They found themselves within a woody glade;
And hoards of glittering wealth around them cast,
Which to the Castle unseen hands conveyed;
And now that mighty fortalice displayed
No signs of ruin, but it stood erect
In all its former gorgeousness arrayed,
A noble building with a proud aspéct
Its enemies to daunt, its inmates to protect.
Bright was the morning, when that truth-tried pair
Their glad vows plighted to the sacred priest;
Brave banners fluttered in the mountain air,
Proud music floated, and the marriage feast,
By regal bounty and rich gifts increased,
Was gaily honoured through the realms around;
Nor yet for many days those pleasures ceased,
But they in castle, and in cot were found,
Making each spirit blithe, each joyous heart rebound.
The brave Fidelio in the Holy Land
Had won such treasures from the Infidel,
All by the might of valour’s potent hand,
When in these last wars he had sought to quell
His arrogant power; that to his share there fell
Such mighty wealth as all his sacrifice
Of fervent piety repaid full well,
Redeeming back his lands; mid gay surprise
To twice endow Lenore, to him the noblest prize!
Rich were the hours of their unfolding love,
And sweeter still the time of plighted vows,
But richer, sweeter far than these above,
Their wedded life, when every hour arose
Some new and deep affection to disclose;
Some fond remembrance, some delighted thought
To link their hearts. Oft in this hushed repose
Of mutual confidence their feelings caught
The poet’s sacred fire, and thus in songs were wrought—
Canzonet.
How sweet, how delightful it is to remember
Our first happy days when affection began,
And Love, the gay truant, the roguish dissembler,
Seemed sporting as lightly as spring breezes fan.
But soon that designer in strong finks had caught us,
And smiled at our bondage ere we were aware
Of the pleasing deception, the mischief he wrought us,
In mingling together rich joy and deep care.
Then oft on our absence what sadness awaited,
What hope and despondency, pleasure and pain,
In varied succession, with thrill unabated,
Till calmed by our meeting to gladness again.
But sweetest that season, when young Love had yielded
To Hymen’s rich keeping his strength and his power,
And the god on our passion smiled gaily, and sealed it
In bonds of endurance to life’s latest hour.
Since then have we known the bright pleasures of living,
That purest delight of heart beating with heart;
When thoughts and affections, deep feelings, emotions
In varied succession high rapture impart.
Of all the rich boons that to mortals are given,
With wreaths of pure pleasure their brows to entwine;
Ah! none can be dearer, more breathing of heaven
Than the joy of true love in “for ever I’m thine!”
Here will we leave this soul-devoted pair,
Their wedded days in happiness to spend;
Nor bid again to vanish into air
Visions and fancies that the muse hath penned;
But let their brightness with our spirits blend
And their clear moral elevate the heart.
For now ’tis time this votive song had end,
So poor in thought and music—pray impart
Due pardon to my lyre that ill hath done its part!
When she had ceased, each heart around confessed
She owned poetic powers, and that to her
It was a labour of devoted love
To weave the rhythm of the poet’s song,
And frame his numbered melody. An ear,
By close acquaintance with the lofty tones
And modulations of the noble verse
Of our great bards, may soon acquire the power
And skill to versify; and likewise thought
May be illumed by their poetic light,
Until it shine with lustre, and give forth
A seeming inbred poesy. The bard,
The true and native bard, does more than this;
There is within him a far deeper fount
Of innate feeling; and his radiant mind
Shines not with light reflected, but gives forth,
When warmed by passions burning in his heart,
Its own clear coruscations; like those stars
Which flash across the sky, so swift and bright,
We wonder whence they came. And so with her
Was thought creative, and gave mystic birth
To things and beings, lifeless hitherto.
Now all are waiting for the last regale
Which is to crown the whole, and bring to end
This contest of sweet verse. A mother’s voice
Would give it utterance, a mother’s heart
Was its warm birth-place; and each one presaged
A song that breathed affection. Oh how calm,
How sweet she looked, amidst that family,
Her mild cheek beaming with maternal love:
How simple and how fair! her very dress,
So plain and neat, to her appearance gave
A saint-like aspect—not the gloomy saint
Of ghostly superstition—but the true,
The real, the bright, the one whose cheerful heart
Adores the love of Heaven, and lets its love
Flow freely o’er on all. And there she sat
Close by the fire-side, in the place assigned
To venerated guests. Yet none would take
That antique chair, but with a general voice
Awarded it to her; and said the joys
And innocent pastimes could not be commenced
Till she consented to retain that seat
As her’s alone. And reverent she looked,
And well she graced it, as the firelight played
On her pure countenance, and silver hair
Whose thin braids peeped beneath a seemly cap
Of snowy whiteness. Such a holy calm
Suffused her features, as can spring alone
From peace of heart within. Her soul had known
Dark trials on the earth, but they had wrought
To purify and strengthen, till her faith
Was bright and cheerful, and her hope serene.
She now with retrospective eye beheld
That Goodness was in all, and hence her life
Was bright and beautiful, as golden skies
That usher in the calm repose of night.
Before attempting to impart her verse
According to old promise, with a voice
Of winning modesty she softly said
She was no poetess, but merely brought
Some thoughts and feelings from a mother’s heart
In simple language rendered. She rejoiced
With soul-felt gladness to behold around
So many loving friends; and further still
To see her sons and daughters glad and gay
With native cheerfulness, and strong in health.
For this her heart was thankful. But her ear—
And whose is quicker than a mother’s ear—
Had missed the gentle tones of one sweet voice
From that glad Hall, which but two years ago,
On the same festive night, with accents soft
Mixed in gay concert there. She knew that none
Had ’ere forgot her Edith, but that all
Bore her in loved remembrance; and some thoughts
Of sacred elevation well became
The time and season; and she therefore brought
Some simple lines in memory of her,
As fittest tribute from a mother’s breast—
A song she best could frame. With few words more
Of preface, or apology she read—
An Elegy on Edith.
Place o’er her tomb a simple cross,
The emblem of Redemptive love,
To bid us hope, amidst our loss,
And trace her flight to realms above.
She lies not there—the feeble frame
Alone reposes ’neath the sod;
But her bright soul, that vital flame
Now shines before the throne of God.
Her eye so dark, will glance no more,
Her raven hair in ringlets wave;
The music of her voice is o’er,
And her light step is in the grave.
No more will mortal eye behold
That form so lovely, soft, and fair;
Now blending with the earth’s damp mould,
Or scattered through the realms of air.
Her tears are dried, but she hath left
To us a legacy of tears;
To be of her sweet love bereft
Must dim the eye through future years!
But ah! much deeper grief will wring
And anguish tear that mother’s breast,
Where she in infancy did cling
And slumbered in a holy rest.
But I forbear—and seek to calm
All earthly grief with heavenly hope,
And aided by its healing balm
Give not my hidden sorrow scope.
Then let us raise our thoughts on high,
And trace her spirit’s glorious flight
From sorrow, pain, and agony
To peace and joy in worlds of light.
Is she afar? ah! thin the veil
That hides the spirit-land from view;
Such thoughts instinctively prevail,
And my fond heart believes them true.
The angels’ is an inner world,
Not distant, but in life more high;
Though now in fleshly vestments furled
To us are kindred spirits nigh.
And I can think that when I quit
This “earthly house” for glory bright,
Me first her angel-smile will greet,
And her hand lead through realms of light.
Throughout the strain a mournful sadness breathed,
Yet mixed with elevated hope, and made
All bosoms move in sympathy, and eyes
Suffuse themselves with tears. But not of grief
And sorrow unalloyed. For there are thoughts
So lofty, elevated, pure and sweet,
Linked with affection and devotion, warm
In contemplating loved ones passed from earth,
That the bright tears they strew upon the cheek
Are more like dew-drops, ’neath some twilight sky
All glad and rosy, than the chilling rain
That falls from gloomy clouds. Now sacred thought
Was kindled in each breast, and musings calm
Which suited well the season and the hour;
Then all spoke of retiring, for the time
When the first star that shewed its feeble light,
Whilst day was darkening, in the furthest east,
Should have attained its highest point in heaven
Had come, but oh how swiftly! Happy hours
And peaceful had been spent, and every heart
Was filled with gladness; and a holier love
Warmed every bosom, such sweet fellowship
Had reigned triumphant there. With cheerful looks
And grateful, farewell greetings for the night
To host and hostess, each delighted guest
Went to the room warm hospitality
Had set apart for him; yet with the hope,
The glad and confident hope that day would bring—
And many days succeeding—such pure joys
And pleasures innocent, as o’er his heart
Had softly flowed amid the recent hours
Of social glee. The antique hall was soon
By its gay crowd deserted. On the hearth
The giant yule-log, lessened to a stick,
Burnt with a crimson glow, but through a veil
Of thin white wavering ash. The warmth it gave
Is now diminished, and the keen frost-air
Pierces the lonely room. Farewell old scene
Of oft-remembered joys—to thee, good night!
And now withdrawn to solitude, I may
Let thought make free excursions, and review
The recent hours of pleasure. There are times
When we think inwardly, that is more deep
Within our being, so that images
Distinct and palpable, are scarcely seen
To flit before the mental eye; yet thought
Rolls on in fulness, like a mountain stream
Deep, sweeping, vast, but ’neath the clouds of night
Silent and unrevealed. Such most is felt
When many persons, actions, words, and things
Have passed before us quickly; then they crowd
The mind too fully, to let each stand out
In individual being; but they all
Are lodged within the memory, and come forth
So fresh and vital, during future days,
And oft so unexpectedly, we start
To see them rise again as from the grave.
Oh wondrous is our being! every thing
That e’er hath passed before us: every thought
That flitted cloud-like o’er our realm of mind;
And every feeling that hath urged the heart,
E’en with a slight vibration, seems to leave
A certain impress stamped upon the soul
As with a seal eternal: sendeth forth
A living substance, from the which is built
Our being and identity; conjoins
By mystic sympathies, and secret links,
Our spirits unto others. Little knows
Philosophy, though brightly on advance,
About the inner world, the world of mind.
The earth’s deep crust she pierced hath, and made
Mankind astonished at its boundless age;
Her outstretched hand has spanned the wilds of space,
And shewn the distance infinite of stars;
Her hawk-like glance hath downward looked, and seen
Whole worlds of vital being in dim grains
As small as summer dust. High are these truths,
And mighty and ennobling; but still more
And greater have to come, when she hath searched
The world of matter more, till its known laws,
And comprehended principles have given
A greater strength, and more divining power
To pierce far deeper mysteries, and scan
The inner world of spirit. Newton learnt
The law that binds the universe in one
From a mere apple’s fall. If sages pore
As thoughtfully on mind, may they not bring
Some hidden things to light, that may reveal
Great laws and simple, that shall elevate
All science far beyond its present flight,
Though eagle-like its wing now seems to reach
The sun of Truth, so loftily it soars.
How warm and pleasant is this curtained room
Assigned for night’s repose. The cheerful fire,
With its bright tongues of flame, illuminates
The walls with fitful gleams, and ruddier light
Than issues from the lamp. ’Twere sweet to sit
And muse for some hours longer, but the night
Is far advanced, and though the stillness round
Invites to contemplation, yet the time
And prudence too forbids. Before I give
Myself to slumber let me draw aside
The heavy curtain, o’er the window hung,
Excluding cold and wind; and thence look forth
Upon the landscape to behold the scene
Arrayed in winter’s garb. Oh gorgeous sight,
Unutterably grand! The morn was black
And dark and dismal; through the middle day
The storm’s white burden was cast down to earth
With strange rapidity; and now the night
Shines bright and glorious, beautiful and fair!
Far o’er the head, so lofty that the eye
Can scarce rise up to view her, glows the moon
With keen intensity of silver light,
And from her heavenly altitude pours down
Such floods of radiance on the snow-clad earth
As fills the heart with rapture. Scarce a star
Can shew its beam amid the purple sky
So rich her bright rays spread. The frosty air,
Sharp, keen, and subtle, hath a delicate haze
That beautifies all objects, giving them
A softer aspect, a more lovely hue,
A spirit-like appearance. On the trees,
Leafless and verdureless, a foliage lies
Of splendid whiteness. A strange stillness holds
Their forms gigantic, and their stretching boughs,
As if they slumbered in the midnight air.
Short shadows cast they on the even ground,
Night’s silver regent hath her throne so nigh
The summit of heaven’s arch. Along the lawn
How softly spreads the radiant plain of snow,
More smooth and level than a temple floor
Of alabaster framed. O’er all the beds
And borders ranged for flowers, no smaller shrub
Or plant can shew a branch; but buried deep
Beneath a downy burden, mark their tombs
By hemispheres of white. When looking far
Across the landscape, every object gleams
As it recedes by distance, more refined,
More unsubstantial, till the veiling mist,
Long ere the eye can reach th’ horizon’s bound,
In softened beauty, blends the earth with heaven.
Far to the left, some cottage roofs appear,
Where lies the village, rearing chimneys tall,
Now smokeless in the moonlight. Nigh the wood
Which swells in highest grandeur, o’er the hill
That rises to the westward, stands the church
All pure and peaceful in the holy light.
On its embattled tower the moonbeams fall,
And seem to hallow it, so fair and calm
It gleams within them. From its summit shoots
The tall and taper spire, and high o’ertops
The loftiest trees around, and stands alone
Amid the ether, whilst its form sublime
With emblematic finger points to heaven!
When morn arises, from that ancient tower
An anthem-peal will ring, a music rich
And pregnant with deep thoughts. For centuries
The selfsame tones have burst upon the air
And made it thrill with harmony. It fell
On ears that listen on this earth no more,
And when we hear it, it will be a link
Uniting us with them. Oh! mystical
And wonderful is sound. A single note
May call our past life up, and make it live
All vivid in the present. Every thing
Has its own voice, its sound. As once I passed—
Not having passed it for a length of years—
An old park-gate in manhood, which I oft
Had entered when a boy, the simple click
Of its loud latch, was recognised again
In one brief moment, and it brought to sight
All those companions who, in school-boy days,
Had there surrounded me; and heavy thoughts
Pressed on my spirit, for I knew that some
Were carried to the grave; and some were gone
I knew not whither; and the most, perhaps,
I should behold no more! Then what deep thoughts,
What thoughts of piety should Christmas bells
Awake within the soul! Their mighty tones
Teem with the memories of two thousand years
Or nigh thereto. What wonderful events
Since then have happened, how the world hath changed,
And man hath been exalted, since the Words
Divine of Christ were mingled with his lore!
And who is he? “Emanuel, God with us!”
O mighty name and nature, on his arm
“The government shall rest!” In him we see
Jehovah manifest! To us “a child
Is born, a son is given,” and his name
Is “Wonderful!” Oh wonderful indeed
That he who ’habiteth eternity
Should stand revealed in time; that he who dwells
Far o’er the heavens, should yet descend to earth;
That He, enthroned in “unapproached light”
Should visit this world’s darkness! Many names
And titles glorious, hath the Son of God,
In whom we see the Father, one with Him
So true and absolute, whoso beholds
The Son beholds the Father. Search the Word
And see if these things be so; let it tell
The truth in its own language. “In Him dwells
The fullness of the Godhead bodily.” He is
“The true God and Eternal life.” In flesh
Christ came, and he “is over all God blest
For evermore.” Still further it reveals
“God was in Christ,” and “reconciling” there
“The world unto himself.” Jehovah says
Times oft repeated in the elder Word
He is the Saviour, and none else but He;
He is Redeemer, and he will not give
His glory to another. We should hold
Exalted notions of that Saviour who
Was born to David, and is “Christ the Lord.”
Whom prophecy hath named “the Mighty God,
The everlasting Father, Prince of Peace.”
What mighty words, and wonderful are these
To waken thought within the humble mind
And make it strive to apprehend and know
The mystery sublime. But comprehend
It never can, such lies not in the power
Of finite mind, its feeble grasp can ne’er
Include infinity. Then let us pause
And ponder deeply, for the truth is not
More difficult to hold, or to believe,
Than that creation at the first sprang forth
Beneath the fiat of Almighty Will,
And finitude was born, and time began!
Ring out ye bells! and with glad notes proclaim
The glorious advent of the Prince of Peace.
And let your melodies resound aloud
Till every heart with pious joy is filled!
Princes of war have desolated earth
And ravaged nations, cities, homes, and hearths,
Till men cried out in misery, and made
The vaulted heaven re-echo to their cries.
But wars shall cease, and men shall beat at length
Their swords to ploughshares; and all peaceful arts
Shall flourish on the earth. Then Truth shall shine
With her own cheerful radiant light, and bless
The kingdoms of the World, and Goodness dwell
Enthroned in every heart. Then life shall run
In one pure current, as a crystal stream,
And every deed in excellence shall shine
Like stars of heaven. A bond of holy love
Shall make a glorious brotherhood of man,
And heaven-descended charity shall link
The nations into one. Then holy joy
Shall elevate each heart, the song of praise
Burst gladly from each lip, and men shall lift
Their voice in anthems, whose ascending notes
Shall fill the skies with harmony sublime.
Oh! that the bright and happy hour were come
When earth exulting shall behold the reign
Of Christ the great Messiah! Once he came,
In deep humility, to taste of death,
In weakness and in weariness; but soon
As prophecy foretells, he shall appear
Revealed to men, in majesty and might.
In spirit and in power, to build his church,
His kingdom, on the earth, and stablish it
In peace profound, in holiness secure,
In truth unshaken, happiness supreme
And rich with glory that shall know no end!
Then shall Jerusalem lift up her voice
In songs of gladness, when she is arrayed
In garments fair of righteousness; her head
Encrowned with wisdom’s sparkling diadem,
And she rejoiced o’er as a beauteous bride
By Him who framed her. Then her sun no more
Shall set in darkness, or her moon withdraw,
But God shall be her everlasting light,
Her walls Salvation, her wide portals Praise,
And her deep mourning cease for evermore!
My meditations have ascended high,
Yet are they fitting to the time; it brings
Unnumbered thoughts like these! The human soul
Created in God’s image seems to share
In His infinity. Evolving thought,
For ever growing, can within it dwell,
And oft ascending and ascending still
To higher points of elevated Truth,
View things around it with extended glance,
And with more god-like insight. What can fill
Its vast capacity, or quench the thirst
It bears for knowledge. It was born to rise
For ever upward into brighter light!
Lift high the banner of “Excelsior.”
On! on! the watchword! Let us search for Truth
With steadfast heart, and holy trust in God,
Then never can we fail! Where shall we find
The thing we look for? In the musty tomes
Of darkening ages, in the harsh decrees
Of priests king-ruling, in the twilight dim
That settles on the past! Ah! no, not there
Look to the future, to the morning light
Appearing in the east! Three books are writ,
Three books divine; their pages rightly conned
Will blend their full triunity of Truth
In one bright blaze of wisdom. Pierce within,
And read the volume there, and it will tell
Of something higher than the world around,
More living, more substantial; look abroad,
O’er the vast universe of worlds and suns,
That border on infinitude; then turn
Another page, and read inscribed thereon,
A like infinitude, within the small
And tiny measurements of living grains
And vital atoms, all disposed by laws
Sublime in their simplicity, that bind
The great and little in one mighty whole.
Lessons like these will fit the mind to see
That in a written book, indeed divine,
A like infinitude of Truth must dwell
Concealed within the letter. Human minds
That have enlodged themselves in books, leave there
A record of their greatness. Learned men
Have conned the documents, that sages writ,
With care unceasing, and at last confessed
They had not reached the ultimate of thought
Embodied in them. What must be the depths,
The vast profundities of pages penned
From perfect inspiration? Christ hath said
Flesh profits nothing, but the words I speak
Are spirit and are life. The letter kills,
The spirit giveth life, hath Paul announced.
How shall we pierce this body to let forth
The spirit of pure truth. From whence attain
The “key of knowledge” to unlock the stores
Of hidden wisdom in the word divine.
The promise saith that brighter light shall come,
And many hearts now need it! Thought, with them,
Hath been enlarged by pure philosophy,
From nature’s pregnant book. They yearn to see
Its perfect harmony with truth divine,
And find all streamlets from the Fount of Truth
Blend in one lucid river. Let us wait
In patience and humility the time
Of this grand consummation! Let us up
To the high mountain tops, from thence to watch
The dawning sunlight of earth’s brighter day.
Such day shall come, though it hath tarred long,
And yet may tarry, for the certain harp
Of sacred prophecy hath oft foretold
Its glorious advent—let us watch, and wait!
It is full time that I should now arrest
Thought’s current in the midst. Though on a theme
So full and teeming, it might swiftly run
Its rapid course for ever. O’er the earth
The cold increases, and the bitter frost
Draws flowers upon each pane. I must retire
From this unsullied prospect, fair and calm
And eminently beautiful. The fire
Burns low within the grate, and embers lie
In darkness on the hearth, that but of late
Were red and glowing. In the shade of sleep,
And night’s oblivion, I must seek to quench
The fire of thought, and for awhile forego
A life of consciousness. Yet with a hope
Of sweet refreshment, and with strength renewed,
To spring up cheerful when the morning sun
Makes bright the winter landscape, and enjoy
That intellectual pleasure, pure delight,
And social intercourse, that ever form
The banquet rich of Christmas at the Hall!
END OF CHRISTMAS AT THE HALL.
The Hero’s Grave.