The Isle of Palms, and Other Poems Part 4

In that still trance did sweet thoughts come From the brook, and the glade, and the sky, of home, And the gentle sound of her mother's voice Bade Mary's slumbering soul rejoice.

For she in dreams to Wales hath flown, And sits in a cottage of her own, Beneath its sheltering tree: Fitz-Owen's eye is fix'd on hers, While with a bashful smile she stirs Beside her mother's knee.

But the rising sun hath pour'd his beams Into her heart, and broke her dreams; Slowly she lifts her eyes, And, wondering at the change, looks round, Upon that wild enchanted ground, And these delightful skies.

Over her Lover's breast she breathes A blessing and a prayer, And gently they stir his sleeping soul, Like the voice of the morning-air.

Soon as the first surprise is past, They rise from their leafy bed, As cheerful as the new-woke birds That sing above their head.

And trusting in the merciful power That saved them in that dismal hour When the ship sank in the sea, Cheering their souls with many a smile, They walk through the woods of this nameless Isle In undisturb'd tranquillity.

Well might they deem that wizard's wand Had set them down in Fairy-land, Or that their souls some beauteous dream obey'd: They know not where to look or listen, For pools and streams of crystal glisten Above, around,--embracing like the air The soft-reflected trees; while every where From shady nook, clear hill, and sunny glade, The ever-varying soul of music play'd; As if, at some capricious thing's command, Indulging every momentary mood, With voice and instrument, a fairy band Beneath some echoing precipice now stood, Now on steep mountain's rocky battlement, Or from the clouds their blended chorus sent, With jocund din to mock the solitude.

They gaze with never-sated eyes On lengthening lines of flowery dyes, That through the woods, and up the mountains run: Not richer radiance robes the Even, When she ascends her throne in Heaven, Beside the setting sun.

Scattering the blossomy gems away, Like the white shower of the Ocean spray, Across their path for ever glide or shoot Birds of such beauty, as might lead The soul to think that magic power decreed Spirits to dwell therein; nor are they mute, But each doth chaunt his own beloved strain, For ever trembling on a natural tune, The heart's emotions seeming so to suit, That the rapt Lovers are desiring soon, That silence never may return again.

A chearful welcome these bright creatures sing; And as the Lovers roam from glade to glade, That shine with sunlight, and with music ring, Seems but for them the enchanted island made.

So strong the influence of the fairy scene, That soon they feel as if for many a year In love and rapture they had linger'd here, While with the beauteous things that once have been, Long, long ago, or only in the mind By Fancy imaged, lies their native Wales, Its dim-seen hills, and all its streamy vales: Sounds in their souls its rushing mountain-wind, Like music heard in youth, remembered well, But when or where it rose they cannot tell.

Delightful woods, and many a cloudless sky, Are in their memory strangely floating by, But the faint pageant slowly melts away, And to the living earth they yield Their willing hearts, as if reveal'd In all its glory on this mystic day.

Like fire, strange flowers around them flame, Sweet, harmless fire, breathed from some magic urn, The silky gossamer that may not burn, Too wildly beautiful to bear a name.

And when the Ocean sends a breeze, To wake the music sleeping in the trees, Trees scarce they seem to be; for many a flower, Radiant as dew, or ruby polish'd bright, Glances on every spray, that bending light Around the stem, in variegated bows, Appear like some awakened fountain-shower, That with the colour of the evening glows.

And towering o'er these beauteous woods, Gigantic rocks were ever dimly seen, Breaking with solemn grey the tremulous green, And frowning far in castellated pride; While, hastening to the Ocean, h.o.a.ry floods Sent up a thin and radiant mist between, Softening the beauty that it could not hide.

Lo! higher still the stately Palm-trees rise, Checquering the clouds with their unbending stems, And o'er the clouds amid the dark-blue skies, Lifting their rich unfading diadems.

How calm and placidly they rest Upon the Heaven's indulgent breast, As if their branches never breeze had known!

Light bathes them aye in glancing showers, And Silence mid their lofty bowers Sits on her moveless throne.

Entranced there the Lovers gaze, Till every human fear decays, And bliss steals slowly through their quiet souls; Though ever lost to human kind And all they love, they are resign'd: While with a scarce-heard murmur rolls, Like the waves that break along the sh.o.r.e, The sound of the world they must see no more.

List! Mary is the first to speak, Her tender voice still tenderer in her bliss; And breathing o'er her silent husband's cheek, As from an infant's lip, a timid kiss, Whose touch at once all lingering sorrow calms, Says, "G.o.d to us in love hath given A home on earth, most like to Heaven, Our own sweet ISLE OF PALMS."

And where shall these happy lovers dwell?

Shall they seek in the cliffs for some mossy cell?

Some wilder haunt than ever hermit knew?

Where they may shun the mid-day heat, And slumber in a safe retreat, When evening sheds her dew; Or shall they build a leafy nest, Where they like birds may sport and rest, By cl.u.s.tering bloom preserved from sun and rain, Upon some little radiant mound Within reach of the freshening sound That murmurs from the Main?

No farther need their footsteps roam: Ev'n where they stand, a sylvan home Steals like a thought upon their startled sight; For Nature's breath with playful power Hath framed an undecaying bower, With colours heavenly bright.

Beyond a green and level lawn, Its porch and roof of roses dawn Through arching trees that lend a mellowing shade.

How gleams the bower with countless dyes!

Unwearied spring fresh bloom supplies, Still brightening where they fade.

Two n.o.ble Palms, the forest's pride, Guarding the bower on either side, Their straight majestic stems to Heaven uprear: There Beauty sleeps in Grandeur's arms, And sheltered there from all alarms, Hath nought on earth to fear.

The Dwellers in that lovely bower, If mortal shape may breathe such blessed air, Might gaze on it from morn till evening-hour, Nor wish for other sight more touching fair.

Why look abroad? All things are here Delightful to the eye and ear, And fragrance pure as light floats all around.

But if they look--those mystic gleams, The glory we adore in dreams, May here in truth be found.

Fronting the bower, eternal woods, Darkening the mountain solitudes, With awe the soul oppress: There dwells, with shadowy glories crown'd, Rejoicing in the gloom profound, The Spirit of the Wilderness.

Lo! stretching inward on the right, A winding vale eludes the sight, But where it dies the happy soul must dream: Oh! never sure beneath the sun, Along such lovely banks did run So musical a stream.

But who shall dare in thought to paint Yon fairy waterfall?

Still moistened by the misty showers, From fiery-red, to yellow soft and faint, Fantastic bands of fearless flowers Sport o'er the rocky wall; And ever, through the shrouding spray, Whose diamonds glance as bright as they, Float birds of graceful form, and gorgeous plumes, Or dazzling white as snow; While, as the pa.s.sing sun illumes The river's bed, in silent pride Spanning the cataract roaring wide, Unnumbered rainbows glow.

But turn around, if thou hast power To leave a scene so fair, And looking left-wards from the bower, What glory meets thee there!

For lo! the heaven-encircled Sea Outspreads his dazzling pageantry, As if the whole creation were his own, And the Isle, on which thy feet now stand, In beauty rose at his command, And for his joy alone.

Beyond his billows rolling bright, The Spirit dares not wing her flight; For where, upon the boundless deep, Should she, if wearied, sink to sleep?

Back to the beauteous Isle of Palms Glad she returns; there constant calms The bays, that sleep like inland lakes, invest: Delightful all!--but to your eyes, O blessed Pair! one circlet lies More fair than all the rest.

At evening, through that silent bay With beating hearts ye steer'd your way, Yet trusting in the guiding love of Heaven; And there, upon your bended knees, To the unseen Pilot of the Seas Your speechless prayers were given.

From your bower-porch the skiff behold That to this Eden bore Your almost hopeless souls:--how bold It seems to lie, all danger o'er, A speck amid the fluid gold That burns along the sh.o.r.e!

Five cloudless days have, from the placid deep, In glory risen o'er this refulgent Isle, And still the sun retired to rest too soon; And each night with more gracious smile, Guarding the lovers when they sleep, Hath watch'd the holy Moon.

Through many a dim and dazzling glade, They in their restless joy have stray'd, In many a grot repos'd, and twilight cave; Have wander'd round each ocean bay, And gazed where inland waters lay Serene as night, and bright as day, Untouch'd by wind or wave.

Happy their doom, though strange and wild, And soon their souls are reconciled For ever here to live, and here to die.

Why should they grieve? a constant mirth With music fills the air and earth, And beautifies the sky.

High on the rocks the wild-flowers shine In beauty bathed, and joy divine: In their dark nooks to them are given The sunshine and the dews of Heaven.

The fish that dart like silver gleams Are happy in their rock-bound streams, Happy as they that roam the Ocean's breast; Though far away on sounding wings Yon bird could fly, content he sings Around his secret nest.

And shall the Monarchs of this Isle Lament, when one unclouded smile Hangs like perpetual spring on every wood?

And often in their listening souls By a delightful awe subdued, G.o.d's voice, like mellow thunder, rolls All through the silent solitude.

Five days have fled!--The sun again, Like an angel, o'er the brightening Main Uplifts his radiant head; And full upon yon dewy bower, The warm tints of the dawning hour Mid warmer still are shed.

The sun pours not his light in vain On them who therein dwell:--a strain Of pious music, through the morning calm Wakening unwonted echoes, wildly rings, And kneeling there to Mercy's fane, While flowers supply their incense-balm, At the foot of yon majestic Palm The Maid her matins sings.

It is the Sabbath morn:--since last From Heaven it shone, what awful things have past!

In their beloved vessel as it roll'd In pride and beauty o'er the waves of gold, Then were they sailing free from all alarms, Rejoicing in her scarce-felt motion When the ship flew, or slumbering Ocean Detain'd her in his arms.

Beneath the sail's expanded shade, They and the thoughtless crew together pray'd, And sweet their voices rose above the wave; Nor seem'd it woeful as a strain That never was to rise again, And chaunted o'er the grave.

Ne'er seem'd before the Isle so bright; And when their hymns were ended, Oh! ne'er in such intense delight Had their rapt souls been blended.

Some natural tears they surely owed To those who wept for them, and fast they flow'd, And oft will flow amid their happiest hours; But not less fair the summer day, Though glittering through the sunny ray Are seen descending showers.

But how could Sorrow, Grief, or Pain, The glory of that morn sustain?

Alone amid the Wilderness More touching seem'd the holiness Of that mysterious day of soul-felt rest: They are the first that e'er adored On this wild spot their Heavenly Lord, Or gentle Jesus bless'd.

"O Son of G.o.d!"--How sweetly came Into their souls that blessed name!

Even like health's hope-reviving breath To one upon the bed of death.

"Our Saviour!"--What angelic grace Stole with dim smiles o'er Mary's face, While through the solitude profound With love and awe she breath'd that holy sound!

Yes! He will save! a still small voice To Mary's fervent prayer replied; Beneath his tender care rejoice, On earth who for his children died.

Her Lover saw that, while she pray'd, Communion with her G.o.d was given Unto her sinless spirit:--nought he said; But gazing on her with a fearful love, Such as saints feel for sister-souls above, Her cheek upon his bosom gently laid, And dreamt with her of Heaven.

Pure were their souls, as infant's breath, Who in its cradle guiltless sinks in death.

No place for human frailty this, Despondency or fears, Too beautiful the wild appears Almost for human bliss.

Was love like theirs then given in vain?

And must they, trembling, shrink from pure delight?

Or shall that G.o.d, who on the main Hath bound them with a billowy chain, Approve the holy rite, That, by their pious souls alone Perform'd before his silent throne In innocence and joy, Here, and in realms beyond the grave, Unites those whom the cruel wave Could not for grief destroy?

No fears felt they of guilt or sin, For sure they heard a voice within That set their hearts at rest; They pa.s.s'd the day in peaceful prayer, And when beneath the evening air They sought again their arbour fair, A smiling angel met them there, And bade their couch be blest.

Nor veil'd the Moon her virgin-light, But, clear and cloudless all the night, Hung o'er the flowers where love and beauty lay; And, loth to leave that holy bower, With lingering pace obey'd the power Of bright-returning day.

And say! what wanteth now the Isle of Palms, To make it happy as those Isles of rest (When eve the sky becalms Like a subsiding sea) That hang resplendent mid the gorgeous west, All brightly imaged, mountain, grove, and tree, The setting sun's last lingering pageantry!

Hath Fancy ever dreamt of seraph-Powers Walking in beauty through these cloud-framed bowers, Light as the mist that wraps their dazzling feet?

And hath she ever paused to hear, By moonlight brought unto her ear, Their hymnings wild and sweet?

Lo! human creatures meet her view As happy, and as beauteous too, As those aerial phantoms!--in their mien, Where'er they move, a graceful calm is seen All foreign to this utter solitude, Yet blended with such wild and fairy glide, As erst in Grecian Isle had beautified The guardian Deities of Grove and Flood.

Are these fair creatures earth-born and alive, And mortal like the flowers that round them smile?

Or if into the Ocean sank their Isle A thousand fathoms deep--would they survive,-- Like sudden rainbows spread their arching wings, And while, to chear their airy voyage, sings With joy the charmed sea, the Heavens give way, That in the spirits, who had sojourn'd long On earth, might glide, then re-a.s.sume their sway, And from the gratulating throng Of kindred spirits, drink the inexpressive song?

Oh! fairer now these blessed Lovers seem, Gliding like spirits through o'er-arching trees, Their beauty mellowing in the checquered light, Than, years ago, on that resplendent night, When yielded up to an unearthly dream, In their sweet ship they sail'd upon the seas.

Aye! years ago!--for in this temperate clime, Fleet, pa.s.sing fleet, the noiseless plumes of time Float through the fragrance of the sunny air; One little month seems scarcely gone, Since in a vessel of their own At eve they landed there.

Their bower is now a stately bower, For, on its roof, the loftiest flower To bloom so lowly grieves, And up like an ambitious thing That feareth nought, behold it spring Till it meet the high Palm-leaves!

The porch is opening seen no more, But folded up with blossoms h.o.a.r, And leaves green as the sea, And, when the wind hath found them out, The merry waves that dancing rout May not surpa.s.s in glee.

About their home so little art, They seem to live in Nature's heart, A sylvan court to hold In a palace framed of l.u.s.tre green, More rare than to the bright Flower Queen Was ever built of old.

Where are they in the hours of day?

--The birds are happy on the spray, The dolphins on the deep, Whether they wanton full of life, Or, wearied with their playful strife, Amid the sunshine sleep.

And are these things by Nature blest In sport, in labour, and in rest,-- And yet the Sovereigns of the Isle opprest With languor or with pain?

No! with light glide, and chearful song, Through flowers and fruit they dance along, And still fresh joys, uncall'd for, throng Through their romantic reign.

The wild-deer bounds along the rock, But let him not yon hunter mock, Though strong, and fierce, and fleet; For he will trace his mountain-path, Or else his antler's threatening wrath In some dark winding meet.