1375.-HYMN TO INTELLECTUAL BEAUTY. The awful shadow of some unseen power Floats, though unseen, among us-visiting This various world with as inconstant wing As summer winds that creep from flower to flower; Like moonbeams, that behind some piny mountain shower, It visits with inconstant glance Like clouds in starlight widely spread, Like aught that for its grace may be Spirit of beauty, that dost consecrate With thine own hues all thou dost shine upon Of human thought or form, where art thou gone? Why dost thou pass away and leave our state, This dim, vast vale of tears, vacant and desolate ? Ask why the sunlight not for ever Weaves rainbows o'er yon mountain river; Why aught should fail and fade that once is shown; Why fear, and dream, and death, and birth Cast on the daylight of this earth Such gloom; why man has such a scope For love and hate, despondency and hope? No voice from some sublimer world hath ever To sage or poet these responses given; Therefore the names of demon, ghost, and heaven, Remain the records of their vain endeavourFrail spells, whose utter'd charm might not avail to sever From all we hear and all we see Doubt, chance, and mutability. Thy light alone, like mist o'er mountains driven, Or music by the night wind sent Through strings of some still instrument, Or moonlight on a midnight stream, Gives grace and truth to life's unquiet dream. Love, hope, and self-esteem, like clouds depart, And come, for some uncertain moments lent. Man were immortal and omnipotent Didst thou, unknown and awful as thou art, Keep with thy glorious train firm state within his heart. Thou messenger of sympathies That wax and wane in lover's eyes! Thou that to human thought art nourishment, Like darkness to a dying flame! Depart not as thy shadow came! Depart not, lest the grave should be, Like life and fear, a dark reality. While yet a boy I sought for ghosts, and sped Through many a listening chamber, cave, and ruin, And starlight wood, with fearful steps pursuing Hopes of high talk with the departed dead. I was not heard; I saw them not. Of life, at that sweet time when winds are wooing All vital things that wake to bring I shriek'd, and clasp'd my hands in ecstasy! I vow'd that I would dedicate my powers With beating heart and streaming eyes, And stoled in white, those brazen wheels before, Osiris' ark his swarthy wizards bore; Whom come ye forth to combat -warriors, whom? These flocks and herds-this faint and weary train Red from the scourge, and recent from the chain? God of the poor, the poor and friendless save! Giver and Lord of freedom, help the slave! North, south, and west, the sandy whirlwinds fly, The circling horns of Egypt's chivalry. On earth's last margin throng the weeping train ; Their cloudy guide moves on:-" And must we swim the main ?" 'Mid the light spray their snorting camels stood, Nor bathed a fetlock in the nauseous flood; He comes-their leader comes!-the man of God O'er the wide waters lifts his mighty rod, And onward treads. The circling waves retreat, In hoarse deep murmurs, from his holy feet; And the chased surges, inly roaring, show With limbs that falter, and with hearts that swell, Down, down they pass-a steep and slippery dell; Around them rise, in pristine chaos hurl'd, The ancient rocks, the secrets of the world; And flowers that blush beneath the ocean green, And caves, and sea-calves' low-roof'd haunt, are seen. Down, safely down the narrow pass they tread; The beetling waters storm above their head; While far behind retires the sinking day, And fades on Edom's hills its latest ray. Yet not from Israel fled the friendly light, Or dark to them or cheerless came the night. Still in their van, along that dreadful road, Blazed broad and fierce the brandish'd torch of God. Its meteor glare a tenfold lustre gave eye To them alone-for Misraim's wizard train Invoke for light their monster-gods in vain ; Clouds heap'd on clouds their struggling sight confine, And tenfold darkness broods above their line. Yet on they fare by reckless vengeance led, And range unconscious through the ocean's bed; Till midway now-that strange and fiery form Show'd his dread visage light'ning through the storm; With withering splendour blasted all their might, And brake their chariot wheels, and marr'd their coursers' flight. "Fly, Misraim, fly!" The ravenous floods they see, And, fiercer than the floods, the Deity. Fly, Misraim, fly!" From Edom's coral strand Again the prophet stretch'd his dreadful wand. With one wild crash the thundering waters sweep, And all is waves-a dark and lonely deep; Yet o'er those lonely waves such murmurs past, As mortal wailing swell'd the nightly blast. And strange and sad the whispering breezes bore The groans of Egypt to Arabia's shore. Oh! welcome came the morn, where Israel stood In trustless wonder by the avenging flood! Oh! welcome came the cheerful morn, to show The drifted wreck of Zoan's pride below! Alas, how few! Then, soft as Elim's well, The house of bondage and the oppressor's scorn, The stubborn slave, by hope's new beams subdued, In faltering accents sobb'd his gratitude, She, with bare arms, and fixing on the sky "Where now," she sang, "the tall Egyptian spear? On's sunlike shield, and Zoan's chariot, where ? Above their ranks the whelming waters spread. Shout, Israel, for the Lord hath triumphèd!” And every pause between, as Miriam sang, From tribe to tribe the martial thunder rang, And loud and far their stormy chorus spread Shout, Israel, for the Lord hath triumphèd!" Bishop Heber.-Born 1783, Died 1826. 1378.-FROM BISHOP HEBER'S JOURNAL. If thou wert by my side, my love, If thou, my love, wert by my side, I miss thee at the dawning gray, I miss thee when by Gunga's stream But most beneath the lamp's pale beam I spread my books, my pencil try, But when of morn or eve the star I feel, though thou art distant far, Then on then on! where duty leads, That course, nor Delhi's kingly gates, For sweet the bliss us both awaits Thy towers, Bombay, gleam bright, they say, But ne'er were hearts so light and gay Bishop Heber.-Born 1783, Died 1826. 1379.-AN EVENING WALK IN Our task is done!-on Gunga's breast Come, walk with me the jungle through- And winds our path through many a bower Of fragrant tree and giant flower- But thought on England's "good greenwood;" A truce to thought-the jackal's cry And through the trees yon failing ray I know that soul-entrancing swell, It is it must be-Philomel! 1380.-EFIPHANY. Brightest and best of the sons of the morning, Dawn on our darkness, and lend us thine aid! Star of the East, the horizon adorning, Guide where our infant Redeemer is lil Thou art gone to the grave-and, its mansion forsaking, Perhaps thy tried spirit in doubt linger'd long, But the sunshine of heaven beam'd bright on thy waking, And the song which thou heard'st was the seraphim's song. Thou art gone to the grave-but 'twere wrong to deplore thee, When God was thy ransom, thy guardian, thy guide; He gave thee, and took thee, and soon will restore thee, Where death hath no sting, since the Saviour hath died. Bishop Heber.-Born 1783, Died 1826. 1382.-SPRING. When spring unlocks the flowers to paint the laughing soil; When summer's balmy showers refresh the mower's toil; When winter binds in frosty chains the fallow and the flood, In God the earth rejoiceth still, and owns his Maker good. The birds that wake the morning, and those that love the shade, The winds that sweep the mountain or lull the drowsy glade, The sun that from his amber bower rejoiceth on his way, The moon and stars their Master's name in silent pomp display. Shall man, the lord of nature, expectant of the sky Shall man, alone unthankful, his little praise deny ? No; let the year forsake his course, the seasons cease to be, Thee, Master, must we always love, and, Saviour, honour thee. The flowers of spring may wither, the hope of summer fade, The autumn droop in winter, the bird forsake the shade, The winds be lull'd, the sun and moon forget their old decree, But we, in nature's latest hour, O Lord, will cling to thee! Bishop Heber.-Born 1783, Died 1826. 1383-LINES WRITTEN IN THE Methinks it is good to be here, If thou wilt, let us build-but for whom? But the shadows of eve that encompass with gloom The abode of the dead and the place of the tomb. Shall we build to Ambition? Ah no! Affrighted, he shrinketh away; For see, they would pin him below In a small narrow cave, and, begirt with cold clay, To the meanest of reptiles a peer and a prey. To Beauty? Ah no! she forgets The charms which she wielded before; Nor knows the foul worm that he frets The skin which but yesterday fools could adore, For the smoothness it held or the tin twhich it wore. |