Where'er was dipped the toiling oar,
The waves danced round us as before,
As lightly, though of altered hue;
'Mid recent coolness, such as falls
At noontide from umbrageous walls
That screen the morning dew.
No vapour stretched its wings; no cloud
Cast far or near a murky shroud;
The sky an azure field displayed;
'Twas sun-light sheathed and gently charmed, Of all its sparkling rays disarmed, And as in slumber laid:
Or something night and day between,
Like moonshine-but the hue was green;
Still moonshine, without shadow, spread
On jutting rock, and curved shore,
Where gazed the peasant from his door,
And on the mountain's head.
It tinged the Julian steeps-it lay
Upon Lugano's ample bay;
The solemnizing veil was drawn
O'er villas, terraces, and tow'rs,
To Albogasio's olive bow'rs,
Porlezza's verdant lawn.
But Fancy, with the speed of fire,
Hath fled to Milan's loftiest spire,
And there alights 'mid that aerial host
Of figures, human and divine,
White as the snows of Apennine
Indurated by frost.
Awe-stricken, she beholds th' array
That guards the Temple night and day; Angels she sees that might from heav'n have
And virgin saints-who not in vain
Have striv'n by purity to gain
The beatific crown ;
Far-stretching files concentric rings,
Each narrowing above each; the wings,
The uplifted palms, the silent marble lips,
The starry zone of sov'reign height,
All steeped in this portentous light!
All suff'ring dim eclipse!
Thus, after man had fall'n (if aught
These perishable spheres have wrought
May with that issue be compared)
Throngs of celestial visages,
Dark'ning like water in the breeze,
A holy sadness shared.
See while I speak, the lab'ring Sun
His glad deliv'rance has begun :
The cypress waves its sombre plume
More cheerily; and town and tow'r,
The vineyard and the olive bow'r,
Their lustre re-assume!
Oh, ye who guard and grace my home,
While in far-distant lands we roam,
Enquiring thoughts are turned to you ;
Does a clear ether meet your eyes?
Or have black vapours hid the skies
And mountains from your view?
I ask in vain-and know far less
If sickness, sorrow, or distress,
Have spared my dwelling to this hour:
Sad blindness! but ordained to prove
Our faith in heav'n's unfailing love
And all-controlling pow'r.
WHITHER 'midst falling dew,
While glow the heavens with the last steps of day, Far through their rosy depths, dost thou pursue Thy solitary way?
Might mark thy distant flight to do thee wrong,
As, darkly painted on the crimson sky,
Thy figure floats along.
Seek'st thou the plashy brink
Of weedy lake, or maze of river wide,
Or where the rocking billows rise and sink
On the chafed ocean side?
There is a Power whose care
Teaches thy way along that pathless coast,-
The desert and illimitable air,-
Lone wandering, but not lost.
All day thy wings have fanned,
At that far height, the cold thin atmosphere;
Yet stoop not, weary, to the welcome land,
Though the dark night is near.
And soon that toil shall end;
Soon shalt thou find a summer home, and rest, And scream among thy fellows; reeds shall bend Soon o'er thy sheltered nest.
Thou'st gone, the abyss of heaven
Hath swallowed up thy form; yet, on my heart, Deeply hath sunk the lesson thou hast given, And shall not soon depart.
HE, who from zone to zone
Guides through the boundless sky thy certain flight,
In the long way that I must tread alone,
Will lead my steps aright.
I MADE a mountain-brook my guide,
Through a wild Spanish glen,
And wandered, on its grassy side,
Far from the homes of men.
It lured me with a singing tone,
And many a sunny glance,
To a green spot of beauty lone,
A haunt for old romance.
A dim and deeply-bosom'd grove
Of many an aged tree,
Such as the shadowy violets love,
The fawn and forest-bee.
The darkness of the chesnut bough
There on the waters lay,
The bright stream rev'rently below
Check'd its exulting play;
And bore a music all subdued,
And led a silvery sheen,
On through the breathing solitude
Of that rich leafy scene.
For something viewlessly around
Of solemn influence dwelt,
In the soft gloom, and whispery sound, Not to be told but felt.
While sending forth a quiet gleam
Across the wood's repose,
And o'er the twilight of the stream,
A lowly chapel rose.
A pathway to that still retreat
Through many a myrtle wound,
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