| |
| I LOVE 1 sometimes to tune my simple lute, | |
| And, as an echo to its softer strains, | |
| Give utterance to the thoughts that often rush | |
| Like an o’erflowing current through my soul. | |
| What though my name, unknown amid the host | 5 |
| Of those who crowd around Apollo’s shrine, | |
| Shine not emblazon’d on the rolls of Fame? | |
| What though my wandering feet have never trod | |
| The flowery Parnassus,—nor my lips | |
| Imbibed poetic inspiration from | 10 |
| The pure Castalian spring?—still in the hour | |
| When clouds of disappointment lower around, | |
| And veil the scenes of beauty sketch’d by hope | |
| In all her rainbow hues, the chord I touch, | |
| May waken memory from her trance, and soothe | 15 |
| The throbbing of my heart. Sweet Poesy! | |
| Thy full outpourings can assuage the breast | |
| That heaves in tumult. O, if thou appear,— | |
| Thy loosen’d tresses floating wide, thine eye | |
| Beaming with an unearthly brightness, then | 20 |
| The rapt enthusiast in his ecstacy, | |
| Forgets the chilling atmosphere of earth, | |
| The selfish heartlessness of those around, | |
| And thinks he wanders in thy sun-light sphere, | |
| Holding “high converse” with thy chosen ones. | 25 |
| Up from the barren heath on which he treads, | |
| The bloom of the primeval Eden springs; | |
| Transparent waters meet him in his path, | |
| And figures leap out even from the air, | |
| Clothed in light drapery, and beautiful | 30 |
| As Houris in the Moslem Paradise. | |
| Seek’st thou the spirit who with magic wand | |
| Can work these wonders? Come then; let us stand | |
| Here, on the precipice that overhangs | |
| That everlasting deep. O God! it is | 35 |
| A sight too solemn to look out upon, | |
| Unless with reverence for thy majesty, | |
| And for thy greatness, awe. See how the waves | |
| Come surging onward—heaving, heaving on, | |
| As if a consciousness of their own might | 40 |
| ave a new impulse to them. See! they strike | |
| The battlements fix’d by Jehovah’s hand, | |
| And the tremendous roar tells their defeat. | |
| Look! look again—a coronal of foam | |
| White as a snow-wreath, now surmounts the wave | 45 |
| And sparkles in the sun—and now—’t is gone! | |
| But night comes on: let us begone—we ’ll climb | |
| Yon mountain, though it be a toilsome task. | |
| Let no unhallow’d word pass from thy lips, | |
| Nor impure thought dwell in thy heart—for now | 50 |
| We leave the earth and all its vanities | |
| Below—and come up to a place, that seems | |
| The threshold of th’ Eternal’s presence. Hush! | |
| Here in this region silence sits supreme, | |
| And now she slumbers ’neath the canopy | 55 |
| That darkness spreads around. The sense is pain’d | |
| By the intensity of stillness, for | |
| Even the breeze, although its dewy wing | |
| Bring freshness with its stirring, in its flight | |
| Is noiseless as the eagle, when he wheels | 60 |
| Alone and undisturb’d in the mid air. | |
| The sky above looks dark and fathomless, | |
| Like the great ocean in a troubled dream; | |
| With a strange splendor burn the stars, and yet | |
| Diffuse no light around, but rather seem | 65 |
| Like orbs that separate the realm of light | |
| From chaos. ’T is a fearful spot—like that | |
| Which David dreamt of, when he spoke of Him, | |
| Who maketh darkness his abiding place. | |
| Still shall we on?—Aye, even to yon crags. | 70 |
| How fearfully Earth’s bosom quakes! It heaves | |
| With tremulous throbbing, and sends forth deep tones, | |
| Like thunder from a necromatic cave. | |
| Or nature’s groans of agony. Gaze now | |
| At yonder mighty burst of waters—see— | 75 |
| E’en the gigantic rocks, that look as firm | |
| As adamantine pillars, based below | |
| The centre dark—have yielded, and retired | |
| To make free course for the fierce torrent’s plunge, | |
| As did the waves for Israel’s fugitives, | 80 |
| When the Red Sea was smitten by the rod | |
| That had been given to Israel’s chosen judge. | |
| The white mist rises from the cataract | |
| In rolling clouds, like the unceasing smoke | |
| Of incense going to the throne of God, | 85 |
| And o’er the silvery sheet a rainbow spreads:— | |
| A brilliant halo round the awful brow | |
| Of majesty. | |
| Now we will seek the glen | |
| That blossoms in rich beauty, like the fields | 90 |
| Of classic Tempe, in their loveliness. | |
| It is a place meet for the home of those | |
| Who leave the busy world—and in the pure,— | |
| The blest communion of each other’s hearts, | |
| Live in their hallow’d intercourse with Him | 95 |
| Who giveth them the boon of sweet content. | |
| Of old, such haunts as this, the wood-nymphs sought, | |
| And when the burning noon look’d hotly down, | |
| Met with the Naiades of the neighboring streams; | |
| These blew their wreathed shells, the others join’d | 100 |
| With delicate trumpets made of hollow flowers, | |
| And fragrance mingled with the blending notes. | |
| Here oft I sit when eve with silent pace | |
| Steals on—when only here and there a star | |
| Emits a doubtful ray, as though it were | 105 |
| Some gentle spirit coming forth to see | |
| This earth by summer twilight—then I love | |
| To listen to the music issuing out | |
| In untaught freedom from each gushing fount, | |
| And to the melody among the leaves | 110 |
| Of the green woods. For Fancy then can deem | |
| These sounds the low responsive utterings | |
| From Nature’s temple to her worshippers. | |
| Here, thou mayst woo the spirit of Poesy, | |
| Here thou shalt find her, in her gentler moods. | 115 |
