* * * and I
Am reading, too, my book of memory:
With eyelids closed, over the crested foam,
And the blue marbled sea, I seek my home.
All present things forgotten, on the shore
Of the romantic Forth I stand once more;
Once more I hear the waves' harmonious strife;
Once more, upon the mountain coast of Fife,
I see the checker'd lights and shadows fall.
Upon the sand crumbles the ruin'd wall
That guards no more the desolate demesne,
And the deserted mansion. High between
The summer clouds the Ochil hills arise;
And far, far, like a shadow in the skies,
Ben Lomond towers aloft in sovereign height.
O, Cramond beach! are thy sands still as bright--
Thy waters still as sunny,--thy wild shore
As lonely and as lovely as of yore?--
Haunts of my happy time! as wandering back
Along my life, on memory's faithful track,
How fair ye seem,--how fair, how dear ye are!
Ye need not to be gazed at from afar;
Deceptive distance lends no brighter hue;
Your beauty and your peacefulness were true.
Not yours the charms from which we wearied stray,
And own them only when they're far away.
O, be ye blest for all the happiness
Which I have known in your wild loneliness.
Old sea, whose voice yet chimes upon my ear,--
Old paths, whose every winding step was dear,--
Dark rocky promontories,--echoing caves,
Worn hollow by the white feet of the waves,--
Blue lake-like waters,--legend-haunted isle,
Over ye all, bright be the summer's smile;
And gently fall the winter on your breast,
Haunts of my youth, my memory's place of rest.
_Wednesday, May 1st._
Mr. ---- came in the morning, and I settled to call down at eleven for
Mrs. ---- to go to the fair. We drove to Faneuil Hall, a building
opposite the market, which was appropriated to the uses of the fair; but
the crowd was so dense round the steps, that we found it impossible to
approach them, and wisely gave up the attempt, determining to take our
drive, and then come back and try our later fortune. We drove down to
the Chelsea beach. The day was bleak and cold, though bright, with a
cutting east wind. After taking a good race along the bright creaming
edge, we returned to the carriage, and drove into town again to the
fair, which we managed at last to enter. The whole thing was crowd,
crush, and confusion, to my bewildered eyes. We got upon a platform
behind the stalls, and squeezed our way to Mrs. ----'s shop, where my
father had desired me to buy him a card-case, which I did. I found ----
installed in her stall. ---- joined us, and Mr. ----, who drew me away
to his wife's table, where I bought one or two things, and, having
emptied my purse, came away. After dinner, Mr. ---- came in: he showed
us some things he had bought at the fair. I thought the prices enormous,
but the money is well spent in itself, or rather, on its ultimate
object, and the immediate return is of no import.
_Thursday, 2d._
After breakfast, went over to rehearsal; at half-past eleven, went out
to ride: the day was heavenly, bright, and mild, with a full, soft,
sweet spring breeze blowing life and health over one. The golden
willow-trees were all in flower, and the air, as we rode by them, was
rich with their fragrance. The sky was as glorious as the sky of
Paradise: the whole world was full of loveliness; and my spirits were in
most harmonious tune with all its beauty. We rode along the chiming
beach, talking gravely of many matters, temporal and spiritual; and when
we reached the pines, I dismounted, entreated for a scrap of paper,
and, in the miserable little parlour of this miserable little mansion,
sat down and scribbled some miserable doggrel to ease my heart. How
beautiful the scene around me was! the bright boundless sea, smooth as a
sapphire, except at the restless rippling edge; the serene holy sky
looking down so earnestly and gently on the flowering earth; the
reviving breeze, dipping like a bird its fresh wings into the
water,--how beautiful all things did seem to me,--how full of witnesses
of the great power and goodness that created them. Why is it that clouds
ever come between us and God when there are seasons like this, when we
seem to sit at his very feet,--when his glory and his mercy seem the
atmosphere we are breathing, and our whole existence is lifted, for a
time, into the reality of all we hope and pray for? Yet these are but
passing emotions: they are not, indeed, the very spirit of God,--they
are but reflections of his image, caught from the glorious mirror of
nature. The sky becomes cloudy,--the sea stormy; the blossoming and the
bearing seasons pass away, and winter comes apace, with withered aspect,
and bitter biting breath; the face of the universe becomes dark, and the
trust, and faith, and joy of our souls, fade into doubt, disbelief, and
sorrow. Infirmity and imperfection pluck us back from our heavenward
flight, and the weight of our mortality drags us down fast, fast again
towards the earth. These fair outward creatures, and the blessed
emotions they excite, will pass away,--must--do pass away,--and where is
the abiding revelation of God to which we shall turn? It lives for ever,
in the still burning light of a strong and steadfast soul; in the
resolute will and high unshaken purpose of good; in the quiet, calm,
collected might of reason; in the undying warmth and brightness of a
pure and holy heart.
* * * * *
My ride did me ten thousand goods. As we were riding through Mrs. ----'s
farm, a little boy came running to meet me with his hand full of
beautiful flowers, which he stood upon tiptoe to thrust into my hand,
and, without waiting to be thanked, rushed back into the house. I was
delighted: the flowers were exquisite, and the manner of the gift very
enchanting. Altogether, I do not know when I have been so completely
filled with pleasurable emotions as during this ride.
* * * * *
* * * * *