To bear him o'er creation! and whose mind Far in the slumber of its chords enshrin'd, Till the light breeze went thrilling on its way. -There was no sound that wander'd through the sky, But told him secrets in its melody. Was the deep forest lonely unto him With all its whispering leaves? Each dell and glade -There is no solitude on earth so deep As that where man decrees that man should weep! But oh! the life in Nature's green domains, The breathing sense of joy! where flowers are springing By starry thousands, on the slopes and plains, And the grey rocks—and all the arch'd woods ringing, And the young branches trembling to the strains And the glad voice, the laughing voice of streams, And reed-notes from the mountains, and the beams Of the warm sun-all these are for the free! And they were his once more, the bard, whose dreams Their spirit still had haunted.-Could it be That he had borne the chain?-oh! who shall dare To say how much man's heart uncrush'd may bear? So deep a root hath hope!-but woe for this, Of the heart's fever, parching up its tears; And feeding a slow fire on all its powers, If hardly won at length, too late made ours To lift their heads in glory.—So doth Earth The sailor dies in sight of that green shore, Call'd up to sunlight by his fantasy And, when the shining desert-mists that wore The lake's bright semblance, have been all pass'd by, Or if we live, if that, too dearly bought, And made too precious by long hopes and fears, Remains our own-love, darken'd and o'erwrought By memory of privation, love, which wears And casts o'er life a troubled hue of thought, Aught, watch'd with such unquiet tenderness. Such unto him, the bard, the worn and wild, And he became a wanderer-in whose breast Sat brooding as a spirit, rais'd to keep Its gloomy vigil of intense unrest O'er treasures, burthening life, and buried deep In cavern-tomb, and sought, through shades and stealth, By some pale mortal, trembling at his wealth. But woe for those who trample o'er a mind! A deathless thing.-They know not what they do, may turn For blindness Or break some subtle chain, which none discern, Who then to power and glory shall restore That which our evil rashness hath undone ? Who unto mystic harmony once more Attune those viewless chords ?-There is but One! |