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Speaker:author,male,Harpur, Charles,32 addresseens1:discourse_typeVerseRelated Document :Word Count :9985Plaint Text :ns1:registerPublic Writtenns1:texttypeVersens1:localityNamehttp://dbpedia.org/resource/New_South_WalesCreated:1845Identifier2-292part of:SourceHarpur, 1845pages19-84
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THE TOWER OF THE DREAM. PART I. How wonderful are dreams! If they but be As some have said, the thin disjoining shades Of thoughts or feelings, long foregone or late, All interweaving, set in ghostly act And strange procession, fair, grotesque, or grim, By mimic fancy ; wonderful no less Are they though this be true and wondrous more Is she, who in the dark, and stript of sense, Can wield such sovereignty - the Queen of Art! For what a cunning painter is she then, Who hurriedly embodying, from the waste Of things memorial littering life's dim floor, The forms and features, manifold and quaint, That crowd the timeless vistas of a dream, Fails in no stroke, but breathes Pygmalion-like A soul of motion into all her work; And doth full oft in magic mood inspire Her phantom creatures with more eloquent tones Than ever broke upon a waking ear. But are they more ? True glimpses oft, though vague, Over that far unnavigable sea Of mystic being, where the impatient soul Is sometimes wont to stray and roam at large ? No answer comes. Yet are they wonderful However we may rank them in our lore, And worthy some fond record are these dreams That with so capable a wand can bring Back to the faded heart the rosy flush And sweetness of a long-fled love, or touch The eyes of an old enmity with tears Of a yet older friendship ; or restore A world-lost mate, or reunite in joy The living and the dead !-can, when so wills Their wand's weird wielder, whatsoe'er it be, Lift up the fallen-fallen however low! Give youth unto the worn, enrich the poor; Build in the future higher than the hope Of power, when boldest, ever dared to soar; Annul the bars of space, the dens of time, Giving the rigid and cold-clanking chain Which force, that grey iniquity, hath clenched About its captive, to relent,-yea, stretch Forth into fairy-land, or melt like wax In that fierce life whose spirit lightens wide Round freedom, seated on her mountain throne. But not thus always are our dreams benign ; Oft are they miscreations-gloomier worlds, Crowded tempestuously with wrongs and fears, More ghastly than the actual ever knew, And rent with racking noises, such as should Go thundering only through the wastes of hell. Yes, wonderful are dreams: and I have known Many most wild and strange. And once, long since, As in the death-like mystery of sleep My body lay impalled, my soul arose And journeyed outward in a wondrous dream. In the mid-hour of a dark night, methought I roamed the margin of a waveless lake, That in the knotted forehead of the land Deep sunken, like a huge Cyclopean eye, Lidless and void of speculation, stared Glassily up-for ever sleepless-up At the wide vault of heaven ; and vaguely came Into my mind a mystic consciousness That over against me, on the farther shore Which yet I might not see, there stood a tower. The darkness darkened, until overhead Solidly black the starless heaven domed, And earth was one wide blot ;-when, as I looked, A light swung blazing from the tower (as yet Prophesied only in my inner thought), And brought at once its rounded structure forth Massive and tall out of the mighty gloom. On the broad lake that streaming radiance fell, Through the lit fluid like a shaft of fire, Burning its sullen depths with one red blaze. Long at that wild light was I gazing held In speechless wonder, till I thence could feel A strange and thrillingly attractive power ; My bodily weight seemed witched away, aloft I mounted, poised within the passive air, Then felt I through my veins a branching warmth, The herald of some yet unseen content, The nearness of some yet inaudible joy, As if some spell of golden destiny Lifted me onwards to the fateful tower. PART II. High up the tower, a circling balcony Emporched a brazen door. The silver roof Rested on shafts of jet, and ivory work Made a light fence against the deep abyss. Before that portal huge a lady stood In radiant loveliness, serene and bright, Yet as it seemed expectant ; for as still She witched me towards her, soft she beckon'd me With tiny hand more splendid than a star ; And then she smiled, not as a mortal smiles With visible throes, to the mere face confined, But with her whole bright influence all at once In gracious act, as the Immortals might, God-happy, or as smiles the morning, when Its subtle lips in rosy beauty part Under a pearly cloud, and breathe the while A golden prevalence of power abroad, That taketh all the orient heaven and earth Into the glory of its own delight. Then in a voice, keen, sweet, and silvery clear, And intimately tender as the first Fine feeling of a love-born bliss, she spoke, "Where hast thou stayed so long? Oh, tell me where?" With thrilling ears and heart I heard, but felt Pass from me forth a cry of sudden fear, As swooning through the wildness of my joy, Methought I drifted,-whither ? All was now One wide cold blank ; the lady and the tower, The gleaming lake, with all around it, one Wide dreary blank ;- the drearier for that still A dizzy, clinging, ghostly consciousness Kept flickering from mine inmost pulse of life, Like a far meteor in some dismal marsh ; How long I knew not, but the thrilling warmth That, like the new birth of a passionate bliss, Erewhile had searched me to the quick, again Shuddered within me, more and more, until Mine eyes had opened under two that made All else like darkness ; and upon my cheek A breath that seemed the final spirit of health And floral sweetness, harbingered once more The silver accents of that wondrous voice, Which to have heard was never to forget ; And with her tones came, warbled as it seemed, In mystical respondence to her voice, Still music, such as Eolus gives forth, But purer, deeper ;-warbled as from some Unsearchable recess of soul supreme, Some depth of the Eternal ! echoing thence Through the sweet meanings of its spirit speech. I answered not, but followed in mute love The beamy glances of her eyes ; methought Close at her side I lay upon a couch Of purple, blazoned all with stars of gold Tremblingly rayed with spiculated gems ; Thus sat we, looking forth ; nor seemed it strange That the broad lake, with its green shelving shores, And all the hills and woods and winding vales, Were basking in the beauty of a day So goldenly serene, that never yet The perfect power of life-essential light Had so enrobed, since paradise was lost, The common world inhabited by man. I saw this rare surpassing beauty;-yea, But saw it all through her superior life, Orbing mine own in love ; I felt her life, The source of holiest and truth-loving thoughts, Breathing abroad like odours from a flower, Enriched with rosy passion, and pure joy And earnest tenderness. Nor ever might The glassy lake below more quickly give Nimble impressions of the coming wind's Invisible footsteps, dimpling swift along, Than instant tokens of communion sweet With outward beauty's subtle spirit, passed Forth from her eyes, and thence in lambent waves Suffused and lightened o'er her visage bright. But as upon the wonder of her face My soul now feasted, even till it seemed Instinct with kindred lustre, lo ! her eyes Suddenly saddened ; then abstractedly Outfixing them as on some far wild thought That darkened up like a portentous cloud Over the morning of our peace, she flung Her silver voice into a mystic song Of many measures, which, as forth they went, Slid all into a sweet abundant flood Of metric melody! And to her voice As still she sung, invisible singers joined A choral burden that prolonged the strain's Rich concords, till the echoes of the hills Came forth in tidal flow, and backward then Subsiding like a refluent wave, died down In one rich harmony. It strangely seemed As though the song were ware that I but slept, And that its utterer was but a dream ; 'Tis traced upon the tablet of my soul In shining lines that intonate themselves- Not sounding to the ear but to the thought- Out of the vague vast of the wonderful, And might, when hardened into mortal speech, And narrowed from its wide and various sweep Into such flows as make our waking rhymes Most wildly musical, be written thus:- THE SONG. Wide apart, wide apart, In old Time's dim heart One terrible Fiend doth his stern watch keep Over the mystery Lovely and deep, Locked in thy history, Beautiful Sleep ! Could we disarm him, Could we but charm him, The soul of the sleeper might happily leap, Through the dark of the dim waste so deathly and deep That shroudeth the triple divinity, The three of thy mystical Trinity: Gratitude, Liberty, Joy from all trammels free, Beautiful Spirit of Sleep ! Beautiful Spirit ! Could we confound him Who darkens thy throne, Could we surround him With spells like thine own For the divinity Then of thy Trinity, Oh, what a blesseder reign were begun! For then it were evermore one, With all that soul, freed from the body's strait scheme, Inherits of seer-light and mystical dream. And to sleep were to die Into life in the Infinite, Holy and high, Spotless and bright, Calmly, peacefully deep Ah then ! that dread gulf should be crossed by a mortal, Ah then ! to what life were thy bright arch the portal, Beautiful Spirit of Sleep. PART III. She ceased, and a deep tingling silence fell Instantly round,-silence complete, and yet Instinct as with a breathing sweetness, left By the rare spirit of her voice foregone ; Even as the fragrance of a flower were felt Pervading the mute air through which erewhile, It had been borne by the delighted hand Of some sweet-thoughted maiden. Turning then Her bright face towards me, as I stood entranced, Yet with keen wonder stung, she said, "I love thee As first love loveth-utterly ! But ah This love itself-this purple-wingëd love- This life-enriching spirit of delight Is but a honey-bee of paradise, That only in the morning glory dares To range abroad, only in vagrant mood, Adventures out into the common world Of man and woman, thither lured by sight Of some sweet human soul that blooms apart, Untainted by a rank soil's weedy growths Lured thither thus, yet being even then A wilful wanderer from its birthplace pure, Whereto it sadly must return again, Or forfeit else its natal passport, ere The dread night cometh. Yet of how great worth Is love within the world ! By the fair spring Of even the lowliest love, how many rich And gracious things that could not else have been, Grow up like flowers, and breathe a perfume forth That never leaves again the quickened sense It once hath hit, as with a fairy's wand!" She spoke in mournful accents wild and sweet, And lustrous tears brimmed over from the eyes That met my own now melancholy gaze. But not all comfortless is grief that sees Itself reflected in another's eyes, And love again grew glad: alas, not long For with a short low gasp of sudden fear She started back, and hark ! within the tower A sound of strenuous steps approaching fast Rang upwards, as it seemed, from the hard slabs Of a steep winding stair; and soon the huge And brazen portal, that behind us shut, Burst open with a clang of loosened bolts- A clang like thunder, that went rattling out Against the echoes of the distant hills. With deafened ears and looks aghast I turned Towards the harsh noise, there to behold, between The mighty jambs in the strong wall from which The door swung inward, a tremendous form ! A horrid gloomy form that shapeless seemed, And yet, in all its monstrous bulk, to man A hideous likeness bare ! Still more and more Deformed it grew, as forth it swelled, and then Its outlines melted in a grizzly haze, That hung about them, even as grey clouds Beskirt a coming tempest's denser mass, That thickens still internally, and shows The murkiest in the midst-yea, murkiest there, Where big with fate, and hid in solid gloom, The yet still spirit of the thunder broods, And menaces the world. Beholding that dread form, the lady of light Had rushed to my extended arms, and hid Her beamy face, fright-harrowed, in my breast! And thus we stood, made one in fear; while still That terrible vision out upon us glared With horny eyeballs-horrible the more For that no evidence of conscious will, No touch of passion, vitalized their fixed Eumenidèan, stone-cold stare, as towards Some surely destined task they seemed to guide Its shapeless bulk and awful ruthless strength. Then with a motion as of one dark stride Shadowing forward, and outstretching straight One vague-seen arm, from my reluctant grasp It tore the radiant lady, saying "This Is love forbidden !" in a voice whose tones Were like low guttural thunders heard afar, Outgrowling from the clouded gorges wild Of steep-cragged mountains, when a sultry storm Is pondering in its dark pavilions there. Me then he seized, and threw me strongly back Within the brazen door ; its massive beam Dropped with a wall-quake, and the bolts were shot Into their sockets with a shattering jar. I may not paint the horrible despair That froze me now; more horrible than aught In actual destiny, in waking life, Could give the self-possession of my soul. Within, without,-all silent, stirless, cold Whither was she, my lady of delight Reft terribly away? Time-every drip of which Was as an age-kept trickling on and on, Brought no release, no hope; brought not a breath That spake of fellowship, or even of life Out of myself. Utterly blank I stood In marble-cold astonishment of heart ! And when at length I cast despairing eyes- Eyes so despairing that the common gift Of vision stung me like a deadly curse- The dungeon round, pure pity of myself So warmed and loosened from my brain, the pent And icy anguish, that its load at once Came like an Alp-thaw streaming through my eyes; Till resignation, that balm-fragrant flower Of meek pale grief that hath its root in tears, Grew out of mine, and dewed my soul with peace. My dungeon was a half-round lofty cell, Massively set within the crossing wall That seemed to cut the tower's whole round in twain ; A door with iron studs and brazen clamps Shut off the inner stairway of the tower ; And by this door a strange and mystic thing, A bat-winged steed on scaly dragon claws, Stood mute and rigid in the darkening cell. The night came on ; I saw the bat-winged steed Fade, melt and die into the gathering gloom, Then in the blackness hour by hour I paced, And heard my step- the only sound to me In all the wide world-throb with a dull blow Down through the hollow tower that seemed to yawn. A monstrous well beneath, with wide waste mouth Bridged only by the quaking strip of floor On which I darkling strode. Then hour on hour Paused as if clotting at the heart of time, And yet no other sound had being there And still that strange, mute, mystic, bat-winged steed Stood waiting near me by the inner door. PART IV. At last, all suddenly, in the air aloft Over the tower a wild wailful song Woke, flying many-voiced, then sweeping off Far o'er the echoing hills, so passed away In dying murmurs through the hollow dark. SONG. In vain was the charm sought In vain was our spell wrought Which that dread watcher's eyes drowsy might keep; In vain was the dragon-steed There at the hour of need Out with his double freight blissward to sweep. Lost-lost-lost-lost ! In vain were our spells of an infinite cost Lost-lost-lost-lost ! Yon gulf by a mortal may never be crossed Never, ah never! The doom holds for ever For ever ! for ever! Away, come away! For see, wide uprolling, the white front of day ! Away to the mystic mid-regions of sleep, Of the beautiful Spirit of sleep. Lost-lost-lost-lost ! The gulf we are crossing may never be crossed By a mortal, ah, never! The doom holds for ever! For ever ! for ever! So passed that song (of which the drift alone Is here reached after in such leaden speech As uncharmed mortals use). And when its tones Out towards the mountains in the dark afar Had wasted, light began to pierce the gloom, Marbling the dusk with grey; and then the steed, With his strange dragon-claws and half-spread wings, Grew slowly back into the day again. The sunrise ! Oh, it was a desolate pass Immured in that relentless keep, to feel How o'er the purple hills came the bright sun, Rejoicing in his strength ; and then to know That he was wheeling up the heaven, and o'er My prison roof, tracking his midway course With step of fire, loud rolling through the world The thunder of its universal life ! Thus seven times wore weary day and night Wearily on, and still I could not sleep. And still through this drear time the wintry tooth Of hunger never gnawed my corporal frame; No thirst inflamed me ; while by the grim door That strange, unmoving, dragon-footed steed Stood as at first. Mere wonder at my doom Relieved the else-fixed darkness of despair ! But on the seventh night at midnight-hark ! What might I hear ? A step ?- asmall light step, That by the stair ascending, swiftly came Straight to the inner door-then stopped. Alas! The black leaf opened not; and yet, the while, A rainbow radiance through its solid breadth Came flushing bright, in subtle wave on wave, As sunset glow in swift rich curves wells forth Through some dense cloud upon the verge of heaven: So came it, filling all the cell at length With rosy lights; and then the mystic steed Moved, and spread wide his glimmering bat-like wings. When hark ! deep down in the mysterious tower Another step ! Yea, the same strenuous tramp That once before I heard, big beating up- A cry, a struggle, and retreating steps ! And that fair light had faded from the air. Again the hateful tramp came booming up; The great door opened, and the monster-fiend Filled all the space between the mighty jambs. My heart glowed hot with rage and hate at once; Fiercely I charged him, but his horrible glooms Enwrapped me closer, in yet denser coils Every dread moment! But my anguish now, My pain, and hate, and loathing, all had grown Into so vast a horror that methought I burst with irresistible strength away- Rushed through the door and down the stairway-down An endless depth-till a portcullis, hinged In the tower's basement, opened to my flight It fell behind me, and my passage lay By the long ripples of the rock-edged lake. Then, breathless, pausing in my giddy flight, I saw the lustrous lady upward pass Through the lit air, with steadfast downward look Of parting recognition-full of love, But painless, passionless. Above the tower And o'er the clouds her radiance passed away, And melted into heaven's marble dome ! Then fell there on my soul a sense of loss So bleak, so desolate, that with a wild Sleep-startling outcry, sudden I awoke Awoke to find it but a wondrous dream; Yet ever since to feel as if some pure And guardian soul, out of the day and night, Had passed for ever from the reach of love ! THE FORGOTTEN. He shone in the senate, the camp, and the grove, The mirror of manhood, the darling of love. He fought for his country, the star of the brave, And died for it's weal when to die was to save. And Wisdom and Valour long over him wept, And Beauty, for ages, strewed flowers where he slept. And the bards of the people inwrought with their lays The light of his glory, the sound of his praise. But afar in the foreworld have faded their strains, And now of his being what record remains? Within a lone valley a tomb crumbles fast, And the name of the Sleeper is lost in the past. A LAMENT. FLOWERS in their freshness are flushing the earth, And the voice-peopled forest is loud in its mirth, And streams in their fulness are laughing at dearth - Yet my bosom is aching. There's shadow on all things - the shadow of woe - It falls from my spirit wherever I go, As from a dark cloud drifting heavy and slow, For my spirit is weary. Ah ! what can be flowers in their gladness to me, Or the voices that people the green forest tree, Or the full joy of streams - since my soul sighs, ah me! O'er the grave of my Mary. Under the glad face of nature, her face Hath carried down with it all beauty and grace; Pale is it there in that dark silent place - Mary! oh Mary! Children are by me - her children ; oh God ! To see where their feet have unwittingly trod, Tiny tracks in the loam of the new broken sod Betwixt them and their mother! Betwixt them and the true one who loved us in truth, Who bore them, and died 'mid the hopes of her youth ! Who would live in a world where nor anguish nor ruth May avail the bereaved ones. Yet must I live, lest her spirit should say, Meeting mine in its flight from this vesture of clay, "Where are our little ones ? Where do they stay ? And why did you leave them ?" If for them only, then, so must it be, See, I remain with them, Mary! but see How lonely we stand in a world without thee! Mary! oh Mary! I live, but death's shadow is over me cast ; And even when wearied woe sleepeth at last, Some dream of the dead, sighing out of the past, Is alive in the darkness ! Could I but weep, it were comfort, though brief; But the fountain of tears by the fire of my grief Hath been dried to its dregs, and can shed no relief On the thirst of my eyelids. As music that wasteth away on the blast, As the last ray by the sunken sun cast, All my heart's gladness hath died in the past, - Mary! oh Mary! THE CLOUD. ONE summer morn, out of the sea-waves wild, A speck-like Cloud, the season's fated child, Came softly floating up the boundless sky, And o'er the sun-parched hills all brown and dry. Onward she glided through the azure air, Borne by its motion without toil or care, When looking down in her ethereal joy, She marked earth's moilers at their hard employ; "And oh!" she said, "that by some act of grace 'Twere mine to succour yon fierce-toiling race, To give the hungry meat, the thirsty drink - The thought of good is very sweet to think." The day advanced, and the cloud greater grew, And greater; likewise her desire to do Some charity to men had more and more, As the long sultry summer day on wore, Greatened and warmed within her fleecy breast, Like a dove fledging in its downy nest. The heat waxed fiercer, until all the land Clared in the sun as 'twere a monstrous brand And the shrunk rivers, few and far between, Like molten metal lightened in the scene. Ill could Earth's sons endure their toilsome state, Though still they laboured, for their need was great, And many a long beseeching look they sped Towards that fair cloud, with many a sigh that said: "We famish for thy bounty ! For our sake O break thou! in a showery blessing, break !" "I feel, and fain would help you," said the cloud, And towards the earth her bounteous being bowed ; But then remem'bring a tradition she Had in her youth learned from her native sea, That when a cloud adventures from the skies Too near the altar of the hills, it dies ! Awhile she wavered and was blown about Hither and thither by the winds of doubt; But in the midst of heaven at length all still She stood ; then suddenly, with a keen thrill Of light, she said within herself, "I will ! Yea, in the glad strength of devotion, I Will help you, though in helping you I die." Filled with this thought's divinity, the cloud Grew worldlike vast, as earthward more she bowed ! Oh, never erewhile had she dreamed her state So great might be, beneficently great ! O'er the parched fields in her angelic love She spread her wide wings like a brooding dove Till as her purpose deepened, drawing near, Divinely awful did her front appear, And men and beasts all trembled at the view, And the woods bowed, though well all creatures knew That near in her, to every kind the same, A great predestined benefactress came. And then wide-flashed throughout her full-grown form The glory of her will! the pain and storm Of life's dire dread of death, whose mortal threat From Christ himself drew agonizing sweat, Flashed seething out of rents amid her heaps Of lowering gloom, and thence with arrowy leaps Hissed jagging downward, till a sheety glare Illumined all the illimitable air; The thunder followed, a tremendous sound, Loud doubling and reverberating round; Strong was her will, but stronger yet the power Of love, that now dissolved her in a shower, Dropping in blessings to enrich the earth With health and plenty at one blooming birth. Far as the rain extended o'er the land, A splendid bow the freshened landscape spanned Like a celestial arc, hung in the air By angel artists, to illumine there The parting triumph of that spirit fair. The rainbow vanished, but the blessing craved Rested upon the land the cloud had saved. THE CREEK OF THE FOUR GRAVES. A SETTLER in the olden times went forth With four of his most bold and trusted men Into the wilderness - went forth to seek New streams and wider pastures for his fast Increasing flocks and herds. O'er mountain routes And over wild wolds clouded up with brush, And cut with marshes perilously deep, - So went they forth at dawn ; at eve the sun, That rose behind them as they journeyed out, Was firing with his nether rim a range Of unknown mountains, that like ramparts towered Full in their front. and his last glances fell Into the gloomy forest's eastern glades In golden gleams, like to the Angel's sword, And flashed upon the windings of a creek That noiseless ran betwixt the pioneers And those new Apennines - ran, shaded o'er With boughs of the wild willow, hanging mixed From either-bank, or duskily befringed With upward tapering feathery swamp-oaks, The sylvan eyelash always of remote Australian waters, whether gleaming still In lake or pool, or bickering along, Between the marges of some eager stream. Before them, thus extended, wilder grew The scene each moment and more beautiful ; For when the sun was all but sunk below Those barrier mountains, in the breeze that o'er Their rough enormous backs deep-fleeced with wood Came whispering down, the wide up-slanting sea Of fanning leaves in the descending rays Danced dazzlingly, tingling as if the trees Thrilled to the roots for very happiness. But when the sun had wholly disappeared Behind those mountains - O what words, what hues Might paint the wild magnificence of view That opened westward! Out extending, lo! The heights rose crowding, with their summits all Dissolving as it seemed, and partly lost In the exceeding radiancy aloft; And thus transfigured, for awhile they stood Like a great company of archaeons, crowned With burning diadems, and tented o'er With canopies of purple and of gold. Here halting wearied now the sun was set, Our travellers kindled for their first night's camp A brisk and crackling fire, which seemed to them, A wilder creature than 'twas elsewhere wont, Because of the surrounding savageness. And as they supped, birds of new shape and plume And wild strange voice came by; and up the steep Between the climbing forest growths they saw Perched on the bare abutments of the hills, Where haply yet some lingering gleam fell through, The wallaroo look forth. Eastward at last The glow was wasted into formless gloom, Night's front; then westward the high massing woods Steeped in a swart but mellow Indian hue, A deep dusk loveliness, lay ridged and heaped, Only the more distinctly for their shade, Against the twilight hearen - a cloudless depth, Yet luminous with sunset's fading glow; And thus awhile in the lit dusk they seemed To hang like mighty pictures of themselves In the still chambers of some vaster world. At last, the business of the supper done, The echoes of the solitary place Came as in sylvan wonder wide about To hear and imitate the voices strange, Within the pleasant purlieus of the fire Lifted in glee; but to be hushed erelong, As with the darkness of the night there came O'er the adventurers, each and all, some sense Of danger lurking in its forest lairs. But, nerved by habit, they all gathered round About the well-built fire, whose nimble tongues Sent up continually a strenuous roar Of fierce delight, and from their fuming pipes Drawing rude comfort, round the pleasant light With grave discourse they planned their next day's deeds. Wearied at length, their couches they prepared Of rushes, and the long green tresses pulled From the bent boughs of the wild willows near; Then the four men stretched out their tired limbs Under the dark arms of the forest trees That mixed aloft, high in the starry air, In arcs and leafy domes whose crossing curves, Blended with denser intergrowth of sprays, Were seen,in mass traced out against the clear Wide gaze of heaven ; and trustful of the watch Kept near them by their master, soon they slept, Forgetful of the perilous wilderness That lay around them like a spectral world; And all things slept ; the circling forest trees, Their foremost boles carved from a crowded mass Less visible by the watch-fire's bladed gleams That ran far out in the umbrageous dark Beyond the broad red ring of constant light; And,even the shaded mountains darkly seen, Their bluff brows looming through the stirless air, Looked in their stillness solemnly asleep : Yea, thence surveyed, the universe might have seemed Coiled in vast rest;-only that one dark cloud, Diffused and shapen like a spider huge, Crept as with scrawling legs along the sky And that the stars in their bright orders, still Cluster by cluster glowingly revealed, As this slow cloud moved on, high over all, Peaceful and wakeful, watched the world below. A kind of large kangaroo peculiar to the higher and more difficult mountains. PART II. Meanwhile the cloudless eastern heaven had grown More luminous, and now the moon arose Above the hill, when lo! that giant cone Erewhile so dark, seemed inwardly aglow With her instilled irradiance, while the trees That fringed its outline, their huge statures dwarfed By distance into brambles and yet all Clearly defined against her ample orb, Out of its very disc appeared to swell In shadowy relief, as they had been All sculptured from its surface as she rose. Then her full light in silvery sequence still Cascading forth from ridgy slope to slope, Chased mass by mass the broken darkness down Into the dense-brushed valleys, where it crouched, And shrank, and struggled, like a dragon-doubt Glooming a lonely spirit. His lone watch The master kept, and wakeful looked abroad On all the solemn beauty of the world; And by some sweet and subtle tie that joins The loved and cherished, absent from our side, With all that is serene and beautiful In Nature, thoughts of home began to steal Into his musings-when, on a sudden, hark! A bough cracks loudly in a neighbouring brake ! Against the shade-side of a bending gum. With a strange horror gathering to his heart, As if his blood were charged with insect life And writhed along in clots, he stilled himself And listened heedfully, till his held breath Became a pang. Nought heard he : silence there Had recomposed her ruffled wings, and now Deep brooded in the darkness ; so that he Again mused on, quiet and reassured. But there again-crack upon crack ! Awake! O heaven! have hell's worst fiends burst howling up Into the death-doomed world ? Or whence, if not From diabolic rage, could surge a yell So horrible as that which now affrights The shuddering dark ! Beings as fell are near ! Yea, beings in their dread inherited hate Awful, vengeful as hell's worst fiends, are come In vengeance! For behold from the long grass And nearer brakes arise the bounding forms Of painted savages, full in the light Thrown outward by the fire, that roused and lapped. The rounding darknesswith its ruddy tongues More fiercely than before, as though even it Had felt the sudden shock the air received From those terrific cries. On then they came And rushed upon the sleepers, three of whom But started, and then weltered prone beneath The first fell blow dealt down on each by three Of the most stalwart of their pitiless foes But one again, and yet again, rose up, Rose to his knees, under the crushing strokes Of huge clubbed nulla-nullas, till his own Warm blood was blinding him. For he was one Who had with misery nearly all his days Lived lonely, and who therefore in his soul Did hunger after hope, and thirst for what Hope still had promised him, some taste at least Of human good however long deferred. And now he could not, even in dying, loose His hold on life's poor chances still to come, Could not but so dispute the terrible fact Of death, e'en in death's presence. Strange it is, Yet oft 'tis seen, that fortune's pampered child Consents to death's untimely power with less Reluctance, less despair, than does the wretch Who hath been ever blown about the world, The straw-like sport of fate's most bitter blasts So though the shadows of untimely death, Inevitably under every stroke But thickened more and more, against them still The poor wretch struggled, nor would cease until One last great blow, dealt down upon his head As if in mercy, gave him to the dust, With all his many woes and frustrate hopes. The master, chilled with horror, saw it all; From instinct more than conscious thought he raised His death-charged tube, and at that murderous crew Firing, saw one fall ox-like to the earth, Then turned and fled. Fast fled he, but as fast His deadly foes went thronging on his track. Fast ! for in full pursuit behind him yelled Men whose wild speech no word for mercy hath! And as he fled the forest beasts as well In general terror through the brakes ahead Crashed scattering, or with maddening speed athwart His course came frequent. On, still on, he flies - Flies for dear life, and still behind him hears Nearer and nearer, the light rapid dig , Of many feet - nearer and nearer still. PART III. So went the chase. Now at a sudden turn Before him lay the steep-banked mountain creek; Still on he kept perforce, and from a rock That beaked the bank, a promontory bare, Plunging right forth and shooting feet-first down, Sunk to his middle in the flashing stream, In which the imaged stars seemed all at once To burst like rockets into one wide blaze. Then wading through the ruffled waters, forth He sprang, and seized a snake-like root that from The opponent bank protruded, clenching there His cold hand like a clamp of steel; and thence He swung his dripping form aloft, the blind And breathless haste of one who flies for life Urging him on; up the dark ledge he climbed, When in its face - O verily our God Hath those in His peculiar care, for whom The daily prayers of spotless womanhood And helpless infancy are offered up! There in its face a cavity he felt, The upper earth of which in one rude mass Was held fast bound by the enwoven roots Of two old trees, and which, beneath the mould, Over the dark and clammy cave below, Twisted like knotted snakes. 'Neath these he crept, Just as the dark forms of his hunters thronged The steep bold rock whence he before had plunged. Duskily visible beneath the moon They paused a space, to mark what bent his course Might take beyond the stream. But now no form Amongst the moveless fringe of fern was seen To shoot up from its outline, 'mid the boles And mixing shadows of the taller trees, All standing now in the keen radiance there So ghostly still as in a solemn trance; But nothing in the silent prospect stirred Therefore they augured that their prey was yet Within the nearer distance, and they all Plunged forward till the fretted current boiled Amongst their crowding forms from bank to bank And searching thus the stream across, and then Along the ledges, combing down each clump Of long-flagged swamp-grass where it flourished high, The whole dark line passed slowly, man by man, Athwart the cave ! Keen was their search but vain, There grouped in dark knots standing in the stream That glimmered past them moaning as it went, They marvelled ; passing strange to them it seemed Some old mysterious fable of their race, That brooded o'er the valley and the creek, Returned upon their minds, and fear-struck all And silent, they withdrew. And when the sound Of their retreating steps had died away, As back they hurried to despoil the dead In the stormed camp, then rose the fugitive, Renewed his flight, nor rested from it, till He gained the shelter of his longed-for home. And in that glade, far in the doomful wild, In sorrowing record of an awful hour Of human agony and loss extreme, Untimely spousals with a desert death, Four grassy mounds are there beside the creek, Bestrewn with sprays and leaves from the old trees Which moan the ancient dirges that have caught The heed of dying ages, and for long The traveller passing then in safety there Would call the place - The Creek of the Four Graves. THE BATTLE OF LIFE. NEVER give up, though life be a battle Wherein true men may fail, and true causes be sold; Yet, on the whole, however may rattle The thunders of chance, scaring cowards like cattle - Clear victory's always the bride of the bold. Armed in your right-though friendship deny you, And love fall away when the storm's at the worst, Count not your loss, Was destined to try you - Bear the brunt like a man, and your deeds shall ally you To natures more noble and true than the first. Rail not at Fate : if rightly you scan her, There's none loves more strongly the heart that endures: On, in the hero's calm resolute manner, Still bear aloft your hope's long-trusted banner, And the day, if you do but live through it, is yours. Be this your faith; and if killing strokes clatter On your harness where true men before you have died, Fight on, let your life-blood be poured out like water - Fight on, make at least a brave end of the matter, Brave end of the struggle if nothing beside. TO POESY. Dedicated to a certain M.L.C, who is quite confident that Poetry, "and that sort of thing" is a mockery and delusion. YET do not thou forsake me now, Poesy, with Peace-together! Ere this last disastrous blow Did lay my struggling fortunes low, In love unworn have we not borne Much wintry weather ? The storm is past, perhaps the last, Its rainy skirts are wearing over But though yet a sunnier glow Should give my ice-bound hopes to flow, Forlorn of thee, 'twere nought to me A lonely rover ! Ah, misery! what were then my lot Amongst a race of unbelievers Sordid men who all declare That earthly gain alone is fair, And they who pore on bardic lore Deceived deceivers. That all the love I've felt to move Round beauty in thy fountain laving, Move in music through the air, Gathering increase everywhere, The more to bless her loveliness, Was Folly raving! That to believe thought yet shall weave, - Although with arm'd oppression coping, Truth-bright banners which, unfurled, Shall herald freedom through the world, And give to man her kindly plan, Is Folly hoping! On thy breast in sabbath rest How often have I lain, deep musing In the golden eventide, Till all the dead, for truth that died, Looked from the skies with starry eyes, Great thoughts infusing! But can it be life's mystery Is but a baseless panorama, Peopled thick with passing dreams, Wild writhing glooms, and wandering gleams, And soul a breath exhaled by death, Which ends the drama? Then is the scope of this world's hope No more than worldlings deem it ever, Earth and sky, with nought between Of spiritual truth serene : And if so, fly! for thou and I At once should sever. But if there lives, as love believes, All underneath this silent heaven, In yon shades, and by yon streams, As we have seen them in our dreams, A deathless race ; still let thy grace My being leaven! Thy mystic grace! that face to face Full converse I may hold with nature, Seeing published everywhere In forms, the soul that makes her fair, And grow the while to her large style In mental stature. TO THE COMET OF 1843 Thy purpose, heavenly stranger, who may tell But Him, who linked thee to the starry whole? Wherefore, in this our darkness, be it ours To must upon thee in thy high career, As of some wandering symphony from amidst Those highest stellar harmonies that track Through infinite space and the great rounds of time The mighty marches of creation. Behold, how high thou travellest in heaven! Myriads of wondering human spirits here, Duly each night with upturned looks seek out The mystery of thy advent. In thy last Bright visitation, even thus thou sawst The young, the lovely, and the wise of earth- A buried generation - crowding out, With looks upturned, to see thee passing forth Beyond the signs of time - and then to know, In all the awful vastness of the heaven, Thy place no more! And when the flaming steps Of thy unspeakable speed, which of itself Blows back the long strands of thy burning hair Through half the arch of night, shall lead thee forth Into the dim of the inane, beyond Our utmost vision; all the eloquent eyes Now opened wide with welcome and with wonder- Eyes tender as the turtles, or that speak The fervent soul and the majestic mind; All these, alas! - all these, ere thou once more Shalt drive thus fulgently around the sun Thy chariot of fire, fast closed in dust And mortal darkness, shall have given for aye Their lustre to the grave. But human eyes As many and beautiful - yea, more sublime And radiant in their passion, from a more Enlarged communion with the spirit of truth,- Shall welcome thee instead, mysterious stranger, When thou return st anew. And thus to think Consoles us, even while we watch thee pass Out of our times for ever; yea, although Some selfish entertainment of a truth At all times mournful, whisper us the while: So shall it be indeed, for God abides, And nature, born of His eternal power, Must share its dateless energy as well. Yea, all that flows from the Eternal must, If from divine necessity alone, Work with its cause for ever - still, alas! Though thence derived, how fugitive and swift, How vague and shadow-like, this life of Man! THE DROWNED ALIVE. I was one so deeply drowned, That when the drag my body found, Twas void of motion, void of breath, And to sensation dead as death. In a languid summer mood I had plunged into a flood, That to the low sun s slanting beams Gleamed with only quiet gleams, Each with a wide flicker sheeting From its still floor, fast and fleeting, E en such a flood as, one would say, Could never, or by night or day, Have drenched a man s warm life away. But what are these down in its bed That trail so long and look so red, Moving as in conscious sport? Are they weeds of curious sort? But I'll drive to them and see Into all their mystery. Down I dive. A plentious crop! Some shall with me to the top, For here there is too dim a light To show their character aright. I wind them in my arms, intent To root them up in my ascent; But they resist me, and again I tug them with a stronger strain. Full well, I trow, they hold their own, Gripping fast each bedded stone With their tuby roots, that go Down through the stiff slime below. Well at last I find that I Must leave them. - But in vain I try! Fierce as lightning on my brain Smites the dread truth - I try in vain! Yea, more and more, in coils and flakes Like long blood- red watersnakes, The deadly things around me clasp - The more I tug the more they grasp! My pent breath, growing hot and thin, Explodes with a dull booming din; While through my unclenched teeth the wave Comes drenching! Is there none to save? None near to see, to guess, to trace Under the water s gleaming face The dread extremity of one Thus fastened down? Ah! Is there none? Wild as vain my struggles grow- Horror, horror, life must go! Hope gives up her ghost, despair; I am dying; round me here The long weeds erst so deeply red, Look, even where nearest, grey as lead, As mid them, settling down, I sway To and fro, and fast away Life keeps bubbling - bubbling, aye Through my cold lips wide agape, White, and stiffening to that shape They take at last when done with breath In the rigid face of death. And now, while sullen drummings make My spirit through mine ears to ache, Life- long memories interwrought With all I ever felt or thought, Sacred fancies hidden long Lest the world should do them wrong, Pent- back feelings that for years Just below the source of tears Folded close their glowing wings, With a million other things, All thick interthronging press Through my drowning consciousness; Then comes the thought of how my doom Must wrap my mother in its gloom; And give my sire to hold his breath For anguish, hearing of my death, And wound one fond heart to the core In the wide world evermore. All in the same instant so Do these quick thoughts come and go, Life within my failing brain Full of pity, full of pain. Lastly a drear stupor blent With a comfortless content, Into one mass of clammy clay Kneads mind and body. Drenched away With one faint shudder, one last throe, Life stagnates and its shell lies low, Swaying weed- bound to and fro, Void of feeling and of breath, How die we, if this be not death? Ah! What thrilling, thrilling pain Kindles through my heart and brain! Ah! What horrors o er me wave, Shadowing forth as from the grave; Ah! Those sudden gleams of light, They fall like firebrands on my sight! Ah! What vast and heavy world Is all at once upon me hurled, Massing into one immense Oppression, every tortured sense. * Yes; I now remember well How my sudden fate befell; And are we, then, in death s grim thrall, Thus consciousness of our funeral? But where are they who most should mourn When by bier is graveward borne? With her whose face I yearn to see- Where are they? And where is she? Where the crape- trimm d followers all? Where the coffin and the pall? Or do death and nature strive Within me? Is the drowned alive? THE HOME OF PEACE. Trust and treachery, wisdom, folly, Madness, mirth and melancholy, Love and hatred, thrift and pillage, All are housed in every village. And in such a world s mixed being, Where may peace, from ruin fleeing, Find fit shelter and inherit All the calm of her own merit? In a bark of gentle motion Sailing on the summer ocean? There worst war the tempest wages, And the hungry whirlpool rages. In some lonely new- world bower Hidden like a forest flower? There, too, there, to fray the stranger Stalks the wild- eyed savage, danger! In some Alpine cot, by fountains Flowing from snow- shining mountains? There the avalanches thunder, Crushing all that lieth under! In some hermit- tent, pitched lowly Mid the tombs of prophets holy? There to harry and annoy her Roams the infidel destroyer. In palatial chambers gilded, Guarded round with towers high- builded? Change may enter these to- morrow, And with change may enter sorrow. Find, O peace, thy home of beauty In the steadfast heart of duty, Dwelling ever there, and seeing God through every phase of being. DORA It was, I well remember, the merry springtime when Young Dora in the eventide came singing up the glen, And the song came up the glen, till one oft- repeated part In a subtle stream of melody ran glowing through my heart. A fond desire, long cherished, till then I might control, Till then - but oh! That witching strain swift drew it from my soul; Swift drew it from my soul, and she did not say me nay, And the world of love was all the world to us that happy day. I'm happy now in thinking how happy I was then, When towards the glowing west my love went homeward down the glen; Went homeward down the glen, while my comfort surer grew, Till methought the old- faced hills at looked as they were happy too. All happy, for that Dora and I so happy were! All happy, for that human love had breathed its spirit there! Had breathed its spirit there, and had made them conscious grow Of the part they bore in that sweet time, that happy long ago. ONWARD Have the blasts of sorrow worn thee, Have the rocks of danger torn thee, And thus shifted, wreck- like drifted, Wouldst thou find a port in time? Vain the quest! That word sublime - God's great one word, Silent never, pealeth ever, Onward! Hast thou done all loving duty, Hast thou clothed thy soul with beauty, And wouldst rest then, wholly blest then, In some sunny lapse of time? Vain the hope! The word sublime - God's great one word, Silent never, pealeth ever, Onward! Hast thou won the heart of glory, Hast thou charmed the tongue of story, And wouldst pause then for applause then, Underneath the stars of time? Vain the lure! That word sublime - God's great one word, Silent never, pealeth ever, Onward! Truth and virtue hast thou wrought for, Faith and freedom hast thou fought for, And then shrinkest for thou thinkest Paid is all thy debt in time? Vain the thought! That word sublime - God's great one word, Silent never, pealeth ever, Onward! From endeavour to endeavour, Journeying with hours for ever, Or aspiring, or acquiring This, O man, is life in time, Urged by that primal word sublime - God's great one word, Silent never, pealeth ever, Onward! A STORM IN THE MOUNTAINS A lonely boy, far venturing from home Out on the half- wild herd s faint tracks I roam; Mid rock- browned mountains, which with stony frown Glare into haggard chasms deep adown; A rude and craggy world, the prospect lies Bounded in circuit by the bending skies. Now at some clear pool scooped out by the shocks Of rain-floods plunging from the upper rocks Whose liquid disc in its undimpled rest Glows like a mighty gem brooching the mountain s breast, I drink and must, or mark the wide- spread herd, Or list the thinking of the dingle- bird; And now towards some wild- hanging shade I stray, To shun the bright oppression of the day; For round each crag, and o er each bosky swell, The fierce refracted heat flares visible, Lambently restless, like the dazzling hem Of some else viewless veil held trembling over them. Why congregate the swallows in the air, And northward then in rapid flight repair? With sudden swelling din, remote yet harsh, Why roar the bull- frogs in the tea- tree marsh? Why cease the locusts to throng up in flight And clap their gay wings in the fervent light? Why climb they, bodingly demure, instead The tallest spear- grass to the bending head? Instinctively, along the sultry sky, I turn a listless, yet inquiring, eye; And mark that now with a slow gradual pace A solemn trance creams northward o er its face; Yon clouds that late were labouring past the sun, Reached by its sure arrest, one after one, Come to a heavy halt; the airs that played About the rugged mountains all are laid: While drawing nearer far- off heights appear, As in a dream s wild prospect, strangely near! Till into wood resolves their robe of blue, And the grey crags rise bluffly on the view. Such are the signs and tokens that presage A summer hurricane s forthcoming rage. At length the south sends out her cloudy heaps And up the glens at noontide dimness creeps; The birds, late warbling in the hanging green Off steep- set brakes, seek now some safer screen; The herd, in doubt, no longer wanders wide, But fast ingathering throngs yon mountain s side, Whose echoes, surging to its tramp, might seem The muttered troubles of some Titan s dream. Fast the dim legions of the muttering storm Throng denser, or protruding columns form; While splashing forward from their cloudy lair, Convolving flames, like scouting dragons, glare: Low thunders follow, labouring up the sky; And as fore- running blasts go blaring by, At once the forest, with a mighty stir, Bows, as in homage to the thunderer! Hark! From the dingoes blood- polluted dens In the gloom- hidden chasms of the glens, Long fitful howls wail up; and in the blast Strange hissing whispers seem to huddle past; As if the dread stir had aroused from sleep Weird spirits, cloistered in yon cavy steep (On which, in the grim past, some Cain s offence Hath haply outraged heaven!) Who rising thence Wrapped in the boding vapours, laughed again To wanton in the wild- willed hurricane. See in the storm s front, sailing dark and dread, A wide- winged eagle like a black flag spread! The clouds aloft flash doom! Short stops his flight! He seems to shrivel in the blasting light! The air is shattered with a crashing sound, And he falls stonelike, lifeless, to the ground. Now, like a shadow at great nature s heart, The turmoil grows. Now wonder, with a start, Marks where right overhead the storm careers, Girt with black horrors and wide- flaming fears! Arriving thunders, mustering on his path, Swell more and more the roarings of his wrath, As out in widening circles they extend, And then - at once - in utter silence end. Portentous silence! Time keeps breathing past, Yet it continues! May this marvel last? This wild weird silence in the midst of gloom So manifestly big with coming doom? Tingles the boding ear; and up the glens Instinctive dread comes howling from the wild- dogs dens. Terrific vision! Heaven s great ceiling splits, And a vast globe of writhing fire emits, Which pouring down in one continuous stream, Spans the black concave like a burning beam, A moment; - then from end to end it shakes With a quick motion - and in thunder breaks! Peal rolled on peal! While heralding the sound, As each concussion thrills the solid ground, Fierce glares coil, snake- like, round the rocky wens Of the red hills, or hiss into the glens, Or thick through heaven like flaming falchions swarm, Cleaving the teeming cisterns of the storm, From which rain- torrents, searching every gash, Split by the blast come sheeting with a dash. On yon grey peak, from rock- encrusted roots, The mighty patriarch of the wood upshoots, In whose proud-spreading top s imperial height, The mountain-eagle loveth most to light: Now dimly seen through the tempestuous air, His form seems harrowed by a mad despair, As with his ponderous arms uplifted high, He wrestles with the storm and threshes at the sky! A swift bolt hurtles through the lurid air, Another thundering crash! The peak is bare! Huge hurrying fragments all around are cast, The wild- winged, mad- limbed monsters of the blast. The darkness thickens! With despairing cry From shattering boughs the rain- drenched parrtos fly; Loose rocks roll rumbling from the mountains round, And half the forest strews the smoking ground; To the bared crags the blasts now wilder moan, And the caves labour with a ghostlier groan. Wide raging torrents down the gorges flow Swift bearing with them to the vale below Those sylvan wrecks that littered late the path Of the loud hurricane s all- trampling wrath. The storm is past. Yet booming on afar Is heard the rattling of the thunder- car, And that low muffled moaning, as of grief, Which follows with a wood- sigh wide and brief. The clouds break up; the sun s forth- bursting rays Clothe the wet landscape with a dazzling blaze; The birds begin to sing a lively strain, And merry echoes ring it o'er again; The clustered herd is spreading out to graze, Though lessening torrents still a hundred ways Flash downward, and from many a rock ledge A mantling gush comes quick and shining o er the edge. 'Tis evening; and the torrent's furious flow Runs gentlier now into the lake below, O'er all the freshened scene no sound is heard, Save the short twitter of some busied bird, Or a faint rustle made amongst the trees By wasting fragments of a broken breeze. Along the wild and wreck- strewed paths I wind, Watching earth s happiness with quiet mind, And see a beauty all unmarked till now Flushing each flowery nook and sunny brow; Wished peace returning like a bird of calm, Brings to the wounded world its blessed healing balm. On nerveless, tuneless lines how sadly Ringing rhymes may wasted be, While blank verse oft is mere prose madly Striving to be poetry: While prose that s craggy as a mountain May Apollo's sun-robe don, Or hold the well- spring of a fountain Bright as that in Helicon.
http://ns.ausnc.org.au/corpora/cooee/source/2-292#Text