Life Without and Life Within; or, Reviews, Narratives, Essays, and Poems.
And rather we'd shake hands with disappointment
Than wait and lean on sober expectation.
The Highlands now are passed, and Hyde Park flies,--
Catskill salutes us--a far fairy-land.
O mountains, how do ye delude our hearts!
Let but the eye look down upon a valley,
We feel our limitations, and are calm;
But place blue mountains in the distant view,
And the soul labors with the Titan hope
To ascend the shrouded tops, and scale the heavens.
O, pause not in the murky, old Dutch city,
But, hasting onward with a renewed steam power,
Bestow your hours upon the beauteous Mohawk;
And here we grieve to lose our courteous knight,
Just at the opening of so rich a page.
How shall I praise thee, Mohawk? How portray
The love, the joyousness, felt in thy presence?
When each new step along the silvery tide
Added new gems of beauty to our thought,
And lapped the soul in an Elysium
Of verdure and of grace, fed by thy sweetness.
O, how gay Fancy smiled, and deemed it home!
This is, thought she, the river of my garden;
These are the graceful trees that form its bowers,
And these the meads where I have sighed to roam.
I now may fold my wearied wings in peace.
JOURNEY TO TRENTON FALLS.
I.
TO MY FRIENDS AND COMPANIONS.
If this faint reflex from those days so bright
May aught of sympathy among you gain,
I shall not think these verses penned in vain;
Though they tell nothing of the fancies light,
The kindly deeds, rich thoughts, and various grace
With which you knew to make the hours so fair,
That neither grief nor sickness could efface
From memory's tablet what you printed there.
Could I have breathed your spirit through these lines,
They might have charms to win a critic's smile,
Or the cold worldling of a sigh beguile.
I could but from my being bring one tone;
May it arouse the sweetness of your own.
II.
THE HIGHLANDS.
I saw ye first, arrayed in mist and cloud;
No cheerful lights softened your aspect bold;
A sullen gray, or green, more grave and cold,
The varied beauties of the scene enshroud.
Yet not the less, O Hudson! calm and proud,
Did I receive the impress of that hour
Which showed thee to me, emblem of that power
Of high resolve, to which even rocks have bowed;
Thou wouldst not deign thy course to turn aside,
And seek some smiling valley's welcome warm,
But through the mountain's very heart, thy pride
Has been, thy channel and thy banks to form.
Not even the "bulwarks of the world" could bar
The inland fount from joining ocean's war!
III.
CATSKILL.
How fair at distance shone yon silvery blue,
O stately mountain-tops, charming the mind
To dream of pleasures which she there may find,
Where from the eagle's height she earth can view!
Nor are those disappointments which ensue;
For though, while eyeing what beneath us lay,
Almost we shunned to think of yesterday,
As wonderingly our looks its course pursue.
Dwarfed to a point the joys of many hours,
The river on whose bosom we were borne
Seems but a thread, of pride and beauty shorn;
Its banks, its shadowy groves, like beds of flowers,
Wave their diminished heads;--yet would we sigh,
Since all this loss shows us more near the sky?
IV.
VALLEY OF THE MOHAWK.
Could I my words with gentlest grace imbue,
Which the flute's breath, or harp's clear tones, can bless,
I then might hope the feelings to express,
And with new life the happy day endue,
Thou gav'st, O vale, than Tempe's self more fair!
With thy romantic stream and emerald isles,
Touched by an April mood of tears and smiles
Which stole on matron August unaware;
The meads with all the spring's first freshness green,
The trees with summer's thickest garlands crowned,
And each so elegant, that fairy queen
All day might wander ere she chose her round;
No blemish on the sense of beauty broke,
But the whole scene one ecstasy awoke.
V.
TRENTON FALLS, EARLY IN THE MORNING.
The sun, impatient, o'er the lofty trees
Struggles to illume as fair a sight as lies
Beneath the light of his joy-loving eyes,
Which all the forms of energy must please;
A solemn shadow falls in pillared form,
Made by yon ledge, which noontide scarcely shows,
Upon the amber radiance, soft and warm,
Where through the cleft the eager torrent flows.
Would you the genius of the place enjoy,
In all the charms contrast and color give?
Your eye and taste you now may best employ,
For this the hour when minor beauties live;
Scan ye the details as the sun rides high,
For with the morn these sparkling glories fly.
VI.
TRENTON FALLS, (AFTERNOON.)
A calmer grace o'er these still hours presides;
Now is the time to see the might of form;
The heavy masses of the buttressed sides,
The stately steps o'er which the waters storm;
Where, 'neath the mill, the stream so gently glides,
You feel the deep seclusion of the scene,
And now begin to comprehend what mean
The beauty and the power this chasm hides.
From the green forest's depths the portent springs,
But from those quiet shades bounding away,
Lays bare its being to the light of day,
Though on the rock's cold breast its love it flings.
Yet can all sympathy such courage miss?
Answer, ye trees! who bend the waves to kiss.
VII.
TRENTON FALLS BY MOONLIGHT.
I deemed the inmost sense my soul had blessed
Which in the poem of thy being dwells,
And gives such store for thought's most sacred cells;
And yet a higher joy was now confessed.
With what a holiness did night invest
The eager impulse of impetuous life,
And hymn-like meanings clothed the waters' strife!
With what a solemn peace the moon did rest
Upon the white crest of the waterfall;
The haughty guardian banks, by the deep shade,
In almost double height are now displayed.
Depth, height, speak things which awe, but not appall.
From elemental powers this voice has come,
And God's love answers from the azure dome.
SUB ROSA, CRUX.
In times of old, as we are told,
When men more child-like at the feet
Of Jesus sat, than now,
A chivalry was known more bold
Than ours, and yet of stricter vow,
Of worship more complete.
Knights of the Rosy Cross, they bore
Its weight within the heart, but wore
Without, devotion's sign in glistening ruby bright;
The gall and vinegar they drank alone,
But to the world at large would only own
The wine of faith, sparkling with rosy light.
They knew the secret of the sacred oil
Which, poured upon the prophet's head,
Could keep him wise and pure for aye.
Apart from all that might distract or soil,
With this their lamps they fed.
Which burn in their sepulchral shrines unfading night and day.
The pass-word now is lost,
To that initiation full and free;
Daily we pay the cost
Of our slow schooling for divine degree.
We know no means to feed an undying lamp;
Our lights go out in every wind or damp.
We wear the cross of ebony and gold,
Upon a dark background a form of light,
A heavenly hope upon a bosom cold,
A starry promise in a frequent night;
The dying lamp must often trim again,
For we are conscious, thoughtful, striving men.
Yet be we faithful to this present trust,
Clasp to a heart resigned the fatal must;
Though deepest dark our efforts should enfold,
Unwearied mine to find the vein of gold;
Forget not oft to lift the hope on high;
The rosy dawn again shall fill the sky.
And by that lovely light, all truth-revealed,
The cherished forms which sad distrust concealed,
Transfigured, yet the same, will round us stand,
The kindred angels of a faithful band;
Ruby and ebon cross both cast aside,
No lamp is needed, for the night has died.
Happy be those who seek that distant day,
With feet that from the appointed way
Could never stray;
Yet happy too be those who more and more,
As gleams the beacon of that only shore,
Strive at the laboring oar.
Be to the best thou knowest ever true,
Is all the creed;
Then, be thy talisman of rosy hue,
Or fenced with thorns that wearing thou must bleed,
Or gentle pledge of Love's prophetic view,
The faithful steps it will securely lead.
Happy are all who reach that shore,
And bathe in heavenly day,
Happiest are those who high the banner bore,
To marshal others on the way;
Or waited for them, fainting and way-worn,
By burdens overborne.
THE DAHLIA, THE ROSE, AND THE HELIOTROPE.
In a fair garden of a distant land,
Where autumn skies the softest blue outspread,
A lovely crimson dahlia reared her head,
To drink the lustre of the season's prime;
And drink she did, until her cup o'erflowed
With ruby redder than the sunset cloud.
Near to her root she saw the fairest rose
That ever oped her soul to sun and wind.
And still the more her sweets she did disclose,
The more her queenly heart of sweets did find,
Not only for her worshipper the wind,
But for bee, nightingale, and butterfly,
Who would with ceaseless wing about her ply,
Nor ever cease to seek what found they still would find.
Upon the other side, nearer the ground,
A paler floweret on a slender stem,
That cast so exquisite a fragrance round,
As seemed the minute blossom to contemn,
Seeking an ampler urn to hold its sweetness,
And in a statelier shape to find completeness.
Who could refuse to hear that keenest voice,
Although it did not bid the heart rejoice,
And though the nightingale had just begun
His hymn; the evening breeze begun to woo,
When through the charming of the evening dew,
The floweret did its secret soul disclose?
By that revealing touched, the queenly rose
Forgot them both, a deeper joy to hope
And heed the love-note of the heliotrope.
TO MY FRIENDS.
TRANSLATED FROM SCHILLER.
Beloved friends! Earth hath known brighter days
Than ours; we vainly strive to hide this truth;
Would history be silent in their praise,
The very stones tell of man's glorious youth,
In heavenly forms on which we crowd to gaze;
But that high-favored race hath sunk in night;
The day is ours--the living still have sight.
Friends of my youth! In happier climes than ours,
As some far-wandering countrymen declare,
The air is perfume; at each step spring flowers.
Nature has not been bounteous to our prayer;
But art dwells here, with her creative powers,
Laurel and myrtle shun our winter snows,
But with the cheerful vine we wreathe our brows.
Though of more pomp and wealth the Briton boast,
Who holds four worlds in tribute to his pride,--
Although from farthest India's glowing coast
Come gems of gold to burden Thames' dull tide,