
| I tread it with my silver feet, | |
| Till the depths of ether ring | |
| To the soft tints mingling; | |
| It was my stealing voice that came, | |
| On the glance of morning’s flame, | 110 |
| To old Memnon’s shrine, to make | |
| Tones divine, for mystery’s sake. | |
| Through the dark earth’s cavy halls, | |
| Ore to ore in music calls; | |
| And gem to glancing gem, by me | 115 |
| Is stirr’d with answering melody. | |
| Mine is all the harmony | |
| Of sounds to hear, and sights to see; | |
| All the joy of the glad earth, | |
| And the blue sky’s holier mirth. | 120 |
| I, with calm consistency, | |
| Unroll the mazes of the sky; | |
| That the sage’s soul may scan | |
| The Deity’s harmonious plan, | |
| So his thought to men may tell | 125 |
| The orderings that in heaven do dwell, | |
| That worn age, and prime, and youth, | |
| Alike may know of God’s good truth. | |
| Then, poet, bend thine ear to me, | |
| Attendant on the Deity. | 130 |
| |
| Thus as she spake, all things appear’d to see | |
| And feel the presence of divinity. | |
| The brooks went downward with a gladlier cheer; | |
| The trees bow’d gently, with rejoicing fear; | |
| Beneath her feet the gay earth shone new-vested, | 135 |
| And o’er her head a skyey glory rested; | |
| Her beck was to me, and my thought once more | |
| Heard her calm voice, more serious than before. | |
| |
| Mortal, dost thou seek to find | |
| The rich joy of deathless mind? | 140 |
| Would’st thou have thine heart to be | |
| Full of fine humanity? | |
| Would’st familiarly converse | |
| With this beautiful universe, | |
| And have all its excellence | 145 |
| Pour’d upon thy spirit’s sense; | |
| All loveliness pause in thine eye, | |
| And its dark things pass thee by, | |
| Feeling all that God hath given | |
| Of happiness below his heaven? | 150 |
| Bow to me: and I will come, | |
| Bringing peace to thy calm home; | |
| Touching all its eyes to shine | |
| With a lustre caught from thine; | |
| Lightening, with happy ease, | 155 |
| All thy social companies; | |
| Giving all their songs and smiles | |
| Merriment and witful wiles; | |
| And in all their gentle doing | |
| Hearty friendliness imbuing. | 160 |
| Yet should sorrow come to steal | |
| Aught from thee of cheer or weal, | |
| Ill fortune of thy store bereave thee, | |
| All thy friends of sunshine leave thee, | |
| And, like hurrying clouds that flee | 165 |
| O’er the noon’s tranquillity, | |
| Cares, and strong anxieties | |
| Darkly o’er thy couch arise; | |
| Then thee by the hand I ’ll take, | |
| And lead thee by the quiet lake, | 170 |
| So look upon its skyey plain, | |
| Till thy heart grow calm again; | |
| Or, beneath the springing joy | |
| Of the blue day’s canopy, | |
| By the hill-side, where have birth | 175 |
| Fountain streams that bless the earth, | |
| Till thy spirit shall rejoice | |
| Freshly in their gushing voice, | |
| I would give the recompense | |
| Of my generous influence, | 180 |
| That thou should’st not sigh for aught | |
| By wasting care and toiling bought. | |
| Brazen Fame’s peace-scaring noise, | |
| And Ambition’s lightning toys, | |
| Should be discord to thine ear, | 185 |
| And darkness to thine eye appear; | |
| Thou shouldst gladly flee away | |
| From the rude world’s busy fray, | |
| In my bowers to build thine home, | |
| And in my pleasant ways to roam. | 190 |
| I would bring, for thy content, | |
| Good things of each element; | |
| And all beautiful should be | |
| Subservient to thy gaiety. | |
| Thou shouldst climb the mountain top, | 195 |
| And hear its piny tones come up; | |
| Watching, with a glad surprise, | |
| To see the glorious sun uprise; | |
| Then go down beside the brook, | |
| Whiffling from a leafy nook, | 200 |
| And, resting there beneath the tree, | |
| I would whisper dreams to thee. | |
| When the spring-day sun was bright, | |
| Thou shouldst walk with fancies light; | |
| And the opening forest’s sheen, | 205 |
| Cool thine eye with its soft green. | |
| What time mournful autumn grieves | |
| Through the sere wood’s falling leaves, | |
| Thou shouldst cull their skeletons, | |
| Where the shrouded streamlet runs, | 210 |
| And musing on their swift decay, | |
| Know that thou art frail as they; | |
| Then go home, with step sedate | |
| And sober eye, to contemplate: | |
| So I o’er thy heart would pour | 215 |
| The treasurings of Wisdom’s store. | |
| If thou wouldst thy soul should live | |
| In all of heaven that earth can give, | |
| Mortal, bow thyself to me, | |
| Favor’d of the Deity. | 220 |
| |
| And silently I bow’d to her; and then | |
| Wander’d above me one accepting strain, | |
| And I rose up; of that sweet vision there | |
| Was not one tint upon the dewy air. | |
| Yet, o’er the pale hills of the distant west, | 225 |
| Went calmly down one golden star to rest; | |
| And as on me its lingering glance was cast, | |
| I knew her smile; thus had her spirit pass’d: | |
| And in that moment, I became to her, | |
| And yet am now, a happy worshipper. | 230 |
