To-day, I will seek not the shadowy region;
Its unsustaining vastness waxes drear;
And visions rising, legion after legion,
Bring the unreal world too strangely near.
I'll walk, but not in old heroic traces,
And not in paths of high morality,
And not amoung the half-distinguished faces,
The clouded forms of long-past history.
I'll walk where my own nature would be leading:
It vexes me to choose another guide:
Where the grey flocks in ferny glens are feeding;
Where the wild wind blows on the mountain-side.
What have those lonely mountains worth revealing?
More glory and more grief than I an tell:
The earth that wakes one human heart to feeling
Can centre both the worlds of Heaven and Hell.
Silent is the house: all are laid asleep:
One alone looks out o'er the snow-wreaths deep,
Watching every cloud, dreading every breeze
That whirls the 'wildering drift, and bends the groaning trees.
Cheerful is the hearth, soft the matted floor;
Not one shivering gust creeps through pane or door;
The little lamp buns straight, its rays shoot strong and far:
I trim it well, to be the wanderer's guiding-star.
Frown, my haughty sire! chide, my angry dame!
Set your slaves to spy; threaten me with shame:
But neither sire nor dame, nor prying serf shall know
What angel nightly tracks that waste of frozen snow.
What I love shall come like visitant of air,
Safe in secret power from lurking human snare;
Who loves me, no word of mine shall e'er betray,
Though for faith unstained my life must forfeit pay.
Burn then, little lamp; glimmer staright and clear-
Hush! a rustling wing stirs, methinks, the air:
He for whom I wait thus ever comes to me;
Strange Power! I trust thy might; trust thou my constancy.
The night is darkening round me,
The wild winds coldly blow;
But a tyrant spell has bound me
And I cannot, cannot go.
The giant tress are bending
Their bare boughs weighted with snow,
And the storm is fast descending
And yet I cannot go.
Clouds beyond clouds above me,
Wastes beyond wastes below;
But nothing drear can move me;
I will not, cannot go.
O thy bright eyes must answer now,
When Reason, with a scornful brow,
Is mocking at my overthrow;
O thy sweet tongue must plead for me
And tell why I have chosen thee!
Stern Reason is to judgement come
Arrayed in all her forms of gloom:
Wilt thou my advocate be dumb?
No, radiant angel, speak and say
Why I did cast the world away;
Why I have persevered to shun
The common paths that others run;
And on a strange road journeyed on
Heedless alike of Wealth and Power-
Of Glory's wreath and Pleasure's flower.
These once indeed seemed Beings divine,
And they perchance heard vows of mine
And saw my offerings on their shrine-
But, careless gifts are seldom prized,
And mine were worthily despised;
So with a ready heart I swore
To seek their alter-stone no more,
And gave my spirit to adore
Thee, ever present, pahntom thing-
My slave, my comrade, and my King!
A slave because I rule thee still,
Incline thee to my changeful will
And make thy influence good or ill-
A comrade, for by day and night
Thou art my intimate delight-
My Darling Pain that wounds and sears
And wrings a blessing out from tears
By deadening me to real cares;
And yet, a king-though prudence well
Have taught thy subject to rebel.
And am I wrong to worship where
Faith cannot doubt nor Hope despair
Since my own soul can grant my prayer?
Speak, God of Visions, plead for me
And tell why I have chosen thee!
Fall, leaves, fall; die, flowers, away;
Lengthen night and shorten day;
Every leaf speaks bliss to me,
Fluttering from the autumn tree.
I shall smile when wreaths of snow
Blossom where the rose should grow;
I shall sing when night's decay
Ushers in a drearier day.
Riches I hold in light esteem,
And Love I laugh to scorn;
And lust of Fame was but a dream,
That vanished with the morn-
And if I pray, the only prayer
That moves my lips for me
Is- 'Leave the heart that now I bear
And give me liberty!'
Yes, as my swift days near their goal,
'Tis all that I implore-
In lofe and death a chainless soul,
With courage to endure!
The sun has set, and the long grass now
Waves dreamily in the evening wind;
and the wild bird has flown from that old grey stone,
In some warm nook a couch to find.
In all the lonely landscape round
I see no sight and hear no sound,
Except the wind that far away
Comes sighing o'er the healty sea.
