Gigantic mountains rough with crags; beneath,
Right at the imperial station's western base Main ocean, breaking audibly, and stretched Far into silent regions blue and pale ;- And visibly engirding Mona's Isle That, as we left the plain, before our sight Stood like a lofty mount, uplifting slowly (Above the convex of the watery globe) Into clear view the cultured fields that streak Her habitable shores, but now appears A dwindled object, and submits to lie At the spectator's feet.-Yon azure ridge, Is it a perishable cloud? Or there Do we behold the line of Erin's coast? Land sometimes by the roving shepherd-
(Like the bright confines of another world) Not doubtfully perceived.-Look homeward
In depth, in height, in circuit, how serene The spectacle, how pure!-Of Nature's works,
In earth, and air, and earth-embracing sea, A revelation infinite it seems; Display august of man's inheritance, Of Britain's calm felicity and power. 1813.
THOSE silver clouds collected round the sun His mid-day warmth abate not, seeming less To overshade than multiply his beams By soft reflection-grateful to the sky, To rocks, fields, woods. Nor doth our human sense
Ask, for its pleasure, screen or canopy More ample than the time-dismantled Oak Spreads o'er this tuft of heath, which now, attired
In the whole fulness of its bloom, affords Couch beautiful as e'er for earthly use Was fashioned; whether by the hand of Art, That eastern Sultan, amid flowers en- wrought
On silken tissue, might diffuse his limbs. In languor; or, by Nature, for repose Of panting Wood-nymph, wearied with the chase.
O Lady! fairer in thy Poet's sight
Than fairest spiritual creature of the groves,
Mere Mortals, bodied forth in vision still, Shall with Mount Ida's triple lustre fill The chaster coverts of a British hill.
Appear!-obey my lyre's command Come, like the Graces, hand in hand! For ye, though not by birth allied, Are Sisters in the bond of love; Nor shall the tongue of envious pride Presume those interweavings to reprove In you, which that fair progeny of Jove, Learned from the tuneful spheres that glide In endless union, earth and sea above." -I sing in vain;-the pines have hushed their waving :
A peerless Youth expectant at my side, Breathless as they, with unabated craving Looks to the earth, and to the vacant cir; And, with a wandering eye that seems to chide,
Asks of the clouds what occupants they
But why solicit more than sight could bear,
By casting on a moment all we dare?
Invoke we those bright Beings one by one; And what was boldly promised, truly shall
"Fear not a constraining measure! -Yielding to this gentle spell, Lucida! from domes of pleasure, Or from cottage-sprinkled dell, Come to regions solitary,
Where the eagle builds her aëry, Above the hermit's long-forsaken cell!" -She comes !--behold
That Figure, like a ship with snow-white sail! Nearer she draws; a breeze uplifts her veil; Upon her coming wait
As pure a sunshine and as soft a gale As e'er, on herbage covering earthly mould, Tempted the bird of Juno to unfold His richest splendor-when his veering gait And every motion of his starry train Seem governed by a strain
Of music, audible to him alone.
"O Lady, worthy of earth's proudest Throne !
Nor less, by excellence of nature, fit Beside an unambitious hearth to sit Domestic queen, where grandeur is unknown; What living man could fear
The worst of Fortune's malice, wert Thou
A canopy, is smoothed for thy repose!"
Of warblers in full concert strong Glad moment is it when the throng Strive, and not vainly strive, to rout The lagging shower, and force coy Phœbus out,
Met by the rainbow's form divine, Issuing from her cloudy shrine ;- So may the thrillings of the lyre Prevail to further our desire,
While to these shades a sister Nymph I call,
"Come, if the notes thine ear may pierce, Come, youngest of the lovely Three, Submissive to the might of verse And the dear voice of harmony, By none more deeply felt than Thee!" -I sang; and lo! from pastimes virginal She hastens to the tents
Of nature, and the lonely elements. Air sparkles round her with a dazzling sheen; But mark her glowing cheek, her vesture green!
And, as if wishful to disarm
Or to repay the potent Charm,
She bears the stringèd lute of old romance, That cheered the trellised arbor's privacy, And soothed war-wearied knights in raftered hall.
How vivid, yet how delicate, her glee! So tripped the Muse, inventress of the dance; So, truant in waste woods, the blithe Eu phrosyne !
But the ringlets of that head Why are they ungarlanded? Why bedeck her temples less Than the simplest shepherdess? Is it not a brow inviting Choicest flowers that ever breathed, Which the myrtle would delight in With Idalian rose enwreathed? But her humility is well content With one wild floweret (call it not forlorn) FLOWER OF THE WINDS, beneath her bosom worn-
Yet more for love than ornament.
Open, ye thickets! let her fly,
Swift as a Thracian Nymph o'er field and height!
For She, to all but those who love her, shy, Would gladly vanish from a Stranger's sight; Though where she is beloved and loves, Light as the wheeling butterfly she moves; Her happy spirit as a bird is free, That rifles blossoms on a tree, Turning them inside out with arch audacity.
Alas! how little can a moment show Of an eye where feeling plays In ten thousand dewy rays;
A face o'er which a thousand shadows go! -She stops-is fastened to that rivulet's side;
And there (while, with sedater mien,
O'er timid waters that have scarcely left Their birth-place in the rocky cleft She bends) at leisure may be seen Features to o ideal grace allied, Amid their smiles and dimples dignified- Fit countenance for the soul of primal truth; The bland composure of eternal youth!
What more changeful than the sea? But over his great tides
Untoward or unfit;
She, in benign affections pure,
In self-forgetfulness secure,
Sheds round the transient harm or vague mischance
A light unknown to tutored elegance: Hers is not a cheek shame-stricken, But her blushes are joy-flushes; And the fault (if fault it be) Only ministers to quicken Laughter-loving gayety, And kindle sportive wit-
Leaving this Daughter of the mountains free As if she knew that Oberon king of Fairy Had crossed her purpose with some quaint vagary,
And heard his viewless bands
Over their mirthful triumph clapping hands. "Last of the Three, though eldest born, Reveal thyself, like pensive Morn Touched by the skylark's earliest note, Ere humbler gladness be afloat.
Of Dawn-or Eve, fair vision of the west, Come with each anxious hope subdued By woman's gentle fortitude,
But whether in the semblance drest
Each grief, through meekness, settling into
Or I would hail thee when some high
Of a closed volume lingering in thy hand Has raised thy spirit to a peaceful stand Among the glories of a happier age."
Her brow hath opened on me--see it there, Brightening the umbrage of her hair; So gleams the crescent moon, that loves To be descried through shady groves. Tenderest bloom is on her cheek; Wish not for a richer streak; Nor dread the depth of meditative eye;
And this light-hearted Maiden constant is But let thy love, upon that azure field
And, like the lowly reed, her love
Of thoughtfulness and beauty, yield
Its homage offered up in purity.
What would'st thou more? In sunny glade Or under leaves of thickest shade,
Was such a stillness e'er diffused
Can drink its nurture from the scantiest rill: Since earth grew calm while angels mused?
Insight as keen as frosty star
Is to her charity no bar,
Nor interrupts her frolic graces
When she is, far from these wild places, Encircled by familiar faces.
O the charm that manners draw, Nature, from thy genuine law ! If from what her hand would do, Her voice would utter, aught ensue
Softly she treads, as if her foot were loth To crush the mountain dew-drops-soon to melt
On the flower's breast; as if she felt That flowers themselves, whate'er their hue, With all their fragrance, all their glistening, Call to the heart for inward listening- And though for bridal wreaths and tokens true
HOPE rules a land forever green: All powers that serve the bright-eyed Queen Are confident and gay; Clouds at her bidding disappear Points she to aught?-the bliss draws near,
And Fancy smooths the way.
Not such the land of Wishes--there Dwell fruitless day-dreams, lawless prayer,
And thoughts with things at strife; Yet how forlorn, should ye depart, Ye superstitions of the heart,
How poor, were human life! When magic lore abjured its might, Ye did not forfeit one dear right,
One tender claim abate; Witness this symbol of your sway, Surviving near the public way,
The rustic Wishing-gate! Inquire not if the fairy race Shed kindly influence on the place,
Ere northward they retired;
If here a warrior left a spell, Panting for glory as he fell; Or here a saint expired. Enough that all around is fair, Composed with Nature's finest care,
And in her fondest lovePeace to embosom and contentTo overawe the turbulent,
The selfish to reprove.
Yea! even the Stranger from afar, Reclining on this moss-grown bar,
Unknowing, and unknown, The infection of the ground partakes, Longing for his Beloved-who makes
All happiness her own.
Then why should conscious Spirits fear The mystic stirrings that are here, The ancient faith disclaim? The local Genius ne'er befriends Desires whose course in folly ends,
Whose just reward is shame. Smile if thou wilt, but not in scorn, If some, by ceaseless pains outworn, Here crave an easier lot; If some have thirsted to renew A broken vow, or bind a true,
With firmer, holier knot.
And not in vain, when thoughts are cast Upon the irrevocable past,
Some Penitent sincere May for a worthier future sigh, While trickies from his downcast eye No unavailing tear.
The Worldling, pining to be freed. From turmoil, who would turn or speed The current of his fate, Might stop before this favored scene, At Nature's call, nor blush to lean
Upon the Wishing-gate.
The Sage, who feels how blind, how weak Is man, though loth such help to seek, Yet, passing, here might pause, And thirst for insight to allay Misgiving, while the crimson day
In quietness withdraws;
Or when the church-clock's knell profound To Time's first step across the bound
Of midnight makes reply; Time pressing on with starry crest, To filial sleep upon the breast Of dread eternity.
THE WISHING-GATE DESTROYED. 'Tis gone-with old belief and dream That round it clung, and tempting scheme
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