Page images
PDF
EPUB
[blocks in formation]

derness. We love the waters, the trees, and every living thing creeping out from or under the little leaves the peering flowers; we believe them all to have life and affec

tion-and all bound together in one beauty by a heaven-gifted harmony delighting in their sound, then silence, and in picture."

O ye are fools that love to stand
Above your fellow men;
To scatter by the wave of hand,
And kill by stroke of pen.

The sunshine and the greenwood shade
For Peace and Innocence were made.

Ye are not happier than your slaves,
And better may not be;

For ye contemn what virtue craves,
Sweet love and sympathy.
Better to rule one wayward mind,
Than lord it over half mankind.

By banks of river soft and clear,
'Mid greenwood boughs to lie-
To hear sweet sounds with thankful ear,
And see with thankful eye-

To feel my heart is link'd with all
I see and hear-or great or small-

This Nature's peace-proclaim'd around,
In all her bounty given-

'Tis writ in sunshine on the ground,
And breathed in airs from Heaven;
'Before all power and high degree
Is love beneath the greenwood tree.

Pictor rose with the last linesand after some moments of unexpressed thought, I turned, and saw him a short way down the stream, making himself a path among the moss-covered stones that lay at the water's edge. I know not what his thoughts were, but he stopped suddenly, leaned against a fragment of rock, and sang

"Per valli, per boschi―
Cercando di Nice
Sol l'echo mi dice

Che Nice non v'è—
Domando di lei

A ogn' aura piangendo—
Ogn' aura tacendo,
Sen passa da me."

My tranquillity was somewhat more practical than my friend Pictor's. I left him to his vagaries, and turned to the quiet study of the scene before me. I will make it, thought I, the subject of a picture. Like the knight, therefore, in Ari

osto, I remained, reclined against a large mossy stone, alternately looking about me, and reflecting—

He

"Pensoso più dun' ora, a capo basso." I was rising to depart, when I saw Pictor hastening towards me. was then in the broad sun, crossing some deep fern, out of the sheltering range of the high rocks that formed the enclosed scene. The view here was from shade into sunshine, and beautiful it was; but Pictor would not let me enjoy it, telling me, that lower down, he had clambered over some rocks, and come upon a scene that must require all the power of the pencils and colours of both.

Sketcher. Yes, I know where you would take me. There is a large shelf of rock, and the water thunders down into a deep pool, that, but a little way on, is as still as silence itself; and there too are high banks, and trees shooting across, and stones in the water, like things that once had life,

and then for punishment were enchanted into stone; and on the opposite bank are good trees, and a dark reddish rock, with cavernous parts, and green boughs hanging down from it into the recesses, and you have deep shade and sunshine edging it.

Pictor. You know the spot, I see; but, nevertheless, let us go there.

Sketcher. We will; but first tell me what is the poetical character of this scene that we have been studying, for I think I shall transfer much of it to canvass.

Pictor. A peace, a tranquillity, gifted by enchantment. The precincts of an Undine's bower-every leaf is oracular, and sings as it moves, "Let there be nothing to disturb the peace that reigns here." You should be so impressed with the entire security of the scene, that were you to see a lion turning that corner, and imagine him as large a monster as you please, and awfully dimly seen, with his tawny form amid the sombre rocks -I say, were you to see a lion, you ought in your faith to be undisturbed.

Sketcher. If he were to "roar you as gently as any sucking dove." But as you are not a gentle Una, with innocence to tame the menagerie of the forest, I will not answer for my self, and in truth you have somewhat disturbed the repose; and yet it is a good idea, if one could represent in a picture the perfect security in the presence of such an animal, and yet remove all fear and all necessity for it-the lion literally lying down with the lamb.

Pictor. The repose would become a holy repose-the trunks of the trees would enlarge themselves, and over all there would be a sublime peace.

Pictor being impatient, without further delay we sought the scene that had so much pleased him. If I do not stop to remark upon the intermediate beauties, it must not be concluded that there were none to admire. I know no little river scene where there is, within so short a distance, so much beauty. I cannot but here express a regret that the scene to which we were hastening is inaccessible to ladies; and a Dandy Sketcher, if there be such a monster (but there cannot be), would scarce

ly find his way to it. There may be some little peril of precipitation into the flood, and you may be tossed, kicked, and cuffed handsomely in your passage, by the water-sprites that gambol about the falls, ere you get into the quiet, still pool. I was remarking this to Pictor just as we had reached the ledge of rock that forms the foreground. We still heard the subdued roar of the water at our back; and as we looked into the deep black pool, it looked awfully deep.

Pictor. You see how narrow the river is here, as if for some purpose

it is to prevent escape. The sunshine beyond is a decoy; there are the enchanted stones-depend upon it, the black magician knows this spot. We are enclosed by the rocks and by water-trees ready to press down over our heads, and keep us under water, lest at any time we might bob up; and see how slippery and shelving this ledge is on which we sit. The seat is not easy-we shall slip down. This looks so like a spot altogether of deep treachery, that had I the youth and beauty of Hylas, I would not stay here another moment. That black pool is a cauldron of enchantment; and farther on under those sunny trees, insidiously kissing the liquid, may lurk the treacherous nymphs, that would "lift up their pearly arms and take him in."

In truth, the ideas conveyed by Pictor's description and feigned fears were perfectly accordant to the scene. The colour was most rich and fascinating, with just that mixture of the awful that gave a purpose to the higher parts. Consequently, there was nothing little. Above our heads were the branches of trees that shot over from each bank of the river; on our left it was a high and rocky bank, from which the trees grew thick, and festoons of greenery were dropping over the more precipitous part of the rock. The sun was gleaming behind these trees, and great was the variety of tender green in shade, and great was the playful change of form in this mass of foliage. Seen through the trees in the middle of the picture, was the range of hills that winds towards Lynmouth. It was a subject

of great simplicity. We were long very busy with our sketching materials; and, as is usual on such occasions when deeply interested, very silent. I observed the leaves of the trees on the other side to be strongly illuminated, or rather relieved off a purple sky, and watery clouds were gathering in front. The water behind us assumed a more decided hammering and pounding noise, that to me, who have a fear in the noise of water, was terrifying. It was grand, and therefore I thought of Homer and Neptune, sea gods and rivergods upsetting islands with their tridents, and tossing them over as you would mounds in a minnow pond. But I was soon convinced that there was more growling than the waters would account for. The sunshine in the middle of the picture had gradually withdrawn-at least I suppose so-for it was gone, and I did not see it depart. There we were caught; and in spite of reason and reasoning, and all that sort of thing now taught in every hedge-school at one farthing per day, did I feel as if I were caught, entrapped, by some genius loci, that had me at his mercy; and, I confess, with haste I did pack up my portfolio, and get under shelter of a ledge of the rock not far from our seat, and there finding something very like a cavernous parlour, invited Pictor, who joined me here from an opposite direction, so I concluded he had his fears too, and feared the fate of Hylas.

We had scarcely ensconced ourselves in our cavern of refuge, when down came the rain in torrents. The roaring of the waters-the pounding of its wrath among the huge stones -the growling of the thunder-and the still undisturbed bleak pool close to us, that seemed, like Erebus, to receive all, yet never to be full, altogether excited us greatly. I have no doubt we were in most perfect security, unless an earthquake had put an extinguisher upon us, shining lights of the sketching world, and that might have happened anywhere; but whether we were safe or not, it was not possible to divest the mind of a sense of danger, and I confess that I wished myself fairly out of the scene.

More than once the possibility suggested itself to my idle fancy,

that the waters might rise, and cut off our retreat. Long, therefore, did I mark a few stones on my left, for I was now directly facing the opposite bank and to my satisfaction, observed not the slightest perceptible alteration in the height of the water. Pictor said a great many sublime things, but I was too uneasy to note them on memory's tablet; and I took the first opportunity of a cessation of the pelting of the storm, to make my way back over the rocks, the way I had entered, and only recollect making one piece of criticism, which, as it is a sketch from nature, may be of some value to any future author of an epic poem, namely, that Virgil was a great fool, or very insensible to the sublime effects of nature, or he would have had a better contrivance than that of love-making in a cave in a thunder-storm, or his hero was not of my mind. We had remained in our cave of enchantment perhaps an hour; and by the time we had reached the deep fern bank I have before mentioned, the storm had entirely ceased. The sun was shining again, and the Cloud Demon had passed far from moor and fell, and gone to mingle with his burly fellows in the broad deep. Peace was restored, and Nature looked fresh and green, yet meek and gentle after the rebuke-beautiful because innocent, and interesting because a sufferer. A bird or two began to pipe a few notes, as to proclaim that the Sessions for the Peace were over, and the stern Justices departed, and creeping things peeped in and out, from the shrewmouse to the beetle, without fear of the "great Assize." Pictor looked up to the path on the right, much above us, and remarked a drenched party returning from the Waters'meet. He laughed, and said that they were Oxford scholars, whom he had heard, ere we set out, discussing what they should do with themselves after a few hours of intended hard study of Aristotle, but that the sudden arrival of three fair companions had soon decided them; and having studied the T το φιλεισθαι they thought it high time to show themselves practically masters of the lesson, and so they went with the party to Waters'-meet.

and

I was very much tickled with the no

that we welcomed the ladies of our party, who were engaged to meet us at the rustic seat; they brought guitars and refreshments—and there we determined to pass an hour or two very delightfully. Such deter minations are not always fulfilled; in this instance they were. I told our friends that Pictor had a glee for them to practise, on the incident of the Oxford scholars. They readily assented, and some little time was spent in the rehearsal. The woods soon rang with voices.

tion of their fine studies, and thought of "the Lay of Aristotle," quoth Pictor, and made a glee on the subject, which, if our party meet us with the guitar as they promised, I will make interest to have performed. We proceeded to our old ground, and not finding our party arrived, thought it as well to prepare for them; we therefore piled together a heap of dry wood, made a tolerable fire, dried our shoes and stockings, and aired our portfolios. The rest of the evening was very beautiful, and it was not long after we were refreshed

[blocks in formation]

GLEE.

There were three students sat on a hill
Over the pleasant Lynn-

Their books were closed, yet they held them still,
Each one beneath his chin.

And they vow'd no more o'er the leaves to pore,
Or even to look therein.

Where shall we pass the rest of the day?
With me, with me, with me-

And we will quaff, and we will laugh,
The merry, merry hours away.

Where shall we pass the rest of the day?
With me, with me, with me-

For the joyous boat it is afloat,

And we will away to sea.

Where shall we pass the rest of the day?
With me, with me, with me-

Our lines we'll throw in the Lynn below,
And busy, busy anglers be.

Now there came and sat at each one's side,
Margery, Kate, and Jean,

And they look'd, and look'd, and softly cried,
With me, with me, with me-

For why should we pass it all alone
Under the greenwood tree.

Where shall we pass the rest of the day?

With thee, with thee, with thee.

And so it was sweet holiday

Under the greenwood tree.

« PreviousContinue »