Life Without and Life Within Part 30

The human bliss which angel hopes foresaw Is liberty to comprehend the law.

Give, then, thy book a larger scope and frame, Comprising means and end in Truth's great name.

DESCRIPTION OF A PORTION OF THE JOURNEY TO TRENTON FALLS.

The long-antic.i.p.ated morning dawns, Clear, hopeful, joyous-eyed, and pure of breath.

The dogstar is exhausted of its rage, And copious showers have cooled the feverish air, The mighty engine pants--away, away!

And, see! they come! a motley, smiling group-- The stately matron with her tempered grace, Her earnest eye, and kind though meaning smile, Her words of wisdom and her words of mirth.

Her counsel firm and generous sympathy; The happy pair whose hearts so full, yet ever Dilating to the scene, refuse that bliss Which excludes the whole or blunts the sense of beauty.

Next two fair maidens in gradation meet, The one of gentle mien and soft dove-eyes; Like water she, that yielding and combining, Yet most pure element in the social cup: The other with bright glance and damask cheek, You need not deem concealment there was preying To mar the healthful promise of the spring.

Another dame was there, of graver look, And heart of slower beat; yet in its depths Not irresponsive to the soul of things, Nor cold when charmed by those who knew its pa.s.s-word.

These ladies had a knight from foreign clime, Who from the banks of the dark-rolling Danube, Or somewhere thereabouts, had come, a pilgrim, To worship at the shrine of Liberty, And after, made his home in her loved realm, Content to call it fatherland where'er The streams bear freemen and the skies smile on them; A courteous knight he was, of merry mood, Expert to wing the lagging hour with jest, Or tale of strange romance or comic song.

And there was one I must not call a page, Although too young yet to have won his spurs; Yet there was promise in his laughing eye, That in due time he'd prove no carpet knight; Now, bright companion on a summer sea, With winged words of gay or tasteful thought, He was fit clasp to this our social chain.

And now, the swift car loosened on its way, O'er hill and dale we fly with rapid lightness, While each tongue celebrates the power of steam; O, how delightful 'tis to go so fast!

No time to muse, no chance to gaze on nature!

'Tis bliss indeed if "to think be to groan!"

The genius of the time soon shifts the scene: No longer whirled over our kindred clods, We, with as strong an impulse, cleave the waters.

Now doth our chain a while untwine its links, And some rebound from a three hours' communion To mingle with less favored fellow-men; One careless turns the leaves of some new volume; The leaves of Nature's book are too gigantic, Too vast the characters for patient study, Till sunset lures us with majestic power To cast one look of love on that bright eye, Which, for so many hours, has beamed on us.

The silver lamp is lit in the blue dome, Nature begins her hymn of evening breezes, And myriad sparks, thronging to kiss the wave, Touch even the steamboat's clumsy hulk with beauty.

Then, once more drawn together, cheerful talk Casts to the hours a store of gentle gifts, Which memory receives from these bright minds And careful garners them for duller days.

The morning greets us not with her late smile; Now chilling damp falls heavy on our hopes, And leaden hues tarnish each sighed-for scene.

Yet not on coloring, majestic Hudson, Depends the genius of thy stream, whose wand Has piled thy banks on high, and given them forms Which have for taste an impulse yet unknown.

Though Beauty dwells here, she reigns not a queen, An humble handmaid now to the Sublime.

The mind dilates to receive the idea of strength, And tasks its elements for congenial forms To create anew within those mighty piles, Those "bulwarks of the world," which, time-defying And thunder-mocking, lift their lofty brows.

Now at the river's bend we pause a while, And sun and cloud combine their wealth to greet us.

Oft shall the fair scenes of West Point return Upon the mind, in its still picture-hours, Its cloud-capped mountains with their varying hues, The soft seclusion of its wooded paths, And the alluring hopefulness of view Along the river from its crisis-point.

Unlike the currents of our human lives When they approach their long-sought ocean-mother,-- This stream is n.o.blest onward to its close, More tame and grave when near its inland founts.

Now onward, onward, till the whole be known; The heart, though swollen with these new sensations, With no less vital throb beats on for more, And rather we'd shake hands with disappointment Than wait and lean on sober expectation.

The Highlands now are pa.s.sed, and Hyde Park flies,-- Catskill salutes us--a far fairy-land.

O mountains, how do ye delude our hearts!

Let but the eye look down upon a valley, We feel our limitations, and are calm; But place blue mountains in the distant view, And the soul labors with the t.i.tan hope To ascend the shrouded tops, and scale the heavens.

O, pause not in the murky, old Dutch city, But, hasting onward with a renewed steam power, Bestow your hours upon the beauteous Mohawk; And here we grieve to lose our courteous knight, Just at the opening of so rich a page.

How shall I praise thee, Mohawk? How portray The love, the joyousness, felt in thy presence?

When each new step along the silvery tide Added new gems of beauty to our thought, And lapped the soul in an Elysium Of verdure and of grace, fed by thy sweetness.

O, how gay Fancy smiled, and deemed it home!

This is, thought she, the river of my garden; These are the graceful trees that form its bowers, And these the meads where I have sighed to roam.

I now may fold my wearied wings in peace.

JOURNEY TO TRENTON FALLS.

I.

TO MY FRIENDS AND COMPANIONS.

If this faint reflex from those days so bright May aught of sympathy among you gain, I shall not think these verses penned in vain; Though they tell nothing of the fancies light, The kindly deeds, rich thoughts, and various grace With which you knew to make the hours so fair, That neither grief nor sickness could efface From memory's tablet what you printed there.

Could I have breathed your spirit through these lines, They might have charms to win a critic's smile, Or the cold worldling of a sigh beguile.

I could but from my being bring one tone; May it arouse the sweetness of your own.

II.

THE HIGHLANDS.

I saw ye first, arrayed in mist and cloud; No cheerful lights softened your aspect bold; A sullen gray, or green, more grave and cold, The varied beauties of the scene enshroud.

Yet not the less, O Hudson! calm and proud, Did I receive the impress of that hour Which showed thee to me, emblem of that power Of high resolve, to which even rocks have bowed; Thou wouldst not deign thy course to turn aside, And seek some smiling valley's welcome warm, But through the mountain's very heart, thy pride Has been, thy channel and thy banks to form.

Not even the "bulwarks of the world" could bar The inland fount from joining ocean's war!

III.

CATSKILL.

How fair at distance shone yon silvery blue, O stately mountain-tops, charming the mind To dream of pleasures which she there may find, Where from the eagle's height she earth can view!

Nor are those disappointments which ensue; For though, while eyeing what beneath us lay, Almost we shunned to think of yesterday, As wonderingly our looks its course pursue.

Dwarfed to a point the joys of many hours, The river on whose bosom we were borne Seems but a thread, of pride and beauty shorn; Its banks, its shadowy groves, like beds of flowers, Wave their diminished heads;--yet would we sigh, Since all this loss shows us more near the sky?

IV.

VALLEY OF THE MOHAWK.

Could I my words with gentlest grace imbue, Which the flute's breath, or harp's clear tones, can bless, I then might hope the feelings to express, And with new life the happy day endue, Thou gav'st, O vale, than Tempe's self more fair!

With thy romantic stream and emerald isles, Touched by an April mood of tears and smiles Which stole on matron August unaware; The meads with all the spring's first freshness green, The trees with summer's thickest garlands crowned, And each so elegant, that fairy queen All day might wander ere she chose her round; No blemish on the sense of beauty broke, But the whole scene one ecstasy awoke.

V.

TRENTON FALLS, EARLY IN THE MORNING.

The sun, impatient, o'er the lofty trees Struggles to illume as fair a sight as lies Beneath the light of his joy-loving eyes, Which all the forms of energy must please; A solemn shadow falls in pillared form, Made by yon ledge, which noontide scarcely shows, Upon the amber radiance, soft and warm, Where through the cleft the eager torrent flows.