Juvenile Poems Read Online

Till then

I discipline my young and novice thought

In ministeries of heart-stirring song,

And aye on Meditation's heaven-ward wing

Soaring aloft I breathe the empyreal air

Of Love, omnific, omnipresent Love,

Whose day-spring rises glorious in my soul

As the great Sun, when he his influence

Sheds on the frost-bound waters – The glad stream

Flows to the ray and warbles as it flows.

[1794-96]

The Destiny of Nations

A Vision

Auspicious Reverence! Hush all meaner song,

Ere we the deep preluding strain have poured

To the Great Father, only Rightful King,

Eternal Father! King Omnipotent!

To the Will Absolute, the One, the Good!

The I AM, the Word, the Life, the Living God!

Such symphony requires best instrument.

Seize, then, my soul! from Freedom's trophied dome

The harp which hangeth high between the shields

Of Brutus and Leonidas! With that

Strong music, that soliciting spell, force back

Man's free and stirring spirit that lies entranced.

For what is freedom, but the unfettered use

Of all the powers which God for use had given?

But chiefly this, him first, him last to view

Through meaner powers and secondary things

Effulgent, as through clouds that veil his blaze.

For all that meets the bodily sense I deem

Symbolical, one mighty alphabet

For infant minds; and we in this low world

Placed with our backs to bright reality,

That we may learn with young unwounded ken

The substance from its shadow. Infinite Love,

Whose latence is the plenitude of all,

Thou with retracted beams, and self-eclipse

Veiling, revealest thine eternal Sun.

But some there are who deem themselves most free

When they within this gross and visible sphere

Chain down the winged thought, scoffing ascent,

Proud in their meanness: and themselves they cheat

With noisy emptiness of learned phrase,

Their subtle fluids, impacts, essences,

Self-working tools, uncaused effects, and all

Those blind omniscients, those almighty slaves,

Untenanting creation of its God.

But properties are God: the naked mass

(If mass there be, fantastic guess or ghost)

Acts only by its inactivity.

Here we pause humbly. Others boldlier think

That as one body seems the aggregate

Of atoms numberless, each organized;

So by a strange and dim similitude

Infinite myriads of self-conscious minds

Are one all-conscious Spirit, which informs

With absolute ubiquity of thought

(His one eternal self-affirming act!)

All his involved Monads, that yet seem

With various province and apt agency

Each to pursue its own self-centring end.

Some nurse the infant diamond in the mine;

Some roll the genial juices through the oak;

Some drive the mutinous clouds to clash in air,

And rushing on the storm with whirlwind speed,

Yoke the red lightnings to their volleying car.

Thus these pursue their never-varying course,

No eddy in their stream. Others, more wild,

With complex interests weaving human fates,

Duteous or proud, alike obedient all,

Evolve the process of eternal good.

And what if some rebellious o'er dark realms

Arrogate power? yet these train up to God,

And on the rude eye, unconfirmed for day,

Flash meteor-lights better than total gloom.

As ere from Lieule-Oaive's vapoury head

The Laplander beholds the far-off sun

Dart his slant beam on unobeying snows,

While yet the stern and solitary night

Brooks no alternate sway, the Boreal Morn

With mimic lustre substitutes its gleam,

Guiding his course or by Niemi lake

Or Balda Zhiok,13 or the mossy stone

Of Solfar-kapper,14 while the snowy blast

Drifts arrowy by, or eddies round his sledge,

Making the poor babe at its mother's back15

Scream in its scanty cradle: he the while

Wins gentle solace as with upward eye

He marks the streamy banners of the North,

Thinking himself those happy spirits shall join

Who there in floating robes of rosy light

Dance sportively. For Fancy is the power

That first unsensualizes the dark mind,

Giving it new delights; and bids it swell

With wild activity; and peopling air,

By obscure fears of beings invisible,

Emancipates it from the grosser thrall

Of the present impulse, teaching self-control,

Till Superstition with unconscious hand

Seat Reason on her throne. Wherefore not vain,

Nor yet without permitted power impressed,

I deem those legends terrible, with which

The polar ancient thrills his uncouth throng:

Whether of pitying Spirits that make their moan

O'er slaughtered infants, or that giant bird

Vuokho, of whose rushing wings the noise

Is tempest, when the unutterable16 shape

Speeds from the mother of Death, and utters once

That shriek, which never murderer heard, and lived.

Or if the Greenland Wizard in strange trance

Pierces the untravelled realms of Ocean's bed

Over the abysm, even to that uttermost cave

By mis-shaped prodigies beleaguered, such

As earth ne'er bred, nor air, nor the upper sea:

Where dwells the Fury Form, whose unheard name

With eager eye, pale cheek, suspended breath,

And lips half-opening with the dread of sound,

Unsleeping Silence guards, worn out with fear

Lest haply 'scaping on some treacherous blast

The fateful word let slip the elements

And frenzy Nature. Yet the wizard her,

Armed with Torngarsuck's17 power, the Spirit of Good,

Forces to unchain the foodful progeny

Of the Ocean stream; – thence thro' the realm of Souls,

Where live the Innocent, as far from cares

As from the storms and overwhelming waves

That tumble on the surface of the Deep,

Returns with far-heard pant, hotly pursued

By the fierce Warders of the Sea, once more,

Ere by the frost foreclosed, to repossess

His fleshly mansion, that had staid the while

In the dark tent within a cow'ring group

Untenanted. – Wild phantasies! yet wise,

On the victorious goodness of high God

Teaching reliance, and medicinal hope,

Till from Bethabra northward, heavenly Truth

With gradual steps, winning her difficult way,

Transfer their rude Faith perfected and pure.

If there be beings of higher class than Man,

I deem no nobler province they possess,

Than by disposal of apt circumstance

To rear up kingdoms: and the deeds they prompt,

Distinguishing from mortal agency,

They choose their human ministers from such states

As still the Epic song half fears to name,

Repelled from all the minstrelsies that strike

The palace-roof and soothe the monarch's pride.

And such, perhaps, the Spirit, who (if words

Witnessed by answering deeds may claim our faith)

Held commune with that warrior-maid of France

Who scourged the Invader. From her infant days,

With Wisdom, mother of retired thoughts,

Her soul had dwelt; and she was quick to mark

The good and evil thing, in human lore

Undisciplined. For lowly was her birth,

And Heaven had doomed her early years to toil

That pure from tyranny's least deed, herself

Unfeared by fellow-natures, she might wait

On the poor labouring man with kindly looks,

And minister refreshment to the tired

Way-wanderer, when along the rough hewn bench

The sweltry man had stretched him, and aloft

Vacantly watched the rudely pictured board

Which on the mulberry-bough with welcome creak

Swung to the pleasant breeze. Here, too, the Maid

Learnt more than schools could teach: Man's shifting mind,

His vices and his sorrows! And full oft

At tales of cruel wrong and strange distress

Had wept and shivered. To the tottering eld

Still as a daughter would she run: she placed

His cold limbs at the sunny door, and loved

To hear him story, in his garrulous sort,

Of his eventful years, all come and gone.

So twenty seasons past. The Virgin's form,

Active and tall, nor sloth nor luxury

Had shrunk or paled. Her front sublime and broad,

Her flexile eye-brows wildly haired and low,

And her full eye, now bright, now unillumed,

Spake more than Woman's thought; and all her face

Was moulded to such features as declared

That pity there had oft and strongly worked,

And sometimes indignation. Bold her mien,

And like a haughty huntress of the woods

She moved: yet sure she was a gentle maid!

And in each motion her most innocent soul

Beamed forth so brightly, that who saw would say

Guilt was a thing impossible in her!

Nor idly would have said – for she had lived

In this bad World, as in a place of tombs,

And touched not the pollutions of the dead.

'Twas the cold season when the rustic's eye

From the drear desolate whiteness of his fields

Rolls for relief to watch the skiey tints

And clouds slow varying their huge imagery;

When now, as she was wont, the healthful Maid

Had left her pallet ere one beam of day

Slanted the fog-smoke. She went forth alone

Urged by the indwelling angel-guide, that oft,

With dim inexplicable sympathies

Disquieting the heart, shapes out Man's course

To the predoomed adventure. Now the ascent

She climbs of that steep upland, on whose top

The Pilgrim-man, who long since eve had watched

The alien shine of unconcerning stars,

Shouts to himself, there first the Abbey-lights

Seen in Neufchatel's vale; now slopes adown

The winding sheep-track vale-ward: when, behold

In the first entrance of the level road

An unattended team! The foremost horse

Lay with stretched limbs; the others, yet alive

But stiff and cold, stood motionless, their manes

Hoar with the frozen night dews. Dismally

The dark-red dawn now glimmered; but its gleams

Disclosed no face of man. The maiden paused,

Then hailed who might be near. No voice replied.

From the thwart wain at length there reached her ear

A sound so feeble that it almost seemed

Distant: and feebly, with slow effort pushed,

A miserable man crept forth: his limbs

The silent frost had eat, scathing like fire.

Faint on the shafts he rested. She, mean time,

Saw crowded close beneath the coverture

A mother and her children – lifeless all,

Yet lovely! not a lineament was marred –

Death had put on so slumber-like a form!

It was a piteous sight; and one, a babe,

The crisp milk frozen on its innocent lips,

Lay on the woman's arm, its little hand

Stretched on her bosom.

Mutely questioning,

The Maid gazed wildly at the living wretch.

He, his head feebly turning, on the group

Looked with a vacant stare, and his eye spoke

The drowsy calm that steals on worn-out anguish.

She shuddered; but, each vainer pang subdued,

Quick disentangling from the foremost horse

The rustic bands, with difficulty and toil

The stiff cramped team forced homeward. There arrived,

Anxiously tends him she with healing herbs,

And weeps and prays – but the numb power of Death

Spreads o'er his limbs; and ere the noontide hour,

The hovering spirits of his wife and babes

Hail him immortal! Yet amid his pangs,

With interruptions long from ghastly throes,

His voice had faltered out this simple tale.

The village, where he dwelt a husbandman,

By sudden inroad had been seized and fired

Late on the yester-evening. With his wife

And little ones he hurried his escape.

They saw the neighbouring hamlets flame, they heard

Uproars and shrieks! and terror-struck drove on

Through unfrequented roads, a weary way!

But saw nor house nor cottage. All had quenched

Their evening hearth-fire: for the alarm had spread.

The air clipped keen, the night was fanged with frost,

And they provisionless! The weeping wife

Ill hushed her children's moans; and still they moaned,

Till fright and cold and hunger drank their life.

They closed their eyes in sleep, nor knew 'twas death.

He only, lashing his o'er-wearied team,

Gained a sad respite, till beside the base

Of the high hill his foremost horse dropped dead.

Then hopeless, strengthless, sick for lack of food,

He crept beneath the coverture, entranced,

Till wakened by the maiden. – Such his tale.

Ah! suffering to the height of what was suffered,

Stung with too keen a sympathy, the Maid

Brooded with moving lips, mute, startful, dark!

And now her flushed tumultuous features shot

Such strange vivacity, as fires the eye

Of misery fancy-crazed! and now once more

Naked, and void, and fixed, and all within

The unquiet silence of confused thought

And shapeless feelings. For a mighty hand

Was strong upon her, till in the heat of soul

To the high hill-top tracing back her steps,

Aside the beacon, up whose smouldered stones

The tender ivy-trails crept thinly, there,

Unconscious of the driving element,

Yea, swallowed up in the ominous dream, she sate

Ghastly as broad-eyed Slumber! a dim anguish

Breathed from her look! and still with pant and sob,

Inly she toil'd to flee, and still subdued,

Felt an inevitable Presence near.

Thus as she toiled in troublous ecstasy,

A horror of great darkness wrapt her round,

And a voice uttered forth unearthly tones,

Calming her soul, – »O Thou of the Most High

Chosen, whom all the perfected in Heaven

Behold expectant –

[The following fragments were intended to form part of the poem when finished.]

Maid beloved of Heaven!

(To her the tutelary Power exclaimed)

Of Chaos the adventurous progeny

Thou seest; foul missionaries of foul sire,

Fierce to regain the losses of that hour

When Love rose glittering, and his gorgeous wings

Over the abyss fluttered with such glad noise,

As what time after long and pestful calms,

With slimy shapes and miscreated life

Poisoning the vast Pacific, the fresh breeze

Wakens the merchant-sail uprising. Night

A heavy unimaginable moan

Sent forth, when she the Protoplast beheld

Stand beauteous on confusion's charmed wave.

Moaning she fled, and entered the Profound

That leads with downward windings to the cave

Of darkness palpable, desert of Death

Sunk deep beneath Gehenna's massy roots.

There many a dateless age the beldam lurked

And trembled; till engendered by fierce Hate,

Fierce Hate and gloomy Hope, a Dream arose,

Shaped like a black cloud marked with streaks of fire.

It roused the Hell-Hag: she the dew damp wiped

From off her brow, and through the uncouth maze

Retraced her steps; but ere she reached the mouth

Of that drear labyrinth, shuddering she paused,

Nor dared re-enter the diminished Gulf.

As through the dark vaults of some mouldered tower

(Which, fearful to approach, the evening hind

Circles at distance in his homeward way)

The winds breathe hollow, deemed the plaining groan

Of prisoned spirits; with such fearful voice

Night murmured, and the sound thro' Chaos went.

Leaped at her call her hideous-fronted brood!

A dark behest they heard, and rushed on earth;

Since that sad hour, in camps and courts adored,

Rebels from God, and tyrants o'er Mankind!«

––––––––––

From his obscure haunt

Shrieked Fear, of Cruelty the ghastly dam,

Feverous yet freezing, eager-paced yet slow,

As she that creeps from forth her swampy reeds,

Ague, the biform hag! when early Spring

Beams on the marsh-bred vapours.

––––––––––

»Even so (the exulting Maiden said)

The sainted heralds of good tidings fell,

And thus they witnessed God! But now the clouds

Treading, and storms beneath their feet, they soar

Higher, and higher soar, and soaring sing

Loud songs of triumph! O ye spirits of God,

Hover around my mortal agonies!«

She spake, and instantly faint melody

Melts on her ear, soothing and sad, and slow,

Such measures, as at calmest midnight heard

By aged hermit in his holy dream,

Foretell and solace death; and now they rise

Louder, as when with harp and mingled voice

The white-robed18 multitude of slaughtered saints

At Heaven's wide-opened portals gratulant

Receive some martyr'd patriot. The harmony

Entranced the Maid, till each suspended sense

Brief slumber seized, and confused ecstasy.

At length awakening slow, she gazed around:

And through a mist, the relique of that trance

Still thinning as she gazed, an Isle appeared,

Its high, o'er-hanging, white, broad-breasted cliffs,

Glassed on the subject ocean. A vast plain

Stretched opposite, where ever and anon

The plough-man following sad his meagre team

Turned up fresh sculls unstartled, and the bones

Of fierce hate-breathing combatants, who there

All mingled lay beneath the common earth,

Death's gloomy reconcilement! O'er the fields

Stept a fair Form, repairing all she might,

Her temples olive-wreathed; and where she trod,

Fresh flowerets rose, and many a foodful herb.

But wan her cheek, her footsteps insecure,

And anxious pleasure beamed in her faint eye,

As she had newly left a couch of pain,

Pale convalescent! (yet some time to rule

With power exclusive o'er the willing world,

That blest prophetic mandate then fulfilled –

Peace be on Earth!) A happy while, but brief,

She seemed to wander with assiduous feet,

And healed the recent harm of chill and blight,

And nursed each plant that fair and virtuous grew.

But soon a deep precursive sound moaned hollow:

Black rose the clouds, and now, (as in a dream)

Their reddening shapes, transformed to warrior-hosts,

Coursed o'er the sky, and battled in mid-air.

Nor did not the large blood-drops fall from heaven

Portentous! while aloft were seen to float,

Like hideous features booming on the mist,

Wan stains of ominous light! Resigned, yet sad,

The fair Form bowed her olive-crowned brow,

Then o'er the plain with oft reverted eye

Fled till a place of tombs she reached, and there

Within a ruined sepulchre obscure

Found hiding-place.