Journeys Through Bookland Volume Vii Part 33

But no,--what here we call our life is such, So little to be loved, and thou so much, That I should ill requite thee to constrain Thy unbound spirit into bounds again.

Thou--as a gallant bark, from Albion's[339-8] coast, (The storms all weathered and the ocean crossed,) Shoots into port at some well-havened isle, Where spices breathe and brighter seasons smile; There sits quiescent on the floods, that show Her beauteous form reflected clear below, While airs impregnated with incense play Around her, fanning light her streamers gay,-- So thou, with sails how swift! hast reached the sh.o.r.e "Where tempests never beat nor billows roar": And thy loved consort[339-9] on the dangerous tide Of life long since has anch.o.r.ed by thy side.

But me,[339-10] scarce hoping to attain the rest, Always from port withheld, always distressed,-- Me[339-10] howling blasts drive devious, tempest-tossed, Sails ripped, seams opening wide, and compa.s.s lost;[339-11]

And day by day some current's thwarting force Sets me more distant from a prosperous course.

Yet O, the thought that thou art safe, and he!--[339-12]

That thought is joy, arrive what may to me.

My boast is not that I deduce my birth From loins enthroned,[339-13] and rulers of the earth; But higher far my proud pretensions rise,-- The son of parents pa.s.sed into the skies.

And now, farewell!--Time, unrevoked,[340-14] has run His wonted course; yet what I wished is done.

By contemplation's help, not sought in vain, I seem to have lived my childhood o'er again,-- To have renewed the joys that once were mine, Without the sin of violating thine; And, while the wings of fancy still are free, And I can view this mimic show of thee, Time has but half succeeded in his theft,-- Thyself removed, thy power to soothe me left.

FOOTNOTES:

[335-1] As _though_ the request were her own.

[335-2] The Elysian Fields were the blessed lands of beauty and joy to which the Greeks hoped to go at their death.

[337-3] The _pastoral house_ means the rectory, the home of the clergyman.

[338-4] _Humour_ here means _temper_.

[338-5] _Numbers_ is used for _poetic measures; poetry_.

[338-6] _Tissued_ is a poetic word for _variegated_.

[338-7] He p.r.i.c.ked into paper with a pin the outlines of the variegated forms of violets, pinks and jessamine that decorated his mother's dress.

[339-8] _England's._ The old name Albion, which means _white_, is still used in poetry. Just how the name originated no one knows. Perhaps it alluded to the white chalk cliffs of England which the Gauls could see.

[339-9] Cowper's father died in 1756; his mother in 1737.

[339-10] _Me_ is repeated for emphasis; it is the object of _drive_: "Howling blasts drive me out of the straight line," is what the lines mean.

[339-11] Cowper was too strongly conscious of his weakness and his difference from other men. He wrote in a letter to a friend, "Certainly I am not an absolute fool, but I have more weaknesses than the greatest of all the fools I can recollect at present. In short, if I was as fit for the next world as I am unfit for this,--and G.o.d forbid I should speak of it in vanity,--I would not change conditions with any saint in Christendom."

[339-12] "That thou art safe, and that he is safe."

[339-13] Cowper descended from ancient and high lineage on both sides.

THOSE EVENING BELLS

_By_ THOMAS MOORE

Those evening bells! those evening bells.

How many a tale their music tells, Of youth, and home, and that sweet time When last I heard their soothing chime!

Those joyous hours are pa.s.sed away; And many a heart that once was gay, Within the tomb now darkly dwells, And hears no more those evening bells.

And so 'twill be when I am gone-- That tuneful peal will still ring on; While other bards shall walk these dells, And sing your praise, sweet evening bells.

FOOTNOTES:

[340-14] _Unrevoked_ means _not called back_.

ANNABEL LEE

_By_ EDGAR ALLAN POE

It was many and many a year ago, In a kingdom by the sea, That a maiden lived, whom you may know By the name of Annabel Lee; And this maiden she lived with no other thought Than to love, and be loved by me.

I was a child and she was a child, In this kingdom by the sea; But we loved with a love that was more than love, I and my Annabel Lee,-- With a love that the winged seraphs of heaven Coveted her and me.

And this was the reason that long ago, In this kingdom by the sea, A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling My beautiful Annabel Lee; So that her highborn kinsmen came, And bore her away from me, To shut her up in a sepulchre, In this kingdom by the sea.

The angels, not so happy in heaven, Went envying her and me.

Yes! that was the reason (as all men know) In this kingdom by the sea, That the wind came out of the cloud by night, Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee.

[Ill.u.s.tration: IN HER SEPULCHRE THERE BY THE SEA]

But our love it was stronger by far than the love Of those who were older than we, Of many far wiser than we; And neither the angels in heaven above, Nor the demons down under the sea, Can ever dissever my soul from the soul Of the beautiful Annabel Lee.

For the moon never beams without bringing me dreams Of the beautiful Annabel Lee,

And the stars never rise but I feel the bright eyes Of the beautiful Annabel Lee.

And so, all the night-tide I lie down by the side Of my darling, my darling, my life, and my bride, In her sepulchre there by the sea, In her tomb by the sounding sea.

THE THREE FISHERS

_By_ CHARLES KINGSLEY

Three fishers went sailing out into the west-- Out into the west as the sun went down; Each thought on the woman who loved him the best, And the children stood watching them out of the town; For men must work, and women must weep; And there's little to earn, and many to keep, Though the harbor bar be moaning.

Three wives sat up in the lighthouse tower, And trimmed the lamps as the sun went down; And they looked at the squall, and they looked at the shower, And the night rack came rolling up, ragged and brown; But men must work, and women must weep,-- Though storms be sudden, and waters deep, And the harbor bar be moaning.

[Ill.u.s.tration: THE NIGHT RACK CAME ROLLING UP]

Three corpses lay out on the s.h.i.+ning sands In the morning gleam as the tide went down, And the women are weeping and wringing their hands, For those who will never come back to the town; For men must work, and women must weep, And the sooner it's over, the sooner to sleep,-- And good-bye to the bar and its moaning.