The Poetical Works of William Lisle Bowles Volume I Part 12

Soon exulting I shall go, Woden, to thy halls below; Or o'er the victims, as they die, Chaunt the song of Victory!

[65] Valkyriae, or choosers of the slain. See Gray's "Fatal Sisters," _et cet._

COOMBE-ELLEN.[66]

Call the strange spirit that abides unseen In wilds, and wastes, and s.h.a.ggy solitudes, And bid his dim hand lead thee through these scenes That burst immense around! By mountains, glens, And solitary cataracts that dash Through dark ravines; and trees, whose wreathed roots O'erhang the torrent's channelled course; and streams, That far below, along the narrow vale, Upon their rocky way wind musical.

Stranger! if Nature charm thee, if thou lovest 10 To trace her awful steps, in glade or glen, Or under covert of the rocking wood, That sways its murmuring and mossy boughs Above thy head; now, when the wind at times Stirs its deep silence round thee, and the shower Falls on the sighing foliage, hail her here In these her haunts; and, rapt in musings high, Think that thou holdest converse with some Power Invisible and strange; such as of yore Greece, in the shades of piney Maenalaus, 20 The abode of Pan, or Ida's h.o.a.ry caves, Wors.h.i.+pped; and our old Druids, 'mid the gloom Of rocks and woods like these, with muttered spell Invoked, and the loud ring of choral harps.

Hast thou oft mourned the chidings of the world, The sound of her disquiet, that ascends For ever, mocking the high throne of G.o.d!

Hast thou in youth known sorrow! Hast thou drooped, Heart-stricken, over youth's and beauty's grave, And ever after thought on the sad sound 30 The cold earth made, which, cast into the vault, Consigned thy heart's best treasure--dust to dust!

Here, lapped into a sweet forgetfulness, Hang o'er the wreathed waterfall, and think Thou art alone in this dark world and wide!

Here Melancholy, on the pale crags laid, Might muse herself to sleep; or Fancy come, Witching the mind with tender cozenage, And shaping things that are not; here all day Might Meditation listen to the lapse 40 Of the white waters, flas.h.i.+ng through the cleft, And, gazing on the many shadowing trees, Mingle a pensive moral as she gazed.

High o'er thy head, amidst the s.h.i.+vered slate, Behold, a sapling yet, the wild ash bend, Its dark red berries cl.u.s.tering, as it wished In the clear liquid mirror, ere it fell, To trace its beauties; o'er the p.r.o.ne cascade, Airy, and light, and elegant, the birch Displays its glossy stem, amidst the gloom 50 Of alders and jagged fern, and evermore Waves her light pensile foliage, as she wooed The pa.s.sing gale to whisper flatteries.

Upon the adverse bank, withered, and stripped Of all its pleasant leaves, a scathed oak Hangs desolate, once sovereign of the scene, Perhaps, proud of its beauty and its strength, And branching its broad arms along the glen: Oh, speaks it no remonstrance to the heart!

It seems to say: So shall the spoiler come, 60 The season that shall shatter your fair leaves, Gay children of the summer! yet enjoy Your pleasant prime, and lift your green heads high, Exulting; but the storm will come at last, That shall lay low your strength, and give your pride To the swift-hurrying stream of age, like mine.

And so severe Experience oft reproves The gay and careless children of the world; They hear the cold rebuke, and then again Turn to their sport, as likes them, and dance on! 70 And let them dance; so all their blooming prime They give not up to vanity, but learn That wisdom and that virtue which shall best Avail them, when the evil days draw nigh, And the brief blossoms of their spring-time fade.

Now wind we up the glen, and hear below The das.h.i.+ng torrent, in deep woods concealed, And now again white-flas.h.i.+ng on the view, O'er the huge craggy fragments. Ancient stream, That murmurest through the mountain solitudes, 80 The time has been when no eye marked thy course, Save His who made the world! Fancy might dream She saw thee thus bound on from age to age Unseen of man, whilst awful Nature sat On the rent rocks, and said: These haunts be mine.

Now Taste has marked thy features; here and there Touching with tender hand, but injuring not, Thy beauties; whilst along thy woody verge Ascends the winding pathway, and the eye Catches at intervals thy varied falls. 90 But loftier scenes invite us; pa.s.s the hill, And through the woody hanging, at whose feet The tinkling Ellen winds, pursue thy way.

Yon bleak and weather-whitened rock, immense, Upshoots amidst the scene, craggy and steep, And like some high-embattled citadel, That awes the low plain shadowing. Half-way up The purple heath is seen, but bare its brow, And deep-intrenched, and all beneath it spread With ma.s.sy fragments riven from its top. 100 Amidst the crags, and scarce discerned so high, Hangs here and there a sheep, by its faint bleat Discovered, whilst the astonished eye looks up, And marks it on the precipice's brink Pick its scant food secure:--and fares it not Ev'n so with you, poor orphans, ye who climb The rugged path of life without a friend; And over broken crags bear hardly on, With pale imploring looks, that seem to say, My mother! she is buried, and at rest, 110 Laid in her grave-clothes; and the heart is still, The only heart that throughout all the world Beat anxiously for you! Oh, yet bear on; He who sustains the bleating lamb shall feed And comfort you: meantime the heaven's pure beam, That breaks above the sable mountain's brow, Lighting, one after one, the sunless crags, Awakes the blissful confidence, that here, Or in a world where sorrow never comes, All shall be well. 120 Now through the whispering wood We steal, and mark the old and mossy oaks Imboss the mountain slope; or the wild ash, With rich red cl.u.s.ters mantling; or the birch, In lonely glens light-wavering; till behold!

The rapid river shooting through the gloom Its lucid line along; and on its side The bordering pastures green, where the swinked ox Lies dreaming, heedless of the numerous flies That, in the transitory suns.h.i.+ne, hum 130 Round his broad breast; and further up the cot, With blue, light smoke ascending; images Of peace and comfort! The wild rocks around Endear your smile the more, and the full mind, Sliding from scenes of dread magnificence, Sinks on your charms reposing; such repose The sage may feel, when, filled and half-oppressed With vast conceptions, smiling he returns To life's consoling sympathies, and hears, With heartfelt tenderness, the bells ring out; 140 Or pipe upon the mountains; or the low Of herds slow winding down the cottaged vale, Where day's last suns.h.i.+ne linger. Such repose He feels, who, following where his SHAKSPEARE leads, As in a dream, through an enchanted land, Here, with Macbeth, in the dread cavern hails The weird sisters, and the dismal deed Without a name; there sees the charmed isle, The lone domain of Prospero; and, hark!

Wild music, such as earth scarce seems to own, 150 And Ariel o'er the slow-subsiding surge Singing her smooth air quaintly! Such repose Steals o'er her spirits, when, through storms at sea, Fancy has followed some nigh-foundered bark Full many a league, in ocean's solitude Tossed far beyond the Cape of utmost Horn, That stems the roaring deep; her dreary track Still Fancy follows, and at dead of night Hears, with strange thunder, the huge fragments fall Cras.h.i.+ng, from mountains of high-drifting ice 160 That o'er her bows gleam fearful; till at last She hails the gallant s.h.i.+p in some still bay Safe moored; or of delightful Tinian; Smiling, like fairy isle, amid the waste; Or of New Zealand, where from sheltering rocks The clear cascades gush beautiful, and high The woodland scenery towers above the mast, Whose long and wavy ensign streams beneath.

Far inland, clad in snow, the mountains lift Their spiry summits, and endear the more 170 The sylvan scene around; the healing air Breathes o'er green myrtles, and the poe-bird flits, Amid the shade of aromatic shrubs, With silver neck and blue enamelled wing.

Now cross the stream, and up the narrow track, That winds along the mountain's edge, behold The peasant girl ascend: cheerful her look, Beneath the umbrage of her broad black hat, And loose her dark-brown hair; the plodding pad That bears her panting climbs, and with sure step 180 Avoids the jutting fragments; she, meantime, Sits unconcerned, till, lessening from the view, She gains the summit and is seen no more.

All day, along that mountain's heathy waste, Booted and strapped, and in rough coat succinct, His small shrill whistle pendent at his breast, With dogs and gun, untired the sportsman roams; Nor quits his wildly-devious range, till eve, Upon the woods, the rocks, and mazy rills Descending, warns him home: then he rejoins 190 The social circle, just as the clear moon, Emerging o'er the sable mountain, sails Silent, and calm, and beautiful, and sheds Its solemn grandeur on the shadowy scene.

To music then; and let some chosen strain Of HANDEL gently recreate the sense, And give the silent heart to tender joy.

Pa.s.s on to the h.o.a.r cataract,[67] that foams Through the dark fissures of the riven rock; p.r.o.ne-rus.h.i.+ng it descends, and with white whirl, 200 Save where some silent shady pool receives Its dash; thence bursting, with collected sweep, And hollow sound, it hurries, till it falls Foaming in the wild stream that winds below.

Dark trees, that to the mountain's height ascend, O'ershade with pendent boughs its mossy course, And, looking up, the eye beholds it flash Beneath the inc.u.mbent gloom, from ledge to ledge Shooting its silvery foam, and far within Wreathing its curve fantastic. If the harp 210 Of deep poetic inspiration, struck At times by the pale minstrel, whilst a strange And beauteous light filled his uplifted eye, Hath ever sounded into mortal ears, Here I might think I heard its tones, and saw, Sublime amidst the solitary scene, With dimly-gleaming harp, and snowy stole, And cheek in momentary frenzy flushed, The great musician stand. Hush, every wind That shakes the murmuring branches! and thou stream, 220 Descending still with hollow-sounding sweep, Hus.h.!.+ 'Twas the bard struck the loud strings: Arise, Son of the magic song, arise!

And bid the deep-toned lyre Pour forth its manly melodies.

With eyes on fire, CARADOC rushed upon the foe; He reared his arm--he laid the mighty low!

O'er the plain see him urge his gore-bathed steed!

They bleed, the Romans[68] bleed! 230 He lifts his lance on high, They fly! the fierce invaders fly!

Fear not now the horse or spear, Fear not now the foeman's might; Victory the cry shall hear Of those who for their country fight; O'er the slain That strew the plain, Stern on her sable war-horse shall she ride, And lift her red right hand, in their heart's blood deep dyed! 240 Return, my Muse! the fearful sound is past; And now a little onward, where the way Ascends above the oaks that far below Shade the rude steep, let Contemplation lead Our footsteps; from this shady eminence 'Tis pleasant and yet fearful to look down Upon the river roaring, and far off To see it stretch in peace, and mark the rocks One after one, in solemn majesty Unfolding their wild reaches; here with wood 250 Mantled, beyond abrupt and bare, and each As if it strove, with emulous disdain, To tower in ruder, darker amplitude.

Pause, ere we enter the long craggy vale; It seems the abode of Solitude. So high The rock's bleak summit[69] frowns above our head, Looking immediate down, we almost fear Lest some enormous fragment should descend With hideous sweep into the vale, and crush The intruding visitant. No sound is here, 260 Save of the stream that shrills, and now and then A cry as of faint wailing, when the kite Comes sailing o'er the crags, or straggling lamb Bleats for its mother. Here, remote from man, And life's discordant roar, might Piety Lift up her early orisons to Him Who made the world; who piled up, mighty rocks, Your huge o'ershadowing summits; who devolved The mighty rivers on their mazy course; Who bade the seasons roll, and they rolled on 270 In harmony; who filled the earth with joy, And spread it in magnificence. O G.o.d!

Thou also madest the great water-flood, The deep that uttereth thy voice; whose waves Toss fearful at thy bidding. Thou didst speak, And lo! the great and glorious sun, from night Tenfold upspringing, through the heavens' wide way Held his untired career. These, in their course, As with one shout of acclamation, praise Thee, LORD! thee, FATHER! thee, ALMIGHTY KING! 280 Maker of earth and heaven! Nor less the flower That shakes its purple head, and smiles unseen Upon the mountain's van; nor less the stream That tinkles through the cliff-encircled bourne, Cheering with music the lone place, proclaim: In wisdom, Father, hast thou made them all!

Scenes of retired sublimity, that fill With fearful ecstasy and holy trance The pausing mind! we leave your awful gloom, And lo! the footway plank, that leads across 290 The narrow torrent, foaming through the chasm Below; the rugged stones are washed and worn Into a thousand shapes, and hollows scooped By long attrition of the ceaseless surge, Smooth, deep, and polished as the marble urn, In their hard forms. Here let us sit, and watch The struggling current burst its headlong way, Hearing the noise it makes, and musing much On the strange changes of this nether world.

How many ages must have swept to dust 300 The still succeeding mult.i.tudes, that "fret Their little hour" upon this restless scene, Or ere the sweeping waters could have cut The solid rock so deep! As now its roar Comes hollow from below, methinks we hear The noise of generations, as they pa.s.s, O'er the frail arch of earthly vanity, To silence and oblivion. The loud coil Ne'er ceases; as the running river sounds From age to age, though each particular wave 310 That made its brief noise, as it hurried on, Ev'n whilst we speak, is past, and heard no more; So ever to the ear of Heaven ascends The long, loud murmur of the rolling globe; Its strife, its toils, its sighs, its shouts, the same!

But lo! upon the hilly croft, and scarce Distinguished from the crags, the peasant hut Forth peeping; nor unwelcome is the sight.

It seems to say: Though solitude be sweet, And sweet are all the images that float 320 Like summer-clouds before the eye, and charm The pensive wanderer's way, 'tis sweeter yet To think that in this world a brother lives.

And lovelier smiles the scene, that, 'mid the wilds Of rocks and mountains, the bemused thought Remembers of humanity, and calls The wildly-roving fancy back to life.

Here, then, I leave my harp, which I have touched With careless hand, and here I bid farewell To Fancy's fading pictures, and farewell 330 The ideal spirit that abides unseen 'Mid rocks, and woods, and solitudes. I hail Rather the steps of Culture, that ascend The precipice's side. She bids the wild Bloom, and adorns with beauty not its own The ridged mountain's tract; she speaks, and lo!

The yellow harvest nods upon the slope; And through the dark and matted moss upshoots The bursting clover, smiling to the sun.

These are thy offspring, Culture! the green herb 340 Is thine, that decks with rich luxuriance The pasture's lawny range; the yellow corn, That waves upon the upland ridge, is thine; Thine too the elegant abode, that smiles Amidst the rocky scene, and wakes the thought, The tender thought, of all life's charities.

And senseless were my heart, could I look back Upon the varied way my feet have trod, Without a silent prayer that health and joy, And love and happiness, may long abide 350 In the romantic vale where Ellen winds.

[66] Coombe-Ellen (in Welsh, Cwm Elan) is situated among the most romantic mountains of Radnors.h.i.+re, about five miles from Rhayd'r. This poem is inscribed to Thomas Grove, Esq. of Fern, Wilts.h.i.+re, at whose summer residence, in Radnors.h.i.+re, it was written.

[67] Nant-Vola.

[68] The _Silures_, comprehending Radnors.h.i.+re, Herefords.h.i.+re, Brecknocks.h.i.+re, Monmouths.h.i.+re, and Glamorgans.h.i.+re, were the bravest of the Britons; Caractacus, the greatest and most renowned leader Britain had ever produced, was their king.

[69] Dole-Vinoc rock.

SUMMER EVENING AT HOME.

Come, lovely Evening! with thy smile of peace Visit my humble dwelling; welcomed in, Not with loud shouts, and the thronged city's din, But with such sounds as bid all tumult cease Of the sick heart; the gra.s.shopper's faint pipe Beneath the blades of dewy gra.s.s unripe, The bleat of the lone lamb, the carol rude Heard indistinctly from the village green, The bird's last twitter, from the hedge-row seen, Where, just before, the scattered crumbs I strewed, To pay him for his farewell song;--all these Touch soothingly the troubled ear, and please The stilly-stirring fancies. Though my hours (For I have drooped beneath life's early showers) Pa.s.s lonely oft, and oft my heart is sad, Yet I can leave the world, and feel most glad To meet thee, Evening, here; here my own hand Has decked with trees and shrubs the slopes around, And whilst the leaves by dying airs are fanned, Sweet to my spirit comes the farewell sound, That seems to say: Forget the transient tear Thy pale youth shed--Repose and Peace are here.

WINTER EVENING AT HOME.

Fair Moon, that at the chilly day's decline Of sharp December through my cottage pane Dost lovely look, smiling, though in thy wane!

In thought, to scenes, serene and still as thine, Wanders my heart, whilst I by turns survey Thee slowly wheeling on thy evening way; And this my fire, whose dim, unequal light, Just glimmering, bids each shadowy image fall Sombrous and strange upon the darkening wall, Ere the clear tapers chase the deepening night!

Yet thy still orb, seen through the freezing haze, s.h.i.+nes calm and clear without; and whilst I gaze, I think, around me in this twilight room, I but remark mortality's sad gloom; Whilst hope and joy cloudless and soft appear, In the sweet beam that lights thy distant sphere.

THE SPIRIT OF NAVIGATION.[70]

Stern Father of the storm! who dost abide Amid the solitude of the vast deep, For ever listening to the sullen tide, And whirlwinds that the billowy desert sweep!

Thou at the distant death-shriek dost rejoice; The rule of the tempestuous main is thine, Outstretched and lone; thou utterest thy voice, Like solemn thunders: These wild waves are mine; Mine their dread empire; nor shall man profane The eternal secrets of my ancient reign.

The voice is vain: secure, and as in scorn, The gallant vessel scuds before the wind; Her parting sails swell stately to the morn; She leaves the green earth and its hills behind; Gallant before the wind she goes, her prow High bearing, and disparting the blue tide That foams and flashes in its rage below; Meantime the helmsman feels a conscious pride, And while far onward the long billows swell, Looks to the lessening land, that seems to say, Farewell!

Father of storms! then let thy whirlwinds roar O'er seas of solitary amplitude; Man, the poor tenant of thy rocky sh.o.r.e, Man, thy terrific empire hath subdued; And though thy waves toss his high-foundered bark Where no dim watch-light gleams, still he defies Thy utmost rage, and in his buoyant ark Speeds on, regardless of the darkening skies; And o'er the mountain-surges, as they roll, Subdues his destined way, and speeds from pole to pole.

Behold him now, far from his native plain, Where high woods shade some wild Hesperian bay, Or green isles glitter in the southern main, His streaming ensign to the morn display!

Behold him, where the North's pale meteors dance, And icy rocks roll glimmering from afar, Fearless through night and solitude advance!

Or where the pining sons of Andamar, When dark eclipse has wrapt the labouring moon, Howl to the demon of the dread monsoon!

Time was, like them, poor Nature's s.h.i.+vering child, Pacing the beach, and by the salt spray beat, He watched the melancholy surge, or smiled To see it burn and bicker at his feet; In some rude s.h.a.ggy spot, by fortune placed, He dreamed not of strange lands, and empires spread, Beyond the rolling of the watery waste; He saw the sun s.h.i.+ne on the mountain's head, But knew not, whilst he hailed the orient light, What myriads blessed his beam, or sickened at the sight.

From some dark promontory, that o'erbent The flas.h.i.+ng waves, he heard their ceaseless roar; Or carolled in his light canoe content, As, bound from creek to creek, it grazed the sh.o.r.e; G.o.ds of the storm the dreary s.p.a.ce might sweep, And shapes of death, and gliding spectres gaunt, Might flit, he thought, o'er the remoter deep; And whilst strange voices cried, Avaunt, avaunt!

Uncertain lights, seen through the midnight gloom, Might lure him sadly on to his cold watery tomb.

No city, then, amid the calm clear day, O'er the blue waters' undulating line, With battlements, and fans that glittered gay, And piers, and thronging masts, was seen to s.h.i.+ne.

No cheerful sounds were wafted on the gale, Nor hummed the sh.o.r.es with early industry; But mournful birds in hollow cliffs did wail, And there all day the cormorant did cry, While with sunk eye, and matted, dripping locks, The houseless savage slept beneath the foam-beat rocks.

Thus slumbering long upon the dreamy verge Of instinct, see, he rouses from his trance!

Faint, and as glimmering yet, the Arts emerge, One after one, from darkness, and advance, Beauteous, as o'er the heavens the stars' still way.

Now see the track of his dominion wide, Fair smiling as the dayspring; cities gay Lift their proud heads, and o'er the yellow tide, Whilst sounds of fervent industry arise, A thousand pennants float bright streaming in the skies!

Genius of injured Asia! once sublime And glorious, now dim seen amid the storm, And melancholy clouds of sweeping time, Who yet dost half reveal thine awful form, Pointing, with saddened aspect and slow hand, To vast emporiums, desolate and waste; To wrecks of unknown cities, sunk in sand!

'Twas at thy voice, Arts, Order, Science, Taste.

Upsprung, the East adorning, like the smile Of Spring upon the banks of thy own swelling Nile.

'Twas at thy voice huge Enterprise awoke, That, long on rocky Aradus reclined, Slumbered to the hoa.r.s.e surge that round her broke, And hollow pipings of the idle wind; She heard thy voice, upon the rock she stood Gigantic, the rude scene she marked--she cried, Let there be intercourse, and the great flood Waft the rich plenty to these sh.o.r.es denied!

And soon thine eye delighted saw aspire, Crowning the midland main, thy own Imperial Tyre.

Queen of the waters! who didst ope the gate Of Commerce, and display in lands unknown Thy venturous sail, ev'n now in ancient state Methinks I see thee on thy rocky throne; I see their ma.s.sy piles thy cothons[71] rear, And on the deep a solemn shadow cast; I traverse thy once echoing sh.o.r.es, and hear The sound of mighty generations past: I see thy kingly merchants' thronged resort, And gold and purple gleam o'er all thy s.p.a.cious port.