Made rough with care, become the changeful sea,
Stemm’d by the strength of manhood fearlessly;
And fleeting thoughts, that on the lonely wild
Swept o’er the fancy of that heedless child,
Perchance had quicken’d with a living truth
The cold dull soil of his unfruitful youth;
Till, with his daily life, a life, that threw
Its shadows o’er the future, flower’d and grew,
With common cares unmingling, and apart,
Haunting the shrouded chambers of his heart;
Till life, unstirr’d by action, life became
Threaded and lighten’d by a track of flame;
An inward light, that, with its streaming ray
On the dark current of his changeless day
Bound all his being with a silver chain—
Like a swift river through a silent plain!
High thoughts were his, when by the gleaming flood,
With heart new strung, and stern resolve, he stood;
Where rode the tall dark ships, whose loosen’d sail
All idly flutter’d in the eastern gale;
High thoughts were his;—but Memory’s glance the while
Fell on the cherish’d past with tearful smile;
And peaceful joys and gentler thoughts swept by,
Like summer lightnings o’er a darken’d sky.
The peace of childhood, and the thoughts that roam,
Like loving shadows, round that childhood’s home;
Joys that had come and vanish’d, half unknown,
Then slowly brighten’d, as the days had flown;
Years that were sweet or sad, becalm’d or toss’d
On life’s wild waves—the living and the lost.
Youth stain’d with follies: and the thoughts of ill
Crush’d, as they rose, by manhood’s sterner will.
Repentant prayers, that had been strong to save;
And the first sorrow, which is childhood’s grave!
All shapes that haunt remembrance—soft and fair,
Like a green land at sunset, all were there!
Eyes that he knew, old faces, unforgot,
Gaz’d sadly down on his unrestful lot,
And Memory’s calm clear voice, and mournful eye,
Chill’d every buoyant hope that floated by;
Like frozen winds on southern vales that blow
From a far land—the children of the snow—
O’er flowering plain and blossom’d meadow fling
The cold dull shadow of their icy wing.
Then Fancy’s roving visions, bold and free,
A moment dispossess’d reality.
All airy hopes that idle hearts can frame,
Like dreams between two sorrows, went and came:
Fond hearts that fain would clothe the unwelcome truth
Of toilsome manhood in the dreams of youth,
To bend in rapture at some idle throne,
Some lifeless soulless phantom of their own;
Some shadowy vision of a tranquil life,
Of joys unclouded, years unstirr’d by strife;
Of sleep unshadow’d by a dream of woe;
Of many a lawny hill, and streams with silver flow;
Of giant mountains by the western main,
The sunless forest, and the sea-like plain;
Those lingering hopes of coward hearts, that still
Would play the traitor to the steadfast will,
One moment’s space, perchance, might charm his eye
From the stern future, and the years gone by.
One moment’s space might waft him far away
To western shores—the death-place of the day!
Might paint the calm, sweet peace—the rest of home,
Far o’er the pathless waste of labouring foam—
Peace, that recall’d his childish hours anew,
More calm, more deep, than childhood ever knew!
Green happy places—like a flowery lea
Between the barren mountains and the stormy sea.
O pleasant rest, if once the race were run!
O happy slumber, if the day were done!
Dreams that were sweet at eve, at morn were sin;
With cares to conquer, and a goal to win!
His were no tranquil years—no languid sleep—
No life of dreams—no home beyond the deep—
No softening ray—no visions false and wild—
No glittering hopes on life’s gray distance smiled—
Like isles of sunlight on a mountain’s brow,
Lit by a wandering gleam, we know not how,
Far on the dim horizon, when the sky
With glooming clouds broods dark and heavily.
Then his eye slumber’d, and the chain was broke
That bound his spirit, and his heart awoke;
Then—like a kingly river—swift and strong,
The future roll’d its gathering tides along!
The shout of onset and the shriek of fear
Smote, like the rush of waters, on his ear;
And his eye kindled with the kindling fray,
The surging battle and the mail’d array!
All wondrous deeds the coming days should see,
And the long Vision of the years to be.
Pale phantom hosts, like shadows, faint and far,
Councils, and armies, and the pomp of war!
And one sway’d all, who wore a kingly crown,
Until another rose and smote him down:
A form that tower’d above his brother men;
A form he knew—but it was shrouded then!
With stern, slow steps—unseen—yet still the same,
By leaguer’d tower and tented field it came;
By Naseby’s hill, o’er Marston’s heathy waste,
By Worcester’s field the warrior-vision pass’d!
From their deep base, thy beetling cliffs, Dunbar,
Rang, as he trode them, with the voice of war!
The soldier kindled at his words of fire;
The statesman quail’d before his glance of ire!
Worn was his brow with cares no thought could scan,
His step was loftier than the steps of man;
And the winds told his glory, and the wave
Sonorous witness to his empire gave!
What forms are these, that with complaining sound,
And slow, reluctant steps are gathering round?
Forms that with him shall tread life’s changing stage,
Cross his lone path, or share his pilgrimage.
There, as he gazed, a wondrous band—they came,
Pym’s look of hate, and Strafford’s glance of flame.
There Laud, with noiseless steps and glittering eye,
In priestly garb, a frail old man, went by;
His drooping head bowed meekly on his breast;
His hands were folded, like a saint at rest!
There Hampden bent him o’er his saddle bow,
And death’s cold dews bedimm’d his earnest brow;
Still turn’d to watch the battle—still forgot
Himself, his sufferings, in his country’s lot!
There Falkland eyed the strife that would not cease,
Shook back his tangled locks, and murmur’d—“Peace!”
With feet that spurn’d the ground, lo! Milton there
Stood like a statue; and his face was fair—
Fair beyond human beauty; and his eye,
That knew not earth, soar’d upwards to the sky!
He, too, was there—it was the princely boy,
The child-companion of his childish joy!
But oh! how chang’d—those deathlike features wore
Childhood’s bright glance, and sunny smile no more!
That brow so sad, so pale, so full of care—
What trace of careless childhood linger’d there?
What spring of youth in that majestic mien,
So sadly calm, so kingly, so serene?
No—all was chang’d—the monarch wept alone,
Between a ruin’d church and shatter’d throne!
Friendless and hopeless—like a lonely tree,
On some bare headland, straining mournfully,
That all night long its weary moan doth make
To the vex’d waters of a
