WOODLAND SONG.
Will you go to the woodlands with me, with me,
Will you go to the woodlands with me?
When the sun's on the hill, and all nature is still,
Save the sound of the far-dashing sea.
For I love to lie lone on the hill, the hill,
I love to lie lone on the hill,
When earth, sea, and sky, in loveliness vie,
And all nature around me is still.
Then my fancy is ever awake, awake,
My fancy is never asleep;
Like a bird on the wing, like a swan on the lake,
Like a ship far away on the deep.
And I love 'neath the green boughs to lie, to lie;
I love 'neath the green boughs to lie;
And see far above, like the smiling of love,
A glimpse, now and then, of the sky.
When the hum of the forest I hear, I hear,
When the hum of the forest I hear,—
'Tis solitude's prayer, pure devotion is there,
And its breathings I ever revere.—
I kneel myself down on the sod, the sod,
I kneel myself down on the sod,
'Mong the flowers and wild heath, and an orison breathe
In lowliness up to my God.
Then peace doth descend on my mind, my mind,
Then peace doth descend on my mind;
And I gain greater scope to my spirit and hope,
For both then become more refined.
Oh! whatever my fate chance to be, to be,
My spirit shall never repine,
If a stroll on the hill, if a glimpse of the sea,
If the hum of the forest be mine.
SONNET.
THE OCEAN.
Oh! that the Ocean were my element!
And I could dwell among its deepest waves,
Like one whose home is in its gushing caves,
Beneath the waters, whether tame or rent.
Would I could roam down where the Mermaid laves
Her half-formed limbs!—for Envy comes not there,
Nor Pride nor Hatred, nor is Malice sent,
Nor the deep sullenness of dark Despair.
Would I were not of earth—but of the sea!
And held communion with its creatures fair:
Gentle in its gentleness, but whene'er
A tempest shook it, and the winds were free,
My bounding spirit would delight to soar,
Float in its foam, and revel in its roar!
MOUNT HOREB. [(5)]
Oh, Holy Mount! on every side
Deserts are stretching far and wide,
Where thou, uptowering to the sky,}
Dost shoot thy double head on high,}
Mount Horeb, and Mount Sinai;}
And when the weary traveller stands,
Alone amid the sterile sands,
Seeking for water, vain pursuit,
To quench his thirst, grown absolute,
Groaning, as fainter grows his hope,
For water!—water!—but a drop,
His ever burning thirst t' appease;
He through the sudden moonlight sees
Thy dark and shadowy masses rise,
A solace to his weary eyes;
Then gladly on he wends, for he
Becomes refreshed at sight of thee;
For well he knows, that springs and fruit,
Above, below, thy sides salute;
For o'er the wastes of Rephidim,
There is no spot of peace for him,
Until he reach the rock, whence burst
A well, to quench the raging thirst
Of Israel, when they murmured there,
For water, in their deep despair.
Thrice Sacred Mount! how oft hast thou,
(Though none but pilgrims tread thee now,)
Been hallowed as the blest abode
Of the Most High! Jehovah! God!
Whene'er in furthering his plan
Of mercy and of love to man,
He deigned to touch our earth, to hold
Communion with his Seers of old,
His presence consecrated thee,
His temple and his throne to be.
'Twas on thy Mount that God, concealed
Within the burning bush, revealed
To Moses his command, to free
His people from their slavery.
There, from the midst of fire and flame,
He did his perfect law proclaim:
Then seemed God's presence in their sight,
A great, a mighty burst of light
Upon thy topmost mount, a fire
Devouring, brighter, deeper, higher,
Than e'er their eyes beheld, a crown
Of glory on thy head, that down
Through all the desert brightness past,
Like wild flame from a holocaust:
And gazing on thy glorious height,}
Israel was dazzled by the sight}
Of that intolerable light.}
Pursued by persecution's flame,
Elijah to the desert came;
And as he rested in thy cave,
Which shelter and concealment gave,
God spoke! he lay entranced in fear,
"Elijah! speak! what dost thou here?"
He answered,—"Jezabel abhorred
Hath put the prophets to the sword,
And I alone escaped, to be
A prophet and a priest to thee."
Then the Almighty gave command,
"Go forth, and on the mountain stand!"
But ere Elijah could reply,
A great and mighty wind passed by,
Which rent the mountains and the rocks
In pieces, by resistless shocks:
The desert sands uprose afar,
Moving like giant forms in war;
But, when the tempest ceased to rave,
Elijah still within the cave,
Remained unhurt, unmoved, alone—
A mighty earthquake's shock anon
Shook to its base the Sacred Mount,
And soon a fire, like a small fount,
Came bursting from the highest spot,
Increasing, but consuming not.
The earthquake vanished as it came,
And after it that holy flame;
And hark! a still small voice was heard,
Like sweetest music from a bird;
A still small voice! that speaks to youth
Of wisdom, piety, and truth:
Elijah heard—with solemn pace,
(His mantle covering his face,)
He rose and stood without the cave,
Relying on God's power to save:
The hurricane had past away,
And calm and bright the prospect lay;
Far up the double mountain stood,
Varied by water and by wood;
He saw the herbage thickly grow,
The bubbling springs, and far below
He saw the semicircular fount,
That like a bent bow skirts the mount;
He saw the desert spread beneath,
Like an extended vale of death;
He saw the blue sky far above,
Light up in one bright blaze of love;
A burst, of sunshine fell on him,
To which all other light was dim;
He heard again that still small voice,
Which made his inmost heart rejoice:
It was the Lord! and power he gave
Elijah, to anoint and save.
Thrice Blessed Mount! thou art a sign,
A type of penitence divine;
Whene'er in darkness and in fear,
We wander in the desert drear
Of sin, and doubt, the welcome light
Of truth breaks sudden on our sight;
The heart becomes a hallowed dome,
Where holy feelings find a home;
For there the law of God secure,
Makes every thought and impulse pure:
Repentance may be slow to bring
Comfort and healing on its wing;
The doubting sinner in despair,
Asks, trembling, in a hurried prayer,
If guilt like his, of foulest trace,
Can hope for pardon and for grace:
But, when such doubts are swept away,
The still small voice of truth bears sway:
For Jesus died and rose again,
To free the world from guilt and pain:
Jesus, the only Son of God,
Like Moses, takes the gospel rod,
And strikes the barren rock within,
Hardened by wickedness and sin—
Whence springs a living well, to free
The thirsty soul from misery.
He, like Elijah from his cave,
Came to the world with power to save;
And Israel, trusting to his aid,
Shall innocent and pure be made;
Redeemed, shall reach the heavenly land,
Supported by his mighty hand.
WRITTEN BENEATH AN ELM,
In a City Churchyard.
Under thy shadow how many recline,
Who never knew rest 'neath the fig-tree or vine![2]
They pass from the banquet, the mall and the mart,
Here they meet, here they mingle, never to part.
Who comes from the porch, with colourless vest,
And faded black coat, once the minister's best?
The mattock and shovel support him like staves,
As he totters familiarly over the graves.
'Tis the hoary old sexton, whose home has been here,
Since the days of his boyhood—and now he is sere;
These mounds are his world—he can name all the lairs,
As a monarch his realms, or a merchant his wares.
Yet though he apportions a dwelling for all,
And delights when he handles the mattock and pall;
Though his thin hairs are gray, and though feeble his pace,
He ne'er for himself yet has chosen a place.
Thou wert here when his sire did this office fulfil—
When the son too is gone, thou wilt blossom here still:
How strange that the grass, and the trees, and the weeds,
Flourish best on that spot whence corruption proceeds!
On thy trunk some rude sculptor has carved out his name—
Idle labour! for fleeting and false is such fame:
Lo! wherever we look there is charactered stone,
But to whom is the dust each commemorates known?
Oh! bury me not by the multitude's side,
I would shun them in death, as in life I avoid;
Where the loathsome newt creeps, 'neath the rank hemlock's shade,
Is not where I would that my bones should be laid.
But bear me away to the limitless sea,
And heave me afar 'mong its billows so free:
Where my flesh may be wasted, but never shall rot—
Where man is not dust, and corruption is not.
Oh delight! to be tost from wild wave to wild wave—
I seek not for rest—it is found in the grave—
And my skeleton bleach on the foam it is cast—
A link of the future—a wreck of the past.
But alas! if the doom of my kind must be mine,
If my bones in the land of decay must recline;
Seek me out some lone glen, some wild Highland vale,
Where the tempest's loud shriek shall my coronach wail.
A rude rugged land, with a wild heather sod,
Where the sun never shone, where man's foot never trod;
Where the gleam of the day falls with withering blight,
And a desolate darkness comes with the night.
Where the waterfall roars like a storm o'er the heath,
The scathed Pine above, and the hoar Elm beneath;
'Mongst the lone, and the mighty, the vast and the deep—
'Tis there, as their own, that a Poet should sleep.
[2] Micah iv. 4.