Section 6

Upon that pale young brow bright intellect Sits enthrone'd — where glowing thought oft breaks Its deep repose, those azure eyes illume. And on the parian forehead smooth and white,
84 MRS. munday's poems.
In gentle dalliance "with the wooing winds,
Now float in careless grace soft silken locks
Of jetty hair; while round the classic mouth,
A smile as pleasant as the looks of angels'
Lingers still. And through those lit eyes come
From the far holy of the soul's pure deeps.
Those clear translucent floods of spirit-light
E'en as the stars — are pure, and beautifully bright.
While over all a mournful beauty hangs,
A pensive joy — like to the mellow gloom.
That round the lofty woods sad autumn casts.
And yet these varied charms with conscious pride an
blent. Which on that brow as nobly sits. As would a god upon a skyey throne ! Oh ! 'tis a face love fain would recollect. And memory clasp as with a circean spell ; The enraptur'd soul of Phidias would glow With inspirations new and beautiful. Could he but gaze upon those lineaments divine ; And all of which dear friend, are purely, truly thine.
Genius.
Celestial gift ! thy light is cast around afan Like the etherial blaze of an undying star
MISCELLANEOUS PIECES.
85
From age to age thine influence pure is given, Oh ! thou of powers divine ; fair child of heaven ' Wandering alone, along the halls of time. In this our mundane sphere — life's transcient clime.
Thou com'st methinks, on holy mission sent, With patient zeal and most sublime intent. Around thy shrine in willing homage bows, A wond'ring world, while round thy lofty brows Are twined bright laurel wreaths of fame. Whose clarion tones proclami a deathless name.
But who amid earth's multitudes can comprehend. The mighty striving of thy spirit — or shall blend Their souls w^ith thine ? — there is no second self Thy thoughts to mirror back — shall sordid pelf, Lean avarice — self-loving interest, and worldly gains, Forever all absorb men's hearts, and souls, and
brains ? Alas ! for thee, oh, genius ! — 'tis thy peculiar lot, Ne'er to be wholy known, or e'er forgot — A voice methinks I hear from distant asres. Have ye not heard of it, oh ! ye bards and sages ? Upon the soul it flings a dreamy spell. Mournful and strange as the sound farewell ; Yet are its tones prophetic — they seem to sigh Alone, alone ; as if thy destiny — In solemn grandeur wrapt and pleasing gloom, Was told in those sad words of doom. Ah ! strangely fearful words — they will express Of all thy woes the cause — earth-sickness and distress.
86 MRS. MUNt)AY-S POEMS.
Hark ! that voice — as from the past I hear its solemn
tone, ^' Link divine ; 'twixt Deity and man, live thou alone !" Proud in the isolation of thy soul. Art thou, oh. Genius ! Where is thy spirit's goal ? Ko sympathies there are to bind thee to the earth, in this our twilight being, there is a chilly dearth Of thought and feeling — there is no spirit-ear Amidst the multitude like thine, attun'd to hear The silvery music of each glittering sphere, Or whisper'd melodies of the eternal thought. With which the rushing winds and roaring storms are
fraught ; No mental eyes to see the things that burn. In the fair radiance of truth, which thy clear eyes
discern.
Fearfully gifted is this child of heaven.
Wrestling to fulfill his mighty mission given ;
Of all shades of feeling — his life is a story
From lowest shame, to loftiest glory.
He hath drained the fountains of all earthly lore,
And yet, unsatisfied in soul, still sighs for more ;
And oft in his sweet dreamy musing hours.
He stoops to hear the silent hymn of dreaming flowers.
Then soars on spirit wings beyond each shining star,
From whence his sacred lore and v»risdom comes afar.
From the conflicting interests of mankind apart.
He hath composed in his scant garret a brief chart,
MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 87
Of love and death, and hope, and fame — 'tis hfe's
history, A dark, yet glorious, suhlime and subtle mystery.
With stately step he comes throuc^h the long night Of ages dead where wept its mildew blight ; Dark superstition, that topas of the mind, Wrapt in his thoughts stupendous — amid'st mankind Is heard his seer-like voice — his immortal songs Have broke the night of ignorance which long Hung like an incubus upon the minds of men, Chasing the sombre clouds away, as when Aurora blushes at the gates of morning skies In rosy splendors.
No more shall despots rise, To chain his struggling spirit — what though their links
may bind His free-born limbs — the fetterless mind.
O'er leaping earth, borne on the wings of thought shall soar
Back to its native realm, where long before, Bloom'd the pure soul in everlasting day, Ere yet its spirit-wings had pass'd away. Hence his dreams of a brighter existence. Of boundless glories beyond the distance, Of time and space where deathless bowers, Weep dews immortal.
By divinest powers, Were not these radient visions given him .'' Hence,
88 MRS. MUNDAY'S POEMS.
His lore intuitive and mystic wisdom. Hence,
His dreams of the soul's freedom for which he deeply
longs, Does he not breathe it in his plainmg songs, The inspiration that his soul had caught. The power and lightning flashes of deep thought, Gushed from the fountians of eternal truth, Whose heavenly streams shall yield immortal youth. Oh, light divine ! what but for thee. Must this dark world have been ? — its misery Hast thou not turn'd to joy and raised from gloom Our hearts — strewing with fiow'rs of hope the lethean
tomb. New tones thou'st given unto the spirit's lyre, And brought from heaven its celestial fire. Warming to light, and life, and loveliness the earth, With form of ideal beauty and of heavenly birth.
The tones majestic of great Milton's lyre. Have we not heard, and felt our hearts grow still- expire ? When the immortal Handal and Mozart, Pour'd their wild anthems o'er the Alpine hills. Was there e'er one, who in his inmost heart, By its wild throbbing and its burning thrill, Felt not they were celestial and echoing still. Through the blue deep from the far lyres of heaven, It seem'd a concert by the seraphs given. Born and dying at the mighty minstrel's will.
MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. S9
Thou speak'st. Oh, Genius ! the heritors of ages We become, as we unfold their mouldering pages, The mists of time roll back, and the thick dust Which on the noble dead had gathered with the ruS^, Of years, are scatter'd — and we feel within us bum Our hearts, when we hear that in the urn Of the hoary past lie heroes, martyrs, sages Wrapt in the somber gloom of distant ages, In mental vision do we not see them pass Along the stream of time a glorious mass ; rhe noblest f)art of life's fraternity. Leaving a glory lasting as eternity. Years lay dreamily and chill upon the past, Knrapt in gloom a dark chaotic waste. Until thou — oh ! radient one, with visions bright, Upon its ample page didst shed a light. To thee, the past unfolds its mysteries, And crumbling monuments, and histories Of lost races — ruins of earth and thrones Demolished — dynasties extinct — unknown Nations, with all the giant wrecks of time. Which still exist in every land and clime. Have been from darkness and the engulphing past, By thy superhuman power to light restored at last. Majestic are thy works, oh. Genius ! by thine aid. Weeping humanity is comforted and staid. Thou strik'st the lyre ; thy radient eyes. Full of the mysticisms of the skies. Beyond the rolling spheres is heavenward bent ;
90 MRS. MUNDAT^S POEMS.
While floating through thy mind are dim presentiment
Of a majestic destiny for all thy race,
When the glad earth shall rest in harmony and peace-
When order, from disorder shall have sprung,
A.nd joy shall reign of which the angel's sung.
We hear thy burning songs, and now
We feel we are immortal — hast not thou
Link'd time with eternity ? Chosen thou art
To enter the most holy place ; thy great heait
Js full of inspiration, while to us is given,
.A palmy joy — a living sense of heaven.
.Nearer to earth seem its celestial plains,
As wrapt we listen to thy lofty strains.
Sublime and sweet as songs of Paradise,
When at Aurora's birth in orient skies,
Hesf)erus led the morning stars, whose song
Exulting broke the stillness of creation. Among
Yon wheeling orbs — the eternal music rings ;
Genius, thou hearest, great interpreter of things
Most holy — by thy hand-maid Art we view
Images most fair, and of prismatic hue.
We feel a subtle spirit of delight
Transfuse our frames — visions of light
Dart through the mind, as oft we gaze
Upon the glorious arts of other days.
Moments there are when the impassion'd soul
Would burst its prison, and without control
Stretch forth its youthful wings, and hence
Clothed in aromal robes commence.
MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 91
Angel ; alas ! 'tis but a phantasy — a dream ; A glimpse — a drop of the celestial dew, That we have tasted — a joy intense and new.
The Wandering Ship.
The following Poem was suggested by a notice in "Scott's Weekly Paper," of a ship, which, having been abandoned and set on fire, sailed the distance of two thousand miles without a man on board. She hailed from New Brunswick — was discovered off Cape Clear, and towed into Cork.
Lo ! where upon the seas in outlines dim,
Some spectral form begirt with feathery spray ;
Along the horizon's encircling rim, Floats proudly on its solitary way.
But look again ! as nearer still it glides,
A stately barque now meets the yearning view ;
How gracefully the billowy deep she rides,
Through veils of wreathing fog and vapors blue.
Proudly aloft her towering masts arise.
And yet no helms-man bold, or pilot brave.
Or flowing sails, now greet our wondering eyes — • No siornal colors from her mast-head wave.
o
" No dread alarms on the rent air float," Or shouts of woe, or wailings of despair *,
92 MRS. munday's poems.
No booming gun, or soul-awakening note, Of warning bell — all, all is silent there.
And yet how lightly — buoyantly she sweeps, Across the wildering waste of waters drear ;
As doth a bird that cleaves ethereal deeps. No hand to guide, no eye to steer.
Or like some lone and isolated soul,
Without or friends or home, striving to gain
Some island heaven of rest, some peaceful goal, 'Midst the cold surges of life's dark domain.
A fearful, pleasing sight, that silent barque. As nearer, yet more near, she draws to view ;
Abandoned to the surging billows dark, Bereft — alone to stray without a crew.
Why alone and tenantless go'st thou forth ^ Tell us, what secrets doth thy breast contain ;
To the ice mountains of the rock-bound north. Art bound thou barque .'' or to the southern main ^
But look within ; what meets the startled sight .?
Ruin hath left its awful impress there ; 'Tis dark and silent as a moonless night,
And looks a very symbol of despair.
Who hath wrought this deed of desolation .'*
And whither have thy wretched inmates flown ? Here havoc sits enthroned — and desolation
MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. «3
Hovers round ; yield, oh, barque ! some answering tone.
Who hath despoiled thee of thy treasures vast ?
Thy gold and gems, and trappings beautiful ? Thy streamers proud, that round about thy masts
Waved to the ocean breeze .'* — thy blacken'd hull.
In chilling gloom responds ; methinks thou'st roain'd
O'er many a weary league of ocean ; Where foam-plum 'd waves, and spray-wreath '(? breakers comb'd Thy lonely deck, while to the beck'ning motion
Of the seas thou'st bent, and then there came
Annihilation grim with torch of fire ; And on thy gorgeous walls in blasting flame,
Its devastation left — yet could not tire.
Thy struggling frame, fiercer and wilder still,
As if to mock the progress of decay ; The blight swept on — and yet o'er many a hill
Of flashing brine, thy noble prow made way.
And plunging waves did goad thy creaking sides, Banners of flame were round about thee furl'd j
Yet gallantly thou'st faced the roaring tides. To roam alone o'er ocean's shad'way world.
Thou'st boldly rode before the whirlwind's wrath, And heeded not the thunder-trumpet's blaze;
94 MRS. munday's poems.
Nor raging elements in their battle-path, And bid defiance to the lightning's glare
Then speed thee on, thou wand'rer of the deep. With naught to cheer before, or weep behind ;
Thy haven, the waves, where silver moon-beams sleep. Thy realm, the sea— thy sails, the winged wind.
Thy comrades-things, that in thy wake shall play, Thy voices, sounds—that in the breakers dwell,
And as they bare thy less'ning form away.
Do seem to moan in haunting tones — farewell !
The Maniac.
"Such things are."
Hark ! that wild shriek — 'tis borne upon the gale, —
It is a frenzied maiden's fearful wail ;
That voice which oft gush'd forth in sweetest song,
In broken tones now trembhng floats along ;
She comes — behold her— fading— dying,
Her withered hopes around her lying,
Her care-worn cheek now faded grown,
Whose roses are forever flown.
The vacant gaze of that wild eye.
The unsubdued and deep drawn sigh.
MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 95
The transcient flush upon her cheek,
The clenched hands — the piercing shriek,
The dark brown hair dishevel'd now,
With straw wreath twin'd around her brow,
Her rounded form — her graceful air,
Now wan and w^asted by despair.
Tells of a dark and deadly strife.
Within her breast destroying life.
Now seldom does the tear drop start,
Tho' grief is wasting her young heart ;
Scorched is her brain by phrenzy's fire,
Quench'd in her heart each young desire.
Gone is that light elastic tread,
Which scarcely bent the violet's head ;
Her taper fingers in despair,
She mingles with her flowing hair,
She plucks and gives it to the wind,
(Fit emblem of her tortured mind,)
Which oft through haunted church-yard raves,
In fitful gusts o'er mouldering graves.
And, as in Spring young tender flowers.
Oft droop beneath the w^eight of showers,
Like them she droops the vales along.
And sings anon a plaintive song.
E'en now I hear her phrenzied laugh.
She's deeply drank of sorrow's draught;
Upon the startled air it rings,
And now she laughs — and now she sings —
It tells to me in language sad,
96 MRS. munday's poems.
Poor child of sorrow, thou art mad : —
So7ig,
They call me crazed and simple maid, And ask me why I roam ;
And me they cruelly upbraid, As oft they hear me moan.
They ask me why my pensive song, When heard at eve is sad ;
They hint that I have suffer'd wrong. But then — I am not mad.
'Tis true this riven heart of mine. Will never more be glad ;
That here in loneliness I pine, But then — I am not mad.
I'm weary of the sounds of life, My brain is hot — my heart is sore ;
When will the mad'ning fever strife Of my rent heart be o'er .''
Sweet as the notes of the dying swan. In mournful melody glides on — That voice — attun'd in happier days. To trembling strings or saphic lays ; But now she starts as from a dream, I hear her weep, and sob, and scream, She sings again, all wild and shrill.
MISCELLANEOUS POEMS.
It echoes over vale and hill : —
Song.
I hear the scream of the mountain bird,
And the howling storm at sea ; And the shriek of the mighty winds are heard
Far o'er the distant lea.
The harsh and grating thunders roll,
Along yon mountain crag ; But wilder horrors wreck my soul,
As me they downward drag,
A curse is on my wither'd heart,
A sleepless eye is mine ; I pray that I may soon depart.
And woe and care resign.
The deep'ning shades of twilight fall,
And spread around a sable pall ;
Forth comes the moon in vapory shroud,
Adown the sky through mist and cloud.
And now her shining forehead laves.
In the clear serene of ocean waves.
The Maniac's voice is hush'd and past.
She wanders forth amid the blast,
Where the raven cries and the owlets scream,
'Neath the glim 'ring stars that faintly gleam,
She grasps within her hand a steel,
*• This — this shall all my sorrows heal."
98 MRS. MUNDAT'S POEMS.
Then with a wild and shriek-like laugh,
She snaps the fatal blade in half,
" Away " — she cries — " thou deathful blade " —
And flings it to the adjacent glade.
She starts — that wild and blopdshot eye,
\s turned upon the earth — the sky —
" Welcome " — she cries — " thou deep, deep sea,
^' My wasted form I'll hide in thee ;"
Then with a madden 'd voice she cried
Of fell despair and grief allied,
*' Ye cavern'd spirits of the earth,
" Come forth with all your fiendish mirth,
" Ye're not more fearful in your arts,
" Than the fell purposes of men's hearts,
" O ! bear me to some Lethean ware,