So like a spirit's voice! a harping tone,
Lovely, yet ominous to mortal ear,
Such as might reach us from a world unknown,
Troubling man's heart with thrills of joy and fear!
"Twas sweet!-yet those deep southern shades oppress'd
My soul with stillness, like the calms that rest
On melancholy waves: 23 I sigh'd to hear
Once more earth's breezy sounds, her foliage fann'd, And turn'd to seek the wilds of the red hunter's land.
And we have won a bower of refuge now,
In this fresh waste, the breath of whose repose
Hath cool'd, like dew, the fever of my brow,
And whose green oaks and cedars round me close,
As temple-walls and pillars, that exclude
Earth's haunted dreams from their free solitude;
All, save the image and the thought of those
Before us gone; our loved of early years,
Gone where affection's cup hath lost the taste of tears.
I see a star-eve's first-born !-in whose train
Past scenes, words, looks, come back. The arrowy spire
Of the lone cypress, as of wood-girt fane,
Rests dark and still amidst a heaven of fire;
The pine gives forth its odours, and the lake
Gleams like one ruby, and the soft winds wake,
Till every string of nature's solemn lyre
Is touch'd to answer; its most secret tone
Drawn from each tree, for each hath whispers all its own.
And hark! another murmur on the air,
Not of the hidden rills, or quivering shades!
-That is the cataract's, which the breezes bear,
Filling the leafy twilight of the glades
With hollow surge-like sounds, as from the bed
Of the blue mournful seas, that keep the dead:
But they are far!—the low sun here pervades
Dim forest-arches, bathing with red gold
Their stems, till each is made a marvel to behold.
Gorgeous, yet full of gloom !-In such an hour,
The vesper-melody of dying bells
Wanders through Spain, from each grey convent's tower
O'er shining rivers pour'd, and olive-dells,
By every peasant heard, and muleteer,
And hamlet, round my home :-and I am here,
Living again through all my life's farewells,
In these vast woods, where farewell ne'er was spoken, And sole I lift to Heaven a sad heart-yet unbroken!
In such an hour are told the hermit's beads;
With the white sail the seaman's hymn floats by:
Peace be with all! whate'er their varying creeds,
With all that send up holy thoughts on high!
Come to me, boy !—by Guadalquivir's vines,
By every stream of Spain, as day declines,
Man's prayers are mingled in the rosy sky.
-We, too, will pray; nor yet unheard, my child!
Of Him whose voice we hear at eve amidst the wild.
At eve?-oh! through all hours!-From dark dreams
Awakening, I look forth and learn the might
Of solitude, while thou art breathing soft,
And low, my loved one! on the breast of night:
I look forth on the stars-the shadowy sleep
Of forests and the lake, whose gloomy deep
Sends up red sparkles to the fire-flies' light.
A lonely world!—ev'n fearful to man's thought,
But for His presence felt, whom here my soul hath sought.
Note 1, page 4, line 14.
And sighing through the feathery canes, &c.
The canes in some parts of the American forests form a thick undergrowth for many hundred miles.—See Hodgson's Letters from North America, vol. i. p. 242.
And for their birth-place moan, as moans the ocean-shell. Such a shell as Wordsworth has beautifully described.
A curious child, who dwelt upon a tract
Of inland ground, applying to his ear
The convolutions of a smooth-lipp'd shell;
To which, in silence hush'd, his very soul
Listen'd intently, and his countenance soon
Brightened with joy; for murmurings from within
Were heard-sonorous cadences! whereby,
To his belief, the monitor express'd
Mysterious union with its native sea.
-Even such a shell the universe itself
Is to the ear of Faith."-The Excursion.
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