Volume I Part 13 (2/2)
My soul is singing with the happy birds, And all my human powers Are blooming with the flowers, My foot is on the fields and downs, among the flocks and herds.
Deep in the forest where the foliage droops, I wander, fill'd with joy.
Again as when a boy, The sunny vistas tempt me on with dim delicious hopes.
The sunny vistas, dim with hurrying shade, And old romantic haze:- Again as in past days, The spirit of immortal Spring doth every sense pervade.
Oh! do not say that this will ever cease; - This joy of woods and fields, This youth that nature yields, Will never speak to me in vain, tho' soundly rapt in peace.
SUNRISE
The clouds are withdrawn And their thin-rippled mist, That stream'd o'er the lawn To the drowsy-eyed west.
Cold and grey They slept in the way, And shrank from the ray Of the chariot East: But now they are gone, And the bounding light Leaps thro' the bars Of doubtful dawn; Blinding the stars, And blessing the sight; Shedding delight On all below; Glimmering fields, And wakening wealds, And rising lark, And meadows dark, And idle rills, And labouring mills, And far-distant hills Of the fawn and the doe.
The sun is cheered And his path is cleared, As he steps to the air From his emerald cave, His heel in the wave, Most bright and bare; In the tide of the sky His radiant hair From his temples fair Blown back on high; As forward he bends, And upward ascends, Timely and true, To the breast of the blue; His warm red lips Kissing the dew, Which sweetened drips On his flower cupholders; Every hue From his gleaming shoulders s.h.i.+ning anew With colour sky-born, As it washes and dips In the pride of the morn.
Robes of azure, Fringed with amber, Fold upon fold Of purple and gold, Vine-leaf bloom, And the grape's ripe gloom, When season deep In noontide leisure, With cl.u.s.tering heap The tendrils clamber Full in the face Of his hot embrace, Fill'd with the gleams Of his firmest beams.
Autumn flushes, Roseate blushes, Vermeil tinges, Violet fringes, Every hue Of his flower cupholders, O'er the clear ether Mingled together, s.h.i.+ning anew From his gleaming shoulders!
Circling about In a coronal rout, And floating behind, The way of the wind, As forward he bends, And upward ascends, Timely and true, To the breast of the blue.
His bright neck curved, His clear limbs nerved, Diamond keen On his front serene, While each white arm strains To the racing reins, As plunging, eyes flas.h.i.+ng, Dripping, and das.h.i.+ng, His steeds triple grown Rear up to his throne, Ruffling the rest Of the sea's blue breast, From his flooding, flaming crimson crest!
PICTURES OF THE RHINE
I
The spirit of Romance dies not to those Who hold a kindred spirit in their souls: Even as the odorous life within the rose Lives in the scattered leaflets and controls Mysterious adoration, so there glows Above dead things a thing that cannot die; Faint as the glimmer of a tearful eye, Ere the orb fills and all the sorrow flows.
Beauty renews itself in many ways; The flower is fading while the new bud blows; And this dear land as true a symbol shows, While o'er it like a mellow sunset strays The legendary splendour of old days, In visible, inviolate repose.
II
About a mile behind the viny banks, How sweet it was, upon a sloping green, Sunspread, and shaded with a branching screen, To lie in peace half-murmuring words of thanks!
To see the mountains on each other climb, With s.p.a.ces for rich meadows flowery bright; The winding river freshening the sight At intervals, the trees in leafy prime; The distant village-roofs of blue and white, With intersections of quaint-fas.h.i.+oned beams All slanting crosswise, and the feudal gleams Of ruined turrets, barren in the light; - To watch the changing clouds, like clime in clime; Oh sweet to lie and bless the luxury of time.
III
Fresh blows the early breeze, our sail is full; A merry morning and a mighty tide.
Cheerily O! and past St. Goar we glide, Half hid in misty dawn and mountain cool.
The river is our own! and now the sun In saffron clothes the warming atmosphere; The sky lifts up her white veil like a nun, And looks upon the landscape blue and clear; - The lark is up; the hills, the vines in sight; The river broadens with his waking bliss And throws up islands to behold the light; Voices begin to rise, all hues to kiss; - Was ever such a happy morn as this!
Birds sing, we shout, flowers breathe, trees s.h.i.+ne with one delight!
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