The Isle of Palms, and Other Poems Part 9

Some on our low-framed beds then chose their seat, Each maid the youth that loved her best beside, While many a gentle look, and whisper sweet, Brought to the stripling's face a gladsome pride.

The playful children on the velvet green, Soon as the first-felt bashfulness was fled, Smiled to each other at the wondrous scene, And whisper'd words they to each other said, And raised in sportive fit the shining, golden head!

Then did we learn that this our stranger tent, Seen by the lake-side gleaming like a sail, Had quickly spread o'er mountain and o'er vale A gentle shock of pleased astonishment.

The lonely dwellers by the lofty rills, Gazed in surprise upon th' unwonted sight, The wandering shepherds saw it from the hills, And quick descended from their airy height.

Soon as the voice of simple song and prayer Ceased in the little chapel of the dell, The congregation did in peace repair To the lake-side, to view our wondrous cell.

While leaving, for one noon, both young and old, Their cl.u.s.ter'd hamlets in this deep recess, All join the throng, in conscious good-will bold, Elate and smiling in their Sabbath-dress, A mingled various groupe of homely happiness!

And thus our tent a joyous scene became, Where loving hearts from distant vales did meet As at some rural festival, and greet Each other with glad voice and kindly name.

Here a pleased daughter to her father smiled, With fresh affection in her soften'd eyes; He in return look'd back upon his child With gentle start and tone of mild surprise: And on his little grand-child, at her breast, An old man's blessing and a kiss bestow'd, Or to his cheek the lisping baby prest, Light'ning the mother of her darling load; While comely matrons, all sedately ranged Close to their husbands' or their children's side, A neighbour's friendly greeting interchanged, And each her own with frequent glances eyed, And raised her head in all a mother's harmless pride.

Happy were we among such happy hearts!

And to inspire with kindliness and love Our simple guests, ambitiously we strove, With novel converse and endearing arts!

We talk'd to them, and much they loved to hear, Of those sweet vales from which we late had come; For though these vales are to each other near, Seldom do dalesmen leave their own dear home: Then would we speak of many a wondrous sight Seen in great cities,--temple, tower, and spire, And winding streets at night-fall blazing bright With many a star-like lamp of glimmering fire.

The gray-hair'd men with deep attention heard, Viewing the speaker with a solemn face, While round our feet the playful children stirr'd, And near their parents took their silent place, Listening with looks where wonder breathed a glowing grace.

And much they gazed with never-tired delight On varnish'd rod, with joints that shone like gold, And silken line on glittering reel enroll'd, To infant anglers a most wondrous sight!

Scarce could their chiding parents then controul Their little hearts in harmless malice gay, But still one, bolder than his fellows, stole To touch the tempting treasures where they lay.

What rapture glistened in their eager eyes, When, with kind voice, we bade these children take A precious store of well-dissembled flies, To use with caution for the strangers' sake!

The unlook'd-for gift we graciously bestow With sudden joy the leaping heart o'erpowers; They grasp the lines, while all their faces glow Bright as spring-blossoms after sunny showers, And wear them in their hats like wreaths of valley-flowers!

Nor could they check their joyance and surprise, When the clear crystal and the silver bowl Gleamed with a novel beauty on their soul, And the wine mantled with its rosy dies.

For all our pomp we shew'd with mickle glee, And choicest viands, fitly to regale, On such a day of rare festivity, Our guests thus wondering at their native vale.

And oft we pledged them, nor could they decline The social cup we did our best to press, But mingled wishes with the joyful wine, Warm wishes for our health and happiness.

And all the while, a low, delightful sound Of voice, soft-answering voice, with music fill'd Our fairy palace's enchanted ground, Such tones as seem from blooming tree distill'd, Where unseen bees repair their waxen cells to build.

Lost as we were in that most blessed mood Which Nature's sons alone can deeply prove, We lavish'd with free heart our kindest love On all who breath'd,--one common brotherhood.

Three faithful servants, men of low degree, Were with us, as we roamed the wilds among, And well it pleased their simple hearts to see Their masters mingling with the rural throng.

Oft to our guests they sought to speak aside, And, in the genial flow of gladness, told That we were free from haughtiness or pride, Though scholars all, and rich in lands and gold.

We smiled to hear our praise thus rudely sung, (Well might such praise our modesty offend) Yet, we all strove, at once with eye and tongue To speak, as if invited by a friend, And with our casual talk instruction's voice to blend.

Rumours of wars had reached this peaceful vale, And of the Wicked King, whom guilt hath driven On earth to wage a warfare against Heaven, These sinless shepherds had heard many a tale.

Encircled as we were with smiles and joy, In quietness to Quiet's dwelling brought, To think of him whose bliss is to destroy, At such a season was an awful thought!

We felt the eternal power of happiness And virtue's power; we felt with holy awe That in this world, in spite of chance distress, Such is the Almighty Spirit's ruling law.

And joyfully did we these shepherds tell To hear all rumours with a tranquil mind, For, in the end, that all would yet be well, Nor this bad Monarch leave one trace behind, More than o'er yonder hills the idly-raving wind.

Then gravely smiled, in all the power of age, A h.o.a.ry-headed, venerable man, Like the mild chieftain of a peaceful clan, 'Mid simple spirits looked on as a sage.

Much did he praise the holy faith we held, Which G.o.d, he said, to chear the soul had given, For even the very angels that rebelled, By sin performed the blessed work of Heaven.

The Wicked King, of whom we justly spake, Was but an instrument in G.o.d's wise hand, And though the kingdoms of the earth might quake, Peace would revisit every ravaged land.

Even as the earthquake, in some former time, Scatter'd yon rugged mountain far and wide, Till years of winter's snow and summer's prime, To naked cliffs fresh verdure have supplied, --Now troops of playful lambs are bounding on its side.

Pleased were the simple groupe to hear the sire Thus able to converse with men from far, And much did they of vaguely-rumour'd war, That long had raged in distant lands, enquire.

Scarce could their hearts, at peace with all mankind, Believe what b.l.o.o.d.y deeds on earth are done, That man of woman born should be so blind As walk in guilt beneath the blessed sun; And one, with thoughtful countenance, exprest A fear lest on some dark disastrous day, Across the sea might come that noisome pest, And make fair England's happy vales his prey.

Short lived that fear!--soon firmer thoughts arise: Well could these dalesmen wield the patriot's sword, And stretch the foe beneath the smiling skies; In innocence they trust, and in the Lord, Whom they, that very morn, in gladness had adored!

But soon such thoughts to lighter speech give way; We in our turn a willing ear did lend To tale of sports, that made them blythely spend The winter-evening and the summer-day.

Smiling they told us of the harmless glee That bids the echoes of the mountains wake, When at the stated festival they see Their new-wash'd flocks come snow-white from the lake; And joyful dance at neighbouring village fair, Where lads and la.s.ses, in their best attire, Go to enjoy that playful pastime rare, And careful statesmen shepherds new to hire!

Or they would tell, how, at some neighbour's cot, When nights are long, and winter on the earth, All cares are in the dance and song forgot, And round the fire quick flies the circling mirth, When nuptial vows are pledged, or at an infant's birth!

Well did the roses blooming on their cheek, And eyes of laughing light, that glisten'd fair Beneath the artless ringlets of their hair, Each maiden's health and purity bespeak.

Following the impulse of their simple will, No thought had they to give or take offence; Glad were their bosoms, yet sedate and still, And fearless in the strength of innocence.

Oft as, in accents mild, we strangers spoke To these sweet maidens, an unconscious smile Like sudden sunshine o'er their faces broke, And with it struggling blushes mix'd the while.

And oft as mirth and glee went laughing round, Breath'd in this maiden's ear some harmless jest Would make her, for one moment, on the ground Her eyes let fall, as wishing from the rest To hide the sudden throb that beat within her breast.

Oh! not in vain have purest poets told, In elegies and hymns that ne'er shall die, How, in the fields of famous Arcady, Lived simple shepherds in the age of gold!

They fabled not, in peopling rural shades With all most beautiful in heart and frame; Where without guile swains woo'd their happy maids, And love was friendship with a gentler name.

Such songs in truth and nature had their birth, Their source was lofty and their aim was pure, And still, in many a favour'd spot of earth, The virtues that awoke their voice endure!

Bear witness thou! O, wild and beauteous dell, To whom my gladden'd heart devotes this strain; --O! long may all who in thy bosom dwell Nature's primeval innocence retain, Nor e'er may lawless foot thy sanct.i.ty profane!

Sweet Maids! my wandering heart returns to you; And well the blush of joy, the courteous air, Words unrestrained, and open looks declare That fancy's day-dreams have not been untrue.

It was indeed a beauteous thing, to see The virgin, while her bashful visage smiled, As if she were a mother, on her knee Take up, with many a kiss, the asking child.

And well, I ween, she play'd the mother's part; For as she bended o'er the infant fair, A mystic joy seem'd stirring at her heart, A yearning fondness, and a silent prayer.

Nor did such gentle maiden long refuse To cheer our spirits with some favourite strain, Some simple ballad, framed by rustic muse, Of one who died for love, or, led by gain, Sail'd in a mighty ship to lands beyond the main.

And must we close this scene of merriment?

--Lo! in the lake soft burns the star of eve, And the night-hawk hath warn'd our guests to leave, Ere darker shades descend, our happy tent.

The Moon's bright edge is seen above the hill; She comes to light them on their homeward way; And every heart, I ween, now lies as still As on yon fleecy cloud her new-born ray.

Kindly by young and old our hands are press'd, And kindly we the gentle touch return; Each face declares that deep in every breast Peace, virtue, friendship, and affection burn.

At last beneath the silent air we part, And promise make that shall not be in vain, A promise asked and given warm from the heart, That we will visit all, on hill and plain, If e'er it be our lot to see this land again!

Backward they gazed, as slowly they withdrew, With step reluctant, from the water-side; And oft, with waving hand, at distance tried Through the dun light to send a last adieu!

One lovely groupe still linger'd on the green, The first to come, the last to go away; While steep'd in stillness of the moonlight scene, Moor'd to a rock their little pinnace lay.

These laughing damsels climb its humble side, Like fairy elves that love the starry sea; Nor e'er did billows with more graceful glide 'Mid the wild main enjoy their liberty.

Their faces brightening in triumphant hue, Close to each maid their joyful lovers stand; One gives the signal,--all the jovial crew Let go, with tender press, the yielding hand; --Down drop the oars at once,--away they push from land.

The boat hath left the silent bank, the tone Of the retiring oar escapes the mind; Like mariners some ship hath left behind, We feel, thus standing speechless and alone.

One moment lives that melancholy trance-- The mountains ring: Oh! what a joy is there!

As hurries o'er their heights, in circling dance, Cave-loving Echo, Daughter of the Air.

Is it some spirit of night that wakes the shout, As o'er the cliffs, with headlong speed, she ranges?

Is it, on plain and steep, some fairy rout Answering each other in tumultuous changes?

There seems amid the hills a playful war; Trumpet and clarion join the mystic noise; Now growing on the ear, now dying far!

Great Gabel from his summit sends a voice, And the remotest depths of Ennerdale rejoice!

Oh! well I know what means this din of mirth!

No spirits are they, who, trooping through the sky, In chorus swell that mountain-melody; --It comes from mortal children of the earth!

These are the voices that so late did chear Our tent with laughter; from the hills they come With friendly sound unto our listening ear, A jocund farewell to our glimmering home.

Loth are our guests, though they have linger'd long, That our sweet tent at last should leave their sight; So with one voice they sing a parting song, Ere they descend behind the clouds of night.

Nor are we mute; an answering shout we wake, At each short pause of the long, lengthening sound, Till all is silent as the silent Lake, And every noise above, below, around, Seems in the brooding night-sky's depth of slumber drown'd!

Soon from that calm our spirits start again With blyther vigour; nought around we see, Save lively images of mirth and glee, And playful fancies hurry through our brain.

Shine not, sweet Moon! with such a haughty light; Ye stars! behind your veil of clouds retire; For we shall kindle on the earth, this night, To drown your feeble rays, a joyous fire.

Bring the leaves withering in the holly-shade, The oaken branches sapless now and h.o.a.r, The fern no longer green, and whins that fade 'Mid the thin sand that strews the rocky sh.o.r.e.

Heap them above that new-awaken'd spark; Soon shall a pyramid of flame arise; Now the first rustling of the vapour, hark!

The kindling spirit from its prison flies, And in an instant mounts in glory to the skies!

Far gleams the Lake, as in the light of day, Or when, from mountain-top, the setting sun, Ere yet his earth-delighting course is run, Sheds on the slumbering wave a purple ray.

A bright'ning verdure runs o'er every field, As if by potent necromancer shed, And a dark wood is suddenly reveal'd, A glory resting on its ancient head.

And oh! what radiant beauty doth invest Our tent that seems to feel a conscious pride, Whiter by far than any cygnet's breast, Or cygnet's shadow floating with the tide.

A warmer flush unto the moonlight cold, Winning its lovely way, is softly given, A silvery radiance tinged with vivid gold; While thousand mimic stars are gayly driven Through the bright-glistening air, scarce known from those in Heaven.

Amid the flame our lurid figures stand, Or, through the shrouding vapour dimly view'd, To fancy seem, in that strange solitude, Like the wild brethren of some lawless band.

One, s.n.a.t.c.hing from the heap a blazing bough, Would, like lone maniac, from the rest retire, And, as he waved it, mutter deep a vow, His head encircled with a wreath of fire.