Chapter III: Part 3

I come like an Eastern monarch dight In my crown of beams, in my robe of light; And nature droops at my ardent gaze, And wraps the woods in a purple haze; From my fiery glance the strong man shrinks, Like a babe on the bosom of earth he sinks; Yet cries, as he turns from the glowing ray, "This is a glorious summer day!"

Such is manhood's fiery dower, Passion's all-consuming power; Glorious, beautiful, and bright, But too dazzling to the sight!

THE EVENING HOUR.

Like the herald hope of a fairer clime, The brightest link in the chain of time, The youngest and loveliest child of day, I mingle and soften each glowing ray; Weaving together a tissue bright Of the beams of day and the gems of night.-- I pitch my tent in the glowing west, And receive the sun as he sinks to rest; He flings in my lap his ruby crown, And lays at my feet his glory down; But ere his burning eyelids close, His farewell glance the day-king throws On Nature's face--till the twilight shrouds The monarch's brow in a veil of clouds-- Oh then, by the light of mine own fair star, I unyoke the steeds from his beamy car. Away they start from the fiery rein, With flashing hoofs, and flying mane, Like meteors speeding on the wind, They leave a glowing track behind, Till the dark caverns of the night Receive the heaven-born steeds of light!

While Nature broods o'er the soft repose Of the dewy mead, and the half-shut rose, Does not that lovely hour give birth To thoughts more allied to heaven than earth? When things that have been in perspective pass, Like the sun's last rays over memory's glass; When life's cares are forgot, when its joys are our own, And the mild beams of faith round the future are thrown; When all that awakened remorse or regret, Like a stormy morn, has in splendour set; When the sorrows of time and the hopes of heaven Blend in the soul like the hues of even, And the spirit looks back on this troubled scene With a glance as bright as it ne'er had been!

NIGHT.

I come, like Oblivion, to sweep away The scattered beams from the car of day: The gems which the evening has lavishly strown Light up the lamps round my ebon throne. Slowly I float through the realms of space, Casting my mantle o'er Nature's face, Weaving the stars in my raven hair, As I sail through the shadowy fields of air. All the wild fancies that thought can bring Lie hid in the folds of my sable wing: Terror is mine with his phrensied crew, Fear with her cheek of marble hue, And sorrow, that shuns the eye of day, Pours out to me her plaintive lay. I am the type of that awful gloom Which involves the cradle and wraps the tomb; Chilling the soul with its mystical sway; Chasing the day-dreams of beauty away; Till man views the banner by me unfurled, As the awful veil of the unknown world; The emblem of all he fears beneath The solemn garb of the spoiler death!

CHORUS OF HOURS.

Born with the sun, the fair daughters of time, We silently lead to a lovelier clime, Where the day is undimmed by the shadows of night, But eternally beams from the fountain of light; Where the sorrows of time and its cares are unknown To the beautiful forms that encircle the throne Of the mighty Creator! the First and the Last! Who the wonderful frame of the universe cast, And composed every link of the mystical chain Of minutes, and hours, which are numbered in vain By the children of dust, in their frantic career, When their moments are wasted unthinkingly here, Lavished on earth which in mercy were given That men might prepare for the joys of heaven!--

THE LUMINOUS BOW.

THIS REMARKABLE PHENOMENON WAS WITNESSED BY THE AUTHOR ON THE NIGHT OF THE 29th OF SEPTEMBER, 1829.

Vision of beauty! there floats not a cloud O'er the blue vault of heaven thy glory to shroud; The star-gemmed horizon thou spannest sublime, Like the path to a better and lovelier clime.

Thy light, unreflected by planet or star, Still widens and brightens round night's spangled car; In radiance resembling the moon's placid beam, When she smiles through the soft mist that hangs on the stream.

Thou sittest enthroned, like the spirit of night, And the stars through thy zone shed a tremulous light; The moon is still sleeping beneath the wide sea, Whilst wonder is keeping her vigils with me.

The bow of the covenant brightens the storm, When its dark wings are shading the brow of the morn; But thou art uncradled by vapour or cloud, Thy glory's unshaded by night's sable shroud.

Oh whence is thy splendour, fair luminous bow? From light's golden chalice thy radiance must flow; Thou look'st from the throne of thy beauty above On this desolate earth, like the spirit of love!

THE SUGAR BIRD.[C]

Thou splendid child of southern skies!
Thy brilliant plumes and graceful form
Are not so precious in mine eyes
As those gray heralds of the morn,
Which in my own beloved land
Welcome the azure car of spring,
When budding flowers and leaves expand
On hawthorn boughs, and sweetly sing.

But thou art suited to the clime,
The golden clime, that gave thee birth;
Where beauty reigns o'er scenes sublime,
And fadeless verdure decks the earth;
Where nature faints beneath the blaze
Of her own gorgeous crown of light,
And exiled eyes, with aching gaze,
Sigh for the softer shades of night,

That memory to their dreams may bring
Past scenes, to cheer their sleeping eye,
The dark green woods where linnets sing,
And echo wafts the faint reply.
Ah, from those voiceless birds that glow,
Like living gems 'mid blossoms rare,
The captive turns in sullen woe
To climes more dear and scenes less fair!

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote C: This elegant bird is a native of Van Dieman's land.]

THE DREAM.

Methought last night I saw thee lowly laid, Thy pallid cheek yet paler, on the bier; And scattered round thee many a lovely braid Of flowers, the brightest of the closing year; Whilst on thy lips the placid smile that played, Proved thy soul's exit to a happier sphere, In silent eloquence reproaching those Who watched in agony thy last repose.

A pensive, wandering, melancholy light The moon's pale radiance on thy features cast, Which, through the awful stillness of the night, Gleamed like some lovely vision of the past, Recalling hopes once beautiful and bright, Now, like that struggling beam, receding fast, Which o'er the scene a softening glory shed, And kissed the brow of the unconscious dead.

Yes--it was thou!--and we were doomed to part, Never in this wide world to meet again. The blow that levelled thee was in my heart, And thrilled my breast with more than mortal pain. Despair forbade the gathering tears to start; But soon the gushing torrents fell like rain O'er thy pale form, as free and unrepressed As the rash shower that rocks the storm to rest.

For all this goodly earth contained for me, Of bright or beautiful, lay withering there: What were its gayest scenes bereft of thee-- What were its joys in which thou couldst not share? While memory recalled each spot, where we Had twined together many a garland fair, Of hope's own wreathing, and the summer hours Smiled not on happier, gayer hearts than ours.

Hearts, chilled and silent, as the pensive beam, Whose shadowy glory resting on the pall, Casts on the dead a sad portentous gleam, And serves past hours of rapture to recall, Till the soul roused herself with one wild scream, As shuddering nature felt the powerful call, And I awoke in ecstasy to find 'Twas but a fleeting phantom of the mind!

THE RUIN.

I know a cliff, whose steep and craggy brow O'erlooks the troubled ocean, and spurns back The advancing billow from its rugged base; Yet many a goodly rood of land lies deep Beneath the wild wave buried, which rolls on Its course exulting o'er the prostrate towers Of high cathedral--church--and abbey fair,-- Lifting its loud and everlasting voice Over the ruins, which its depths enshroud, As if it called on Time, to render back The things that were, and give to life again All that in dark oblivion sleeps below:-- Perched on the summit of that lofty cliff A time-worn edifice o'erlooks the wave, "Which greets the fisher's home-returning bark," And the young seaman checks his blithesome song To hail the lonely ruin from the deep.

Majestic in decay, that roofless pile Survives the wreck of ages, rising still A mournful beacon o'er the sea of time, The lonely record of departed years:-- Yes--those who view that ruin feel an awe Sink in the heart, like those who look on death For the first time, and hear within the soul A voice of warning whisper,--"Thus, e'en thus, All human glories perish--rent from time, And swallowed up in that unmeasured void, O'er which oblivion rolls his sable tide."-- Such thoughts as these that moss-grown pile calls forth To those who gaze upon its shattered walls, Or, musing, tread its grass-grown aisles, or pause To contemplate the wide and barren heath, Spreading in rude magnificence around, With scarce a tree or shrub to intersect Its gloomy aspect, save the noble ash That fronts the ruins, on whose hoary trunk The hurricanes of years have vainly burst, To mar its beauty;--there sublime it stands, Waving its graceful branches o'er the soil That wraps the mouldering children of the land.

The shadowy splendour of an autumn sky Was radiant with the hues of parting day; The glorious sun seemed loth to leave the west, That glowed like molten gold--a saffron sea Fretted with crimson billows, whose rich tints Gave to the rugged cliff and barren heath A ruddy diadem of living light!

Hark!--'tis the lonely genius of the place Sighs through the wind-stirred branches and bewails Its desolation to the moaning blast, That sweeps the ivy on the dark gray walls!-- No--'twas a sound of bitter agony Wrung from the depths of some o'erburdened heart, Which in life's early morning had received A sad inheritance of sighs and tears.

Starting, I turned--and seated on the ground Beside the broken altar I beheld A female figure, whose fantastic dress And hair enwreathed with sprigs of ash and yew Bespoke a mind in ruins. On her brow Despair had stamped his iron seal; her cheek Was pale as moonlight on the misty wave; Her hollow eyes were fixed on vacancy, Or wildly sent their hurried glances round With quick impatient gesture, as in quest Of some loved object, present to her mind, But shut for ever from her longing view.

The sun went down. She slowly left her seat And cast one long sad look upon the wave; Then poured the anguish of her breaking heart In a low plaintive strain of melody, That rose and died away upon the breeze, The mournful requiem of her perished hopes:--

Hark! the restless spirits of ocean sigh; I can hear them speak as the wind sweeps by. See, the ivy has heard their mystic call, And shivering clings to the broken wall, The dark green leaves take a sadder shade, And the flowers turn pale and begin to fade; The landscape grows dim in the deepening gloom, And the dead awake in the silent tomb. I have watched the return of my true-love's bark, From the sun's uprising till midnight dark; I have watched and wept through the weary day, But his ship on the deep is far away; I have gazed for hours on the whitening track Of the pathless waters, and called him back, But my voice returned on the moaning blast, And the vessel I sought still glided past.

We parted on just such a lovely night: The billows were tossing in cloudless light, And the full bright moon on the waters slept; And the stars above us their vigils kept, And the surges whispered a lullaby, As low and as sweet as a lover's sigh-- And he promised, as gently he pressed my hand, He would soon return to his native land.

But long months have fled, and this burning brain Is seared with weeping and watching in vain. A dark dark shade on my bosom lies, And nights of sorrow have dimmed these eyes; The roses have fled from my pallid cheek, And the grief that I feel no words can speak; I have made my home with the graves of the dead, And the cold earth pillows my aching head!

He will come!--he will come!--I know it now; The waves are dancing before his prow; He comes to speak peace to my aching heart, To tell me we never again shall part; I can hear his voice in the freshening breeze, As his bark glides o'er the rippling seas, And my heart will break forth into laughter and song, When I lead him back through the gazing throng.

Ah, no--where yon shade on the water lies The slow-rising moon deceives my eyes, And the tide of sorrow within my breast Rolls on like the billows that never rest; I will look no more on the heaving deep, But return to my lowly bed and weep: He will come to my dreams in the darksome night, And his bark will be here with the dawn of light!

When the song ceased, she turned her heavy eyes With such a piteous glance upon my face; It pierced my heart, and fast the gathering tears Blinded my sight. Alas! poor maniac; For thee no hope shall dawn--no tender thought Wake in thy blighted heart a thrill of joy. The immortal mind is levelled with the dust, Ere the tenacious cords of life give way. Hers was a common tale--she early owned The ardent love that youthful spirits feel, And gave her soul in blind idolatry To one dear object; and his ship was lost In sight of port--lost on the very morn That should have smiled upon their bridal rite. She saw the dreadful accident like one Who saw it not; and from that fatal hour All memory of it faded from her mind, And still she watches for the distant sail Of him, who never, never can return!

Poor stricken maid! thy best affections, Thy hopes, thy wishes centred all in earth-- Earth has repaid thee with a broken heart! Love to thy God had known no rash excess, For in his service there is joy and peace; A light, which on thy troubled mind had shed Its holy influence, and those tearful eyes Had then been raised in gratitude to heaven, Nor chased delusive phantoms o'er the deep!

WINTER

CALLING UP HIS LEGIONS.

WINTER.

Awake--arise! all my stormy powers, The earth, the fair earth, again is ours! At my stern approach, pale Autumn flings down In the dust her broken and faded crown; At my glance the terrified mourner flies, And the earth is filled with her doleful cries. Awake!--for the season of flowers is o'er,-- My white banner unfurl on each northern shore! Ye have slumbered long in my icy chain-- Ye are free to travel the land and main. Spirits of frost! quit your mountains of snow-- Will ye longer suffer the streams to flow? Up, up, and away from your rocky caves And herald me over the pathless waves!

He ceased, and rose from his craggy throne And girt around him his icy zone; And his meteor-eye grew wildly bright As he threw his glance o'er those realms of night. He sent forth his voice with a mighty sound, And the snows of ages were scattered around; And the hollow murmurs that shook the sky Told to the monarch, his band was nigh.

THE WIND FROST.

I come o'er the hills of the frozen North, To call to the battle thy armies forth: I have swept the shores of the Baltic sea, And the billows have felt my mastery; They resisted my power, but strove in vain-- I have curbed their might with my crystal chain. I roused the northwind in his stormy cave, Together we passed over land and wave; I sharpened his breath and gave him power To crush and destroy every herb and flower; He obeyed my voice, and is rending now The sallow leaves from the groaning bough; And he shouts aloud in his wild disdain, As he whirls them down to the frozen plain: Those beautiful leaves to which Spring gave birth Are scattered abroad on the face of the earth. I have visited many a creek and bay, And curdled the streams in my stormy way; I have chilled into hail the genial shower:-- All this I have done to increase thy power.

THE RIME FROST.

I stood by the stream in the deep midnight. The moon through the fog shed a misty light; I arrested the vapours that floated by, And wove them in garlands and hung them on high; I bound the trees in a feathery zone, And turned the soft dews of heaven to stone; I spangled with gems every leaf and spray, As onward I passed on my noiseless way; And I came to thee when my work was done, To see how they shone in the morning sun!

THE NORTH WIND.

I have borne the clouds on my restless wings, And my sullen voice through the desert rings; I sent through the forest a rushing blast, And the foliage fled as I onward passed From the desolate regions of woe and death, In adamant bound by my freezing breath: From the crystal mountains where silence reigns, And nature sleeps on the sterile plains, I have brought the snow from thy mighty store To whiten and cover each northern shore.

THE EAST WIND.

I woke like a giant refreshed with sleep, And lifted the waves of the troubled deep; I clouded the heavens with vapours dark, And rolled the tide o'er the foundering bark, Then mocked in hoarse murmurs the hollow cry Of the drowning wretch in his agony: I have leagued with the North to assert thy right On the land and the wave both by day and by night!

THE SNOW.

I heard thy summons and hastened fast, And floated hither before the blast, To wave thy white banner o'er tower and town, O'er the level plain and the mountain brown. I have crowned the woods with a spotless wreath, And loaded the avalanche with death; I have wrapped the earth in a winding sheet, And Nature lies dead beneath my feet.

CHORUS OF SPIRITS.

All hail, mighty monarch! our tasks are o'er; Thy power is confessed on each northern shore; From the rock's stern brow to the rolling sea The spirits of earth have bowed to thee. In the cradle of Nature the young Spring lies With the slumber of death on her azure eyes; And we wander at will through the wide domain, Which in beauty and verdure shall flourish again, When she bursts from her shroud like a sun-beam forth 'To chase us back to the frozen North!'

With darkness and storms for thy panoply, Stern Winter, what power may contend with thee? Thy sceptre commands both the wind and the tide, And thy empire extends over regions wide; With thy star-gemmed crown and eagle wings, The strongest of nature's potent kings! But thy power for a season alone is lent, Thou art but a ministering spirit sent By the mighty Creator of thine and thee, Who fills with his presence immensity!

THERE'S JOY, &c.

There's joy when the rosy morning floods
The purple east with light,
When the zephyr sweeps from a thousand buds
The pearly tears of night.
There's joy when the lark exulting springs
To pour his matin lay,
From the blossomed thorn when the blackbird sings,
And the merry month is May.

There's joy abroad when the wintry snow
Melts as it ne'er had been,
When cowslips bud and violets blow,
And leaves are fresh and green.
There's joy in the swallow's airy flight,
In the cuckoo's blithesome cry,
When the floating clouds reflect the light
Of evening's glowing sky.

There's joy in April's balmy showers
'Mid gleam of sunshine shed,
When May calls forth a thousand flowers
To deck the earth's green bed.
There's joy when the harvest moon comes out
With all her starry train,
When the woods return the reaper's shout
And echo shouts again.

There's joy in childhood's merry voice
When the laugh rings blithe and clear;
And the sounds that bid young hearts rejoice
Are music to the ear.
There's joy in the dreams of early youth,
Ere care has cast a shade
O'er scenes which, though drest in the guise of truth,
Our reason dooms to fade.

There's joy in the youthful lover's breast
When his bride by the altar stands,
When his trembling lip to hers is pressed
And the priest has joined their hands.
There's joy in the smiling mother's heart
When she clasps her first-born son,
When the holy tears of rapture start
To bless the lovely one.

There's joy when the war-worn soldier hears
The notes that breathe of peace,
That dry the anxious matron's tears,
And bid stern slaughter cease.
There's joy when he treads the village green
And views his father's cot;
The horrors of the battle-scene
Are in that hour forgot.

There's joy in the shipwrecked seaman's heart,
Who has clung all night to the shrouds;
When the morning breeze rives the rack apart,
And the sun breaks through the clouds.
There's joy when he nears his native land,
And the tedious voyage is o'er,
And he feels the grasp of the kindred hand
He thought to enfold no more.

There's joy above, around, beneath,
But tis a fleeting ray;
The world's stern strife, the hand of death,
Bid mortal hopes decay.
But there's a better joy than earth,
With all her charms, can give,
Which marks the Christian's second birth,
When man but dies to live!

LOVE.

Oh Love! how fondly, tenderly enshrined In human hearts, how with our being twined! Immortal principle, in mercy given, The brightest mirror of the joys of heaven. Child of Eternity's unclouded clime, Too fair for earth, too infinite for time: A seraph watching o'er Death's sullen shroud, A sunbeam streaming through a stormy cloud; An angel hovering o'er the paths of life, But sought in vain amidst its cares and strife; Claimed by the many--known but to the few Who keep thy great Original in view; Who, void of passion's dross, behold in thee A glorious attribute of Deity!

MORNING HYMN.

O'er Time's mighty billows borne, Angels lead the purple morn; Chasing far the shades of night From the burning throne of light: Where their glorious wings unfold, There the east is streaked with gold; Gilding with celestial dyes The azure curtain of the skies. High in air their matin song Floats the ethereal fields along; Ere creation wakes they sing, Glory to the eternal King! Till silent woods and sleeping plains Echo far, Jehovah reigns!

Rising from the arms of night, Nature hails the birth of light; Smiling sweetly through her tears, High her verdant crown she rears; At her call the sunny hours Wreathe her humid locks with flowers; Bright with many a lucid gem Shines her spotless diadem: Every grove hath found a voice, Countless tribes in Thee rejoice! In melody untaught they sing Glory to the eternal King! Earth and heaven respond their strains, Lord of all, Jehovah reigns!

On man's sin-bound soul and eyes Alone the shade of darkness lies: The last of nature's children he, To laud the eternal Deity! The last his sullen voice to raise, The Lord of life and light to praise-- Slumberer, wake!--arise! arise! Join the chorus of the skies!-- Dost thou sleep? to whom is given The privilege of sons of heaven? Wake with angel choirs to sing Glory to the Almighty King, Who life within himself retains-- Lord of all, Jehovah reigns!

Rising o'er the tide of years, Lo, a morn more blessed appears: When yon burning orb of fire, And moon, and stars, and heavens expire, And all that once had life and breath, Emerging from the arms of death, Shall animate the heaving sod, And countless millions meet their God! Whose hand the links of time shall sever, And man shall wake--to live for ever! When souls redeemed with angels sing, Glory to the eternal king! Vanquished death is led in chains-- Lord of life, Jehovah, reigns!

EVENING HYMN.

Sinking now in floods of light, The sun resigns the world to night; When a lingering glance he turns, The glowing west with glory burns, And the blushing heavens awhile Long retain his parting smile. Ere gray evening's sullen eye, Bids those tints of beauty die; Ere her tears have washed away The footsteps of departing day, Nature from her verdant bowers Her last long strain of rapture pours; Shrouded in her misty vest, She sings a drowsy world to rest, And tells to man, in thrilling strains, That the Lord Jehovah reigns!

Lingering twilight dies away, Night resumes her ancient sway, Round her sable tresses twining Countless hosts of stars are shining; Weaving round the brow of night A coronet of living light: O'er the couch of nature bending, Their beauteous glances downward sending, A silent watch of glory keeping, Guard the earth whilst life is sleeping. Strains unheard by mortal ears, Echo through the starry spheres; Other worlds awake to sing, Glory to the eternal King! Till azure fields and liquid plains Echo far, Jehovah reigns!

Creation sleeps--but many a sound Of melody is floating round-- Where the moon-lit sea is flinging Its snowy foam and upward springing To meet the shore advancing nigh, Pours, in many a broken sigh, A mournful dirge o'er those who rest Forgotten in its stormy breast. Restless ocean, onward rave; He who trod the boisterous wave, Shall to life those forms restore, Thy tides have rolled for ages o'er; Those sleepers from thy depths shall spring To meet in air their mighty King, Whilst shrinking seas repeat their strains, Lord of all, Jehovah, reigns!

This is night;--her mantle gray She flings across the brow of day To hide from mortal ken awhile The splendour of his kingly smile. But what magic beauties lie In her dark and shadowy eye, When the moon with glory crowned Checkers o'er the distant ground; Bathing now in floods of light, Now retreating from the sight, As the heavy vapoury cloud Flings athwart its sable shroud; Onward as her course is steering, Now through broken cliffs appearing, She shows the brightness of her form And laughs exulting at the storm; Whilst misty hills and moon-lit plains Echo far, Jehovah reigns!

Night,--thy end is hastening fast, Eternal day will dawn at last; The Sun of righteousness shall rise, Triumphant through his native skies; And men redeemed from dust shall spring To hail the advent of their King; Till heaven's wide arch repeats their strains, Christ, our own Immanuel, reigns!

THE END.

BUNGAY: PRINTED BY J. R. AND C. CHILDS.

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Transcriber's Notes

Spelling, hyphenation, punctuation, and indentation inconsistencies have been retained from the original book. Minor changes were made to the Table of Contents to match the poem titles.

The following typos have been corrected:

Page 19: An changed to And:
(An Alexander's victories, compared).

Page 30: ceas changed to cease:
(Lost in immensity, would ceas to feel!).

Page 125: apostrophe added before Tis:
("Tis Mary Hume!"--his comrade said--).

End of Project Gutenberg's Enthusiasm and Other Poems, by Susanna Moodie