Delphi Complete Works of Ann Radcliffe (Illustrated) (284 page)

TO THE WIND
S

SPIRIT! who dwellest in the secret clouds.
Unseen, unknown, yet heard o’er all the world!
Who reign’st in storms and darkness half the year,
Yet sometimes lov’st, in Summer’s season bright,
To breathe soft music through her azure dome;
Oft heard art thou amongst the high tree-tops,
In mournful and so sweet a melody,
As though some Angel, touched with human grief,
Soothed the sad mind. Oh, viewless, viewless wind!
I love thy potent voice, whether in storms
It gives to thunder clouds their impulse dread,
Swells the Spring airs, or sighs in Autumn’s groves,
Mourning the dying leaf. Whatever the note,
Thy power entrances, wins me from low cares,
And bears me towards GOD, who bids you breathe,
And bids the morning of a higher world
Dawn on my hopes.

MOONLIGHT
.

A SCENE.

On the bright margin of Italia’s shore,
Beneath the glance of summer-noon we stray,
And, indolently happy, ask no more
Than cooling airs, that o’er the ocean play;

And watch the bark, that, on the busy strand,
Washed by the sparkling tide, awaits the gale,
Till, high among the shrouds, the sailor-band
Gallantly shout, and raise the swelling sail.

On the broad deck a various group recline,
Touched with the moonlight, yet half-hid in shade,
Who, silent, watch the bark the coast resign,
The Pharos lessen, and the mountains fade.

We, indolently happy, ask alone
The wandering airs, which o’er the ocean stray,
To bring some sad Venetian sonnet’s tone,
From that lone vessel floating far away!

SMILES
.

It was a smile — a fleeting smile,
Like a faint gleam through Autumn’s shade,
That softly, sweetly, did beguile,
As it around her dimples played.

What are smiles, and whence their sway?
Smiles that, o’er the features stealing,
To the gazer’s heart convey
All the varied world of feeling,
What are smiles?

Do they dwell in Beauty’s eye?
No! nor on her playing cheek.
Nor on her wavy lip — though nigh
Seems the glancing charm they seek.
Where do they dwell
Where? — Their home is in the mind;
Smiles are light — the light of soul!
Light of many tints combined.
And of strong and sure control.
Smiles are light.

There’s a smile — the smile of Joy,
Bright as glance of May’s fresh morn;
And one, that gleam? but to destroy, —
Tis the lightning smile of Scorn.

There is a smile of glowworm hue,
That glimmers not near scenes of Folly,
Pale and strange and transient too, —
The smile of awful Melancholy.

Like to the sad and silvery showers,
Falling in an April sun,
Is the smile, that Pity pour?
O’er the deed, that Fate has done.

Dear is Friendship’s meeting look,
As moonlight on a sleeping vale,
Soothing those the sun forsook —
So does that o’er Care prevail.

But who the first pure tint has seen,
That trembles on the edge of Morning,
When summer’s veil is so serene,
Hiding half and half adorning?

They, who this have seen, may know,
What the smile that’s here intended;
They, who do to Laura go,
See that smile with beauty blended.

THE REED OF POESY
.

OH! sweet reed, come hither!
Never from thee will I part;
For oft, like sunshine weather,
Thy music has cheered my heart:
Oh! sweet reed, come hither.

Many a forest-green mountain
In leafless November I ‘ve seen;
Many a daisy-rimmed fountain
In frozen December has been;

Many an April bower,
And many a valley of May
Bright with sunbeam and flower,
I ‘ve seen on a Winter’s day.
Oft, in the depth of December,
When the night-blast shrieked aloud,
And sadly bade me remember,
That Death was abroad in his shroud

Thy welcomest note light sounding
Has flattered my fears to rest;
My lone, lone hearth surrounding
With many a fairy guest.

And many a scene of wonder,
Rising from forth the dark night,
In veil thrown but half asunder,
Has thrilled me with dread delight.

How oft, in some measureless chamber,
I have seen the traveller wait,
Through the dull night of December,
All fearful of some sad fate.

And I’ve heard that voice so hollow
Break once on his startled ear;
And seen him how sadly follow,
And dimly disappear.

And, when the grey doubtful morning
Has gleamed pale over the waste,
I’ve viewed him all safe returning,
And smiling at danger past.

So come, sweet reed, come hither!
I never from thee will part;
For oft, like sunshine weather,
Thy music has cheered my heart.
Oh! sweet reed, come hither!

EDWY
.

A POEM, IN THREE PARTS.

PART I.

THE HAZEL TREE.

A SUMMER SONG OF FAIRIE.

LIGHTLY green with springing buds,
The hazel twines her fairy bowers,
In yon dell o’erhung with woods,
Where the brook its music pours.

O’er the margin of the stream
Peeps the yellow marygold,
And lilies, where the waters gleam,
Bend their heads so fair and cold.
Know ye why the Elfin-band
Watch beneath the kazel-bough?
‘Tis to guard its MAGIC WAND
And its blossoms, as they blow.

THESE, gathered at the mid-day hour,
To mortal eyes their haunts betray;
That has the strange enchanting power
To call up a prophetic Fay.

Be she down among the rills,
In some wild-wood dingle hid;
Or dancing on the moonlight hills —
She must speed, as she is bid.

Or sleep she on the mossy bed,
Under the blossom-breathing lime,
That sheds sweet freshness over head —
The freshness of the morning prime;

Or stray she with old Thames serene
Through osier-tufts and lofty groves,
By royal towers, or cottaged green,
Still must she leave what best she loves —

Leave the thatched cot, where finest spreads
The turf, ‘mid every choicest flower,
And the far-branching chestnut sheds
Over the wave its greenest shower.

Where, silver-streak’d, that polished wave
Glides by with lingering, sweet farewell,
While stately swans their proud necks lave,
And seem to feel some fairy spell.

Then marvel not that Elfins fair
Guard the thin wand and hazel bloom;
Since these can all their haunts lay bare,
By hidden stream, or forest gloom.

— Near Windsor’s shades there dwelt a youth,
Who fast was bound in Cupid’s chain;
But how to try his lady’s truth
By mortal means he sought in vain.

He to a chamber dim withdrew,
Where serpent’s skin arid head of toad
Hinted of themed he must pursue,
Ere secret would to him be showed.

It was a chamber magical,
Where light in partial gleams appeared,
And showed strange shades upon the wall,
By his own mystic learning reared.

Thence to the hazel-copse he went,
When the sun was flaming high;
And there the twining branches rent;
For then no Fay was watching nigh.

Fast asleep in closed flowers,
And all unheard, and all unseen,
Who, that walked these noontide bowers,
Could guess that any Elves had been? —
Next, to the forest-hills he hied,
To pull the wild thyme’s budding bloom;
Fresh from some haunted dingle’s side;
For, it must blow where Fairies

Just such a dingle still is seen,.
Hanging upon the Park’s high brow,
Deep buried in the shadowy green,
Where tall o’erarching beeches grow

Here oft the Fairies revel keep,
To bless the Castle’s moonlight hours,
And peep, as winds these branches sweep,
At Windsor-diadem’d with towers.

Grass, that crowns a Fairie’s throne,
Mary golds — her canopy,
Lilies, for her cradle known,
These he gathered, three and three.

Well prepared with hazel-leaves,
Thus the wondrous charm distill,
Which, laid on an eye, that grieves,
Shows each sprite of grove, or rill.

“Three hazel-wands peel smooth and white,
Just a twelvemonth old — no more:
Thrice on each wand the full name write
Of the Fay you would implore.

“Then in earth these wands consign;
In earth, that elfin footsteps tread,
Extract them with well-muttered line,
Unheard of man — by man unread.

“Next, to the North your visage turn,
Invoke her name, with thrice told three,
Be she by forest, mead, or bourne,
Her on your magic glass you ‘ll see.”

With shaking hand he peeled the wand;
Then would he trace her name, I wot;
Edwy the Love-Fay would command;
But Edwy had her name forgot.
Full of great flaws to aught but love
Is the memory of a lover;
Now he must watch where Fairies rove,
Or this name he ‘ll ne’er recover.

Back o’er the sunny hills he goes
To his green home in Windsor shades,
To draw the charm, that shall expose
The Elfin-Court, when daylight fades.

Down by good Clewer’s winding mead,
And where the silver currents glide,
A plume of elms lifts high it’s head,
And casts it’s shadow on the tide.

All dark and still the feathery grove
Sleeps in the streamy light below;
The streamy light with placid love
And hushing murmur seems to flow.

There Elves, ‘twas said, in ringlets went,
When chimes sang midnight to the land,
If then, on Windsor’s battlement,
Tip-toe the full-orbed Moon should stand.

Duly distilled the flowery charm,
Thither Edway must repair,
And, that no check the spell might harm,
Ere the sun-set he was there.

The golden tints of Evening lie
Upon the smoothly-flowing stream,
Tint the old walls and turrets high,
And lower on the wood-tops gleam.

And, slanting o’er the willowed vale,
The blessed Henry’s fane enshrined,
It’s fretted windows, turrets pale,
And pinnacles far: ranged behind.

And now the soothing hour is come,
The starlight hour, when all is still,
Save the far-distant village hum,
And the lone watch-bark from the hill;
And wheels which, far-off travelling,
Pass unseen in bowery lane,
Like to the sea-tide murmuring,
Now loud and lost, then loud again.

He laid the charm upon his eyes,
And looked with desperate courage round
Alas! no tripping phantoms rise
On the shadowy, Fairie ground.

Patience is a lover’s duty!
Here, counting every distant chime,
He exalts his lady’s beauty,
In quaint, or pity-moving rhime.

Till, in the East, a shadowy light,
Rising behind the Castle-walls,
Gives the dim turrets to his sight,
And in mute watch his spirit thralls.

As slow the unseen Moon ascends,
More darkly drawn the towers appear,
Till every doubtful mass expands,
And lives upon the radiant air;

Then, peers she o’er the broad Keep’s height,
A spreading curve of light serene;
And, faithful to her loved Midnight,
There, reigns it’s pale and pensive Queen.

And touches, with her silver ray,
Terrace and woody steep below
The river’s willow-sheltered bay,
And waters quivering as they flow.

Where’er th’ Enchantress points her wand,
Forth from the deep of darkness crowd
Pale glimmering shapes, and silent stand
As waked from Death’s unfolding shroud.

The landscape lived, clear spread the lawn,
The groves their shadowy tops unfurled,
And airy hills in prospect dawn,
Like vision of another world.
The chimes sang midnight; Edwy shook,
While by the grove of elm he stood,
And cast a sly and wistful look
Around the turf and o’er the flood.

That wrinkled flood, all silver bright,
No sail of Fairie pinnace showed,
Nor, ‘neath the still elm’s bowery night,
A glimpse of elfin-pageant glowed.

St. George’s chimes, with falter sweet,
Like infants, tried their task to say;
But, waked from midnight’s slumber meet,
Th’ imperfect accents died away.

And soft they sunk to sleep again,
Ere the slow song was duly closed,
As seeming feebly to complain
Of broken rest, e’en while they dozed.

But Fairies met not Edwy’s eye;
For, here, alas! no more they rove;
Some urchins of the College nigh
Had surely scared them from the grove;

Such as the forest-keepers here
Have followed, helter-skelter, round
Hills, woods and dales, for tracking deer;
Till fond Thames bore the wights to ground;

To Eton ground, where, safe from law,
And praising oft the helping tide,
They peeped, well hid in grass, and saw
The foresters on t’other side!

Such as the May-pale oft has watched
Doff gown and mount the coach on high;
Such as the tavern-dinner snatched,
The bottle drank and ate the pie j

In fifteen minutes and away!
And, if an oxen-herd they met,
Sprung on their horns, in laughing play,
Then gravely joined the schoolroom set

Oh! those were happy times, I ween,
The light of Morning o’er the sky —
That touches all the varied scene
With life-full gleams of hope and joy.

The angered fairies, in revenge,
Still, the tale goes, “their tyrants flout
Plunge them in scrapes and mischief strange,
Then leave them to a flogging-bout!

But oft good Robin proves their friend,
And lays his bandage on the eyes
Of the grave Heads, who mildly blend
Remembrance with severe surmise.

And now, in more removed ground,
Up in the high Park’s ancient shade,
On the grey forest’s lonely bound,
These fairies dance in secret glade;
Where oaks Plantagenet still frown,
Great Edward’s tree e’en each appears,
A warlike ruin, gaunt and lone,
The spectre of five hundred years.

Nursed by long centuries gone by,
Reared in the storms, that wrecked their kings,
Oh! could they give the Past a sigh,
And speak the tale of vanished things,

The peopled scenes they have beheld,
In long succession, varied guise,
More wonders here had stood revealed,
Than aught, that Fairie dream supplies.

Thus Edwy, with a face of rue,
Returned home for future feat;
Thus he, who does adventure woo,
Must sometimes disappointment meet.