Part 10 (1/2)

Others, with rus.h.i.+ng haste, and eager voice, Would drag new victims to the insatiate power, That like a savage idol did rejoice Whate'er his suppliants offer'd to devour.

And aye strange murmurs o'er the mountains roll'd, As if from sprite immured in cavern lone, While higher rose pale Luna to behold Our mystic orgies, where no light had shone, For many and many a year of silence--but her own.

O! gracious G.o.ddess! not in vain did s.h.i.+ne Thy spirit o'er the heavens; with reverent eye We hail'd thee floating through the happy sky; No smiles to us are half so dear as thine!

Silent we stood beside our dying flame, In pensive sadness, born of wild delight, And gazing heavenward, many a gentle name Bestow'd on her who beautifies the night.

Then, with one heart, like men who inly mourn'd, Slowly we paced towards our fairy cell, And e'er we enter'd, for one moment turn'd, And bade the silent majesty farewell!

Our rushy beds invite us to repose; And while our spirits breathe a grateful prayer, In balmy slumbers soon our eyelids close, While, in our dreams, the Moon, serenely fair, Still bathes in light divine the visionary air!

Methinks, next night, I see her mount her throne, Intent with loving smile once more to hail The deep, deep peace of this her loneliest vale, --But where hath now the magic dwelling flown?

Oh! it hath melted like a dream away, A dream by far too beautiful for earth; Or like a cloud that hath no certain stay, But ever changing, like a different birth.

The aged holly trees more silently, Now we are gone, stand on the silent ground; I seem to hear the streamlet floating by With a complaining, melancholy sound.

Hush'd are the echoes in each mountain's breast, No traces there of former mirth remain; They all in friendly grandeur lie at rest And silent, save where Nature's endless strain, From cataract and cave, delights her lonely reign.

Yet, though the strangers and their tent have past Away, like snow that leaves no mark behind, Their image lives in many a guiltless mind, And long within the shepherd's cot shall last.

Oft when, on winter night, the crowded seat Is closely wheel'd before the blazing fire, Then will he love with grave voice to repeat (He, the gray-headed venerable sire,) The conversation he with us did hold On moral subjects, he had studied long; And some will jibe the maid who was so bold As sing to strangers readily a song.

Then they unto each other will recal Each little incident of that strange night, And give their kind opinion of us all: G.o.d bless their faces smiling in the light Of their own cottage-hearth! O, fair subduing sight!

Friends of my heart! who shared that purest joy, And oft will read these lines with soften'd soul, Go where we will, let years of absence roll, Nought shall our sacred amity destroy.

We walk'd together through the mountain-calm, In open confidence, and perfect trust; And pleasure, falling through our b.r.e.a.s.t.s like balm, Told that the yearnings that we felt were just.

No slighting tone, no chilling look e'er marr'd The happiness in which our thoughts reposed, No words save those of gentleness were heard, The eye spoke kindly when the lip was closed.

But chief, on that blest day that wakes my song, Our hearts eternal truth in silence swore; The holy oath is planted deep and strong Within our spirits,--in their inmost core,-- And it shall blossom fair till life shall be no more!

Most hallow'd day! scarce can my heart sustain Your tender light by memory made more mild; Tears could I shed even like unto a child, And sighs within my spirit hush the strain.

Too many clouds have dimm'd my youthful life, These wakeful eyes too many vigils kept; Mine hath it been to toss in mental strife, When in the moonlight breathing Nature slept.

But I forget my cares, in bliss forget, When, peaceful Valley! I remember thee; I seem to breathe the air of joy, and yet Thy bright'ning hues with moisten'd eyes I see.

So will it be, till life itself doth close, Roam though I may o'er many a distant clime; Happy, or pining in unnoticed woes, Oft shall my soul recal that blessed time, And in her depths adore the beauteous and sublime!

Time that my rural reed at last should cease Its willing numbers; not in vain hath flow'd The strain that on my singing heart bestow'd The holy boon of undisturbed peace.

O gentlest Lady! Sister of my friend, This simple strain I consecrate to thee; Haply its music with thy soul may blend, Albeit well used to loftier minstrelsy.

Nor, may thy quiet spirit read the lay With cold regard, thou wife and mother blest!

For he was with me on that Sabbath-day, Whose heart lies buried in thy inmost breast.

Then go my innocent and blameless tale, In gladness go, and free from every fear, To yon sweet dwelling above Gra.s.smere vale, And be to them I long have held so dear, One of their fire-side songs, still fresh from year to year!

FOOTNOTES:

[1] Mr Wordsworth accompanied the author on this excursion.

[2] At that time the residence of Mr Wordsworth's family.

[3] The author's cottage on the banks of Windermere.

MISCELLANEOUS POEMS.

_Oh! Nature! whose Elysian scenes disclose His bright perfections at whose word they rose, Next to that Power who form'd thee and sustains, Be thou the great inspirer of my strains.