THOUGHTS AND RECOLLECTIONS. BY MRS HEMANS.
WHAT household thoughts around thee, as their shrine,
Cling reverently!-Of anxious looks beguiled,
My mother's eyes upon thy page divine
Were daily bent; her accents, gravely mild,
Breath'd out thy lore; whilst I, a dreamy child,
On breeze-like fancies wander'd oft away,
To some lone tuft of gleaming spring-flowers wild,
Some fresh-discover'd nook for woodland play,
Some secret nest:-yet would the solemn word,
At times, with kindlings of young wonder heard,
Fall on my waken'd spirit, there to be
A seed not lost; for which, in darker years,
O Book of Heaven! I pour, with grateful tears,
Heart-blessings on the holy Dead, and Thee.
ON A REMEMBERED PICTURE OF CHRIST, AN ECCE HOMO BY LEONARDO DA VINCI.
I MET that image on a mirthful day
Of youth; and sinking with a still'd surprise,
The pride of life, before those holy eyes,
In my quick heart died thoughtfully away,
Abash'd to mute confession of a sway
Awful, though meek:-and now, that from the strings
Of my soul's lyre, the Tempest's mighty wings
Have struck forth tones which there unwaken'd lay;
Now, that around the deep life of my mind,
Affections, deathless as itself, have twined,
Oft doth the pale bright vision still float by;
But more divinely sweet, and speaking now,
Of one whose pity, throned on that sad brow,
Sounded all depths of Love, Grief, Death-Humanity!
MOUNTAIN SANCTUARIES.
"He went up into a mountain apart to pray."
A CHILD 'midst ancient mountains I have stood,
Where the wild falcons make their lordly nest
On high-the spirit of the solitude
Fell solemnly upon my infant breast,
Though then I pray'd not; but deep thoughts have press'd
Into my being since I breath'd that air;
Nor could I now one moment live the guest
Of such dread scenes without the springs of
O'erflowing in my soul :-No minsters rise
Like them in pure communion with the skies,
Vast, silent, open unto night and day!
-So must the o'erburden'd Son of Man have felt,
When, turning where inviolate stillness dwelt,
He sought high mountains, there apart to pray.
"Consider the lilies of the field."
FLOWERS! when the Saviour's calm benignant eye
Fell on your gentle beauty; when from you
That heavenly lesson for all hearts he drew,
Eternal, universal, as the sky;
Then in the bosom of your purity
A voice He set, as in a temple-shrine,
That Life's quick travellers ne'er might pass you by, Unwarned of that sweet oracle divine.
And tho' too oft its low celestial sound
By the harsh notes of work-day care is drowned,
And the loud steps of vain unlistening haste,
Yet the great Ocean hath no tone of power
Mightier to reach the soul, in Thought's hushed hour,
Than yours, meek Lilies! chosen thus and graced.
"Behold the birds of the air."
YE, too, the glad and fearless Birds of Air,
Were charged that hour, on missionary wing,
The same bright lesson o'er the seas to bear,
Heaven-guided wanderers with the winds of Spring.
Sing on, before the storm, and after, sing!
And call us to your echoing woods away
From worldly cares; and bid our spirits bring
Faith to imbibe deep wisdom from your lay.
So may those blessed vernal strains renew
Childhood, a childhood yet more pure and true
Ev'n than the first, within the awakened mind;
While sweetly, joyously they tell of life
That knows no doubt, no questionings, no strife,
But hangs upon its God, unconsciously resigned.
THE Palm-the Vine-the Cedar-each hath power
To bid fair Oriental shapes glance by,
And each quick glistening of the Laurel bower
Wafts Grecian images o'er Fancy's eye.
But thou, pale Olive! in thy branches lie
Far deeper spells than prophet-grove of old
Might e'er enshrine:-I could not hear thee sigh
To the wind's faintest whisper, nor behold
One shiver of thy leaves' dim silvery green,
Without high thoughts and solemn, of that scene,
When in the garden the Redeemer prayed;
When pale stars looked upon his fainting head,
And Angels, minist'ring in silent dread,
Trembled, perchance, within thy trembling shade.
SPIRIT! whose life-sustaining Presence fills
Air, Ocean, central depths, by man untried;
Thou for thy worshippers hast sanctified
All place, all time;-the silence of the hills
Breathes veneration. Founts and choral rills
Of thee are murmuring-to its inmost glade
The living forest with thy presence thrills,
And there is holiness on every shade!
-Yet must the thoughtful soul of man invest
With dearer consecration those pure fanes,
Which, sever'd from all sounds of earth's unrest,
Hear nought but suppliant or adoring strains
Rise heavenward ;-ne'er may cliff or cave possess
Their claim on human hearts for solemn tenderness.
BLESSINGS be round it still!-that gleaming fane,
Low in its mountain-glen!-old mossy trees
Narrow the sunshine through th' untinted pane,
And oft, borne in upon some fitful breeze,
The deep sound of the ever-pealing seas,
Filling the hollows with its anthem-tone,
There meets the voice of psalms;-yet not alone
For mansions, lulling to the heart as these,'
I bless thee 'midst thy rocks, grey House of Prayer!
But for their sakes that unto thee repair,
From the hill-cabins and the ocean shore: Oh! may the fisher and the mountaineer Words to sustain earth's toiling children hear, Within thy lowly walls for evermore!
OLD CHURCH IN AN ENGLISH PARK.
CROWNING a flowery slope it stood alone,
In gracious sanctity; a bright rill wound
Caressingly about the holy ground,
And warbled, with a never-dying tone,
Amidst the tombs. A hue of ages gone
Seem'd, from that ivied porch, that solemn gleam
Of tower and cross, pale quivering on the stream,
O'er all th' ancestral woodlands to be thrown,
And something yet more deep. The air was fraught
With noble memories whispering many a thought
Of England's Fathers;-awful and serene,
They who had toil'd, watch'd, struggled to secure,
Within such fabrics, worship free and pure,
Reign'd there, th' o'ershadowing spirits of the scene.
L'aventure de Graalent,
Vos dirai si que je l'entent,
Bon en sont li Lai à oir
Et les notes à retenir.
Ir was the merry time of spring,
And every herb was blossoming;
Fresh life was poured o'er earth and sea,
And birds were singing on every tree.
There was joy on mountain, plain, and
fell,
But not in the heart of Sir Lionel-
He sate alone in his ancient hall,
His armour resting on the wall,
His destrier idle in the stall.
The landscape that before him lay
Was fair to view, but he saw it not;
His thoughts were far away,
And yet it was a lovely spot.
On the mountain side the rugged keep,
Below, a river broad and deep,
On either side were forests green
And towers and hamlets dimly seen,
'Mid fertile fields and blossom'd trees,
And convent turrets crowning these.
All spake of gladness, peace, and rest,
But found no answer in his breast.
Yet his was not the heart or eye
That passed such scenes unheeded by:
But grief o'ershadows the sun of youth,
And envy loves to poison truth.
He had borne him like a gallant knight
In the council and the fight;
And ever where noble deeds were done,
And ladies' smiles and glory won,
There rose his war-cry fair and free,
There couched he his lance for Brittany;
And minstrels' notes would loudest swell,
When they hymned the praise of Sir
Lionel.
But, the long doubtful warfare o'er,
The warrior true was prized no more.
Then murmured many a whispering
tongue,
And envy on his traces hung;
The King looked cold on the gallant
knight,
Whose sword had helped him to his right; His bright Ladye sought a richer mate,
A Baron of wealth and high degree, And Lionel mourned, for he found, too late,
That such is woman's constancy. His friends! his friends! Aye-where are they?
All vanished like mist at the dawn of day;
For war had passed, with its evil train,
Like a hurricane over his wide domain;
His heritage dwindled away to a span,
And he was a ruined and landless man-
Sir Lionel was only lord
Of a crumbling castle and his sword.
VOL. XXXV. NO. CCXXI.
These are woes which, like an avalanche,
Shatter the heart on which they fall,
And leave it lone as a ruined hall,
Sad as an oak without one green branch.
But such grief is not known to all;
Yet, alas! this world is dark and cold,
And it withers the heart ere the brow be
old.
There are ceaseless jars and gnawing woes,
And dark distrust that within us grows,
Till we look on all mankind as foes;
And sorrow, that, with ceaseless shock,
Like the wave upon the rock,
Wears the best and firmest heart.
One by one, the joys depart
That we cherished in early days:
Our feelings were warm as the sun's
Our thoughts were pure and innocent:
Soon the veil from our eyes is rent,
And care, and grief, and discontent,
Are like the thin and icy stream,
That, with agonizing flow,
Numbs the victim's head below;
Slow and changeless-drop by drop-
It still falls on, and may not stop
Till the last breath of life be fled,
And the victim rests-but with the dead.
We love those well that love us not,
Or else deceive;
We love are loved-still 'tis our lot
Deeply to grieve.
How oft has fate, with voice of thunder,
Rent such loving hearts asunder!
As a lute without a string-
As a gentle bird with wounded wing-
As a tender flower 'mid storm and snow,
Is the heart that reels beneath such blow.
The knight is to the greenwood gone ; He goes on foot, and all alone—
Alas! ere this, he used to ride With squires and pages his bidding to bide,
Begirt with nobles of high degree, And the greenwood rang with their revelry.
He wended his way through brake and fell, Till he came to a limpid and lonely well; Once it was fenced with a carved screen, But time had done its worst I weenPillar and wall had been overthrown, The stones with lichen and moss o'ergrown,
But it thrilled the heart with joy to see How the spring still burst forth in pu
Like the changeless love which dares fate's worst,
And flows for ever as at first.
The Knight sat down by the ruined well, And gazed on the stream as it sparkling fell
Like the notes of a well-known lay
He loved to hear in childhood's day--
While many a blush and beaming smile,
And pearly tears, but not of sadness,
Pass o'er her radiant face the while,
Like the sunshine and light clouds that fly
Over the time-worn and moss-covered With lightning speed o'er an April sky,
Like to a fairy waterfall.
He sighed a voice re-echoed his sighJesu! is this reality?
He turned by the well sate a ladye bright, With hair as dark as a northern night; Her hair was dark, but her laughing eye Was blue as the warmest southern skyThe curls half-shaded her cheek's deep glow,
And fell in a mass on her neck of snow. From her lovely head, to her foot so small,
That beautiful form was perfect all.
Up sprang and crossed himself the Knight:
That lady did not move nor speak,
But a sunnier glow beamed from her
cheek,
And from her eye a tenderer light;
And a smile played round her lovely
mouth,
Radiant as when in the sweet south
A beam of sunny light reposes
On dewy and half-opened roses.
Thrice did the Knight essay to greet
That lady fair in language meet,
But wonder and joy thrilled through his
brain,
With joy so intense, 'twas almost pain.
Like a young eagle in the blaze
Of the fresh sun, he could but gaze,
Though every nerve within him shook,
Far happier thus than not to look.
One moment-he is at her feet,
And there, in accents low and sweet,
With faltering voice and burning cheek,
And eyes that say more than the tongue
dare speak,
He whispers in that lady's ear
His ardent love,-his hope-his fear;
He spoke with a quiet earnest tone,
Like one whose heart no guile hath
known.
Her blue eyes she hath downwards cast,
And a mantling blush o'er her cheek
Unchecked his lip for an instant lingers
On her white and slender fingers-
Ah! the silence at length is broken,
But her thoughts are rather looked than
spoken-
He hath clasped her to his breast.
Like a bird in its own loved nest,
She pillowed her head upon his chest,
And fixed her eyes upon his face,
As on their dearest resting-place ;
And with a sweet and liquid voice
That made the listener's heart rejoice,
Now half in shade, now full of gladness-
She told him she was not of this earth,
But in another sphere had birth,
And she had left her fairy home,
Through the bright world with him to
Her fairy bowers were cold and dim,
And life was worthless without him.
She had watched his banner in the fight,
Proudly, but sadly; for the knight,
In his strength and manhood's pride,
Sought out each danger as a bride,
And, beaconlike, his crest still rose
'Mid rescued friends and flying foes.
She had seen him 'mid the proud and gay,
With brow as soft and warm as May-
Sages their blessing o'er him flung,
And councils on his accents hung.
Her soft blue eyes on him she turn'd,
While purest love within them burn'd.
“ Lionel, I am, as I have said,
No flower of earth, no mortal maid;
And I am bound by other ties
Than thou canst wot of, and there lies
A charm on me I may not break;
But if thou lovest as thou hast said,
Thou wilt obey.-Oh! for my sake!
If not, the woe be on my head-
O, never breathe to mortal ear
The vision thou hast witness'd here;
Our love must be known to thee alone,
Or at once and for ever its flowers are
gone.
If thou wouldst have it sweetly bloom,
Be silent, dearest, as the tomb;
Breathe it not in the courtly hall,
At banquet or confessional.
When others raise the melting lay,
And sing of love and their lady gay;
When in the fight they shout her name,
Whose smile is dearer than life or fame,
Think of me then, but o'er thy tongue
Be silence like a mantle flung.
One fatal word, alas! would burst
All ties that bind us sweetly now,
And rack our bosoms with that worst,
That deadliest pang the heart can know—
That weariness of soul, which flings
Its poison in the thousand springs
Of joy and peace that once were there,
And leaves us memory and despair."
Her words died away with a gentle sigh,
And a big tear trembled in her eye.
The knight awoke as from a trance,
And met her eyes with a tender glance,
|