Obrázky stránek

The school's lone porch, with reverend mosses gray,

Just tells the pensive pilgrim where it lay. Mute is the bell that rung at peep of dawn, 100 Quickening my truant feet across the lawn;

Unheard the shout that rent the noontide air,

When the slow dial gave a pause to care. Up springs, at every step, to claim a tear,

Some little friendship formed and cherished here,

105 And not the lightest leaf, but trembling teems

With golden visions and romantic dreams!

Down by yon hazel copse, at evening,



[merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][ocr errors][merged small][merged small]
[blocks in formation]

Ah, then, what honest triumph flushed 155 Whose
my breast;

This truth once known-To bless is to
be blest!

125 We led the bending beggar on his way, (Bare were his feet, his tresses silvergray)

every word enlightened and endeared;

In age beloved, in poverty revered;
In Friendship's silent register ye live,
Nor ask the vain memorial Art can give.
But when the sons of peace, of pleas-
ure sleep,

Soothed the keen pangs his aged spirit 160 When only Sorrow wakes, and wakes


And on his tale with mute attention dwelt. As in his scrip we dropt our little store, 130 And sighed to think that little was no


[blocks in formation]
[blocks in formation]


Blue was the loch, the clouds were gone,
Ben-Lomond in his glory shone,
When, Luss, I left thee; when the breeze
Bore me from thy silver sands,
5 Thy kirk-yard wall among the trees,
Where gray with age, the dial stands;
That dial so well known to me!
-Tho' many a shadow it had shed,
Beloved sister, since with thee
10 The legend on the stone was read.

The fairy isles fled far away; That with its woods and uplands green, Where shepherd huts are dimly seen, And songs are heard at close of day; 15 That too, the deer's wild covert, fled, And that, the asylum of the dead:

[blocks in formation]

While, as the boat went merrily, Much of Rob Roy the boat-man told; His arm that fell below his knee, 20 His cattle-ford and mountain-hold.

Tarbat, thy shore I climbed at last;
And, thy shady region passed,
Upon another shore I stood,
And looked upon another flood;

25 Great Ocean's self! ('Tis He who fills
That vast and awful depth of hills;)
Where many an elf was playing round,
Who treads unshod his classic ground;
And speaks, his native rocks among,
30 As Fingal spoke, and Ossian sung.

Night fell; and dark and darker grew That narrow sea, that narrow sky, As o'er the glimmering waves we flew; The sea-bird rustling, wailing by. 35 And now the grampus, half-descried, Black and huge above the tide; The cliffs and promontories there, Front to front, and broad and bare; Each beyond each, with giant feet 40 Advancing as in haste to meet;


The shattered fortress, whence the Dane
Blew his shrill blast, nor rushed in vain,
Tyrant of the drear domain;

When day springs upward from the deep
All into midnight shadow sweep-
Kindling the waters in its flight,

The prow wakes splendor; and the oar,
That rose and fell unseen before,
Flashes in a sea of light!

50 Glad sign, and sure! for now we hail
Thy flowers, Glenfinnart, in the gale;
And bright indeed the path should be,
That leads to friendship and to thee!
Oh blest retreat, and sacred too!
55 Sacred as when the bell of prayer
Tolled duly on the desert air,
And crosses decked thy summits blue.
Oft, like some loved romantic tale,
Oft shall my weary mind recall,
60 Amid the hum and stir of men,
Thy beechen grove and waterfall,
Thy ferry with its gliding sail,
And her-the Lady of the Glen!


Shepherd, or huntsman, or worn mariner, Whate'er thou art, who wouldst allay thy thirst,

Drink and be glad. This cistern of white stone,

Arched, and o'erwrought with many a sacred verse,

5 This iron cup chained for the general


And these rude seats of earth within the grove,

Were given by Fatima. Borne hence a bride,

'Twas here she turned from her beloved sire,

To see his face no more. Oh, if thou canst,

10 ('Tis not far off) visit his tomb with flowers;


And with a drop of this sweet water fill

The two small cells scooped in the marble there,

That birds may come and drink upon his grave,

Making it holy1

[blocks in formation]

"Say, what remains when Hope is fled?"
She answered, "Endless weeping!"
For in the herdsman's eye she read,
Who in his shroud lay sleeping.

At Embsay rung the matin bell,
The stag was roused on Barden fell;
The mingled sounds were swelling, dying,
And down the Wharfe a hern2 was flying;
When near the cabin in the wood,
10 In tartan clad and forest-green,
With hound in leash and hawk in hood,
The Boy of Egremond was seen.
Blithe was his song, a song of yore;
But where the rock is rent in two,
15 And the river rushes through,

His voice was heard no more!
"Twas but a step! the gulf he passed;
But that step-it was his last!

As through the mist he winged his way, 20 (A cloud that hovers night and day,) The hound hung back, and back he drew The master and his merlin3 too.


That narrow place of noise and strife
Received their little all of life!

There now the matin bell is rung;
The "Miserere" duly sung;
And holy men in cowl and hood
Are wandering up and down the wood.
But what avail they? Ruthless Lord,

30 Thou didst not shudder when the sword
Here on the young its fury spent,
The helpless and the innocent.

Sit now and answer, groan for groan.
The child before thee is thy own.
35 And she who wildly wanders there,
The mother in her long despair,

[blocks in formation]

Shall oft remind thee, waking, sleeping, Of those who by the Wharfe were weeping;

Of those who would not be consoled 40 When red with blood the river rolled.

[ocr errors]
[blocks in formation]

Hung like a vapor in the cloudless sky, Yet visible, when on my way I went, Glad to be gone, a pilgrim from the North, 5 Now more and more attracted as I drew Nearer and nearer. Ere the artisan Had from his window leant, drowsy, half-clad,

To snuff the morn, or the caged lark poured forth,

From his green sod upspringing as to heaven,

10 (His tuneful bill o'erflowing with a song Old in the days of Homer, and his wings With transport quivering) on my way I


Thy gates, Geneva, swinging heavily,

Thy gates so slow to open, swift to shut; 15 As on that Sabbath eve when he arrived,1 Whose name is now thy glory, now by thee, Such virtue dwells in those small syllables, Inscribed to consecrate the narrow street, His birth-place,-when, but one short step too late,

20 In his despair, as though the die were cast, He flung him down to weep, and wept till dawn;

Then rose to go, a wanderer through the world.

'Tis not a tale that every hour brings

with it.

Yet at a city gate, from time to time,

25 Much may be learnt; nor, London, least

at thine,

Thy hive the busiest, greatest of them all,
Gathering, enlarging still. Let us stand by,
And note who passes.
Here comes one,

a youth,

Glowing with pride, the pride of conscious power,

30 A Chatterton-in thought admired, caressed,

And crowned like Petrarch in the Capitol;
Ere long to die, to fall by his own hand,
And fester with the vilest. Here come two,

1 Jean Jacques Rousseau, who visited Geneva, his birthplace, in 1754. He had left there in 1728, when sixteen years of age.

Less feverish, less exalted-soon to part, 35 A Garrick and a Johnson; Wealth and Fame

Awaiting one, even at the gate; Neglect And Want the other. But what multitudes,

Urged by the love of change, and, like myself,

Adventurous, careless of tomorrow's fare, 40 Press on-though but a rill entering the sea, Entering and lost! Our task would never end.

Day glimmered and I went, a gentle breeze

Ruffling the Leman Lake. Wave after


If such they might be called, dashed as in sport,

45 Not anger, with the pebbles on the beach Making wild music, and far westward caught

The sunbeam-where, alone and as en-

Counting the hours, the fisher in his skiff
Lay with his circular and dotted line

50 On the bright waters. When the heart of man

Is light with hope, all things are sure to please;

And soon a passage-boat swept gaily by, Laden with peasant girls and fruits and flowers

And many a chanticleer and partlet1 caged 55 For Vevey's market place-a motley group Seen through the silvery haze. But soon

[blocks in formation]

So dead to all things in this visible world, 60 So wondrously profound, as to move on In the sweet light of heaven, like him of old2

(His name is justly in the Calendar3), Who through the day pursued this pleasant path

That winds beside the mirror of all beauty,

65 And, when at eve his fellow pilgrims sate, Discoursing of the lake, asked where it was. They marvelled as they might; and so must all,

Seeing what now I saw : for now 'twas day, And the bright sun was in the firmament, 70 A thousand shadows of a thousand hues

[blocks in formation]

Chequering the clear expanse. Awhile

his orb

Hung o'er thy trackless fields of snow,
Mont Blanc,

Thy seas of ice and ice-built promon-

That change their shapes forever as in sport;

75 Then travelled onward and went down behind

The pine-clad heights of Jura, lighting up The woodman's casement, and perchance his axe

Borne homeward through the forest in his hand;

And, on the edge of some o'erhanging cliff, 80 That dungeon-fortress1 never to be named, Where, like a lion taken in the toils, Toussaint breathed out his brave and

[blocks in formation]

Boy, call the Gondola; the sun is set.
It came, and we embarked; but instantly,
As at the waving of a magic wand,
Though she had stept on board so light
of foot,

5 So light of heart, laughing she knew not why,

Sleep overcame her; on my arm she slept. From time to time I waked her; but the


Rocked her to sleep again. The moon

was now

[blocks in formation]
[blocks in formation]

(Less fortunate, if love be happiness) No curtain drawn, no pulse beating alarm, I went alone beneath the silent moon; 35 Thy square, St. Mark, thy churches, palaces,

Glittering and frost-like, and, as day drew on,

Melting away, an emblem of themselves. Those porches passed, thro' which the water-breeze

Plays, though no longer on the noble forms 40 That moved there, sable-vested-and the quay,

Silent, grass-grown-adventurer-like I


Into the deep, ere long discovering
Isles such as cluster in the southern seas,
All verdure. Everywhere, from bush and


45 The musky odor of the serpents came; Their slimy tract across the woodman's path

Bright in the moonshine; and, as round
I went,

Dreaming of Greece, whither the waves
were gliding,

I listened to the venerable pines 50 Then in close converse, and, if right I


Delivering many a message to the winds, In secret, for their kindred on Mount Ida. Nor when again in Venice, when again In that strange place, so stirring and so still,

55 Where nothing comes to drown the human voice

But music, or the dashing of the tide, Ceased I to wander. Now a Jessica Sung to her lute, her signal as she sate


[blocks in formation]

A serenade broke silence, breathing hope Thro' walls of stone, and torturing the proud heart

Of some Priuli. Once, we could not err, (It was before an old Palladian house, As between night and day we floated by) 65 A gondolier lay singing; and he sung, As in the time when Venice was herself, Of Tancred and Erminia. On our oars We rested; and the verse was verse divine! We could not err-perhaps he was the last

70 For none took up the strain, none answered him;

And, when he ceased, he left upon my ear
A something like the dying voice of

The moon went down; and nothing

[blocks in formation]
« PředchozíPokračovat »