Rememberest thou that solemn eventide
When last we parted? we had wandered forth
Down that steep hill--path to the level moor;
It was not long before the golden sun
Wheeled sloping to the western mountain's brink,
And presently a canopy of clouds
Folded him in with curtains of deep fire--
And so he sunk, slow and majestical,
Leaving a wake of glory; every bird
Sung his last carol, poised upon his branch
Of night--repose, and every little flower
Closed in its beauties in its drooping breast.

We sat upon the green marge of a stream
Reed--skirted, and the fragments of faint light
Leapt in and out among the yellow stalks,
Or peacefully reposed within the breast
Of the mid--river. Our discourse had been
Of infancy and youth: the hills of fern
And meadows of thick cowslips floated past
Our mental vision, and a faint sweet smell
Seemed half to come upon some inward sense.
But we had ceased to speak, and on our ear
Dwelt the last words with oft--recurring sound,
Mingling most fitly with the distant fall,
And the low booming of the passing dorr.

I told thee, ere we parted home that night,
A thousand undistinguishable fears
Of heavy days to come; I mourned to see
Beauty and freedom--in the daily talk
Of men heard frequent, on the lips of all
A constant theme, undying sounds that set
The slumbering spirit of mankind on work--
That they were names alone; that the dull age
Knows not their presence passing daily by,
And seeks them where they dwell not; that we throw
Our dowry of sweet peace unto the winds;
That we have proudly sought and duly earned
A desolating curse from righteous Heaven.

Perchance thou art too young, and that smooth brow
Built upwards through thy gently--crispèd hair,
Hath not those records stampt indelibly
Which Care, severe historian, writes aloft
That all may read; perchance the tender blue
So deep within thine eyes is all too bright
And cloudless yet--perchance I spake of things
By thee unheeded. Purity and light,
Thy blessed chamber, thy beloved home,
Brothers and sisters, and in humbler life
Some chosen spirits of first thoughts and few,
These are thy helpmates; all thine outward world
Our wooded hills and thickly--cottaged vales;
Thine inward nurture fetched from communings
With the great Comforter, in stillest hours,
And from the pages of that wondrous Book,
Which deepens as we search, whence we may draw
Waters, that spring into eternal life.

As every day windeth its train along
Of sunny hours chequered with passing clouds,
We grow in spirit, and the holy work
Of God goes forward still. Each rising morn
Calls us from lightest slumbers to give thanks,
And every night we weave a wreath of praise
With sweeter blossoms of our rising Spring.
The holy leaven works, and all the lump
Ere long will penetrate: for all our life
Will speed as doth a dove upon the wing;
The day will seem no longer, when the sun
In age sets on us, than in this our morn
Seems the young dawning but an hour gone by.

Dear genius of my musings, let us now
Rise to the middle heaven, and thence look down
On the tossing waste of cares, and from the wall
Of Love's serenest temple, catch afar
The beatings of the fevered heart of the world.
Canst thou, bound to the chariot--path of God,
Traverse the dread circumference? Canst thou
Keep pace with the errant moon? or trace the star,
Night after night, that wanders over heaven?
Canst thou, the nursling of thy peaceful home,
Look without trembling down the dizzy height,
And see the flaming vapours rolled around
The journey of the day--god, and far off
Fringing the borders of the pendent world,
Dark cloudy heaps, that love to gather gloom
Even from the fields the sun hath sown with light?
Come, let us rise together: and as He
Whose raiment glistered on the wondrous Mount,
In sweetest converse with the Sons of Light,
Yet spoke of human pain, and that decease
He should accomplish at Jerusalem;
So take we into nearer sight of Heaven
Thoughts that are born of mortal suffering;
Thither ascending, where in open day
Of the full shining of God's countenance
Lie treasured all the secret sins of earth.

As one who wandering in the western land
Over a hill of golden--blossomed furze,
Amid gray rocks, where the red cup--moss grows
Above the straggling fern, when now with toil
Of straining limbs he gains the beaconed top,
Looks over into valleys wonderful,
Thick--timbered valleys, with their fair church--towers,
Stretched into hazy distance, till a bank
Of bright blue hills with outline gently curved
Stands up before the sunset; so my soul
Hath gained a vantage ground, and we can see
A stretch of airy prospect opening wide.
Dost thou not hear, beloved, how the air
Is trembling with the whisper of light wings?
These are the passengers that make their road
From God to men, and traffic in our hearts,
With cargoes of rich grace and help divine;
Repentant tears for nectar take they back,
Mourning for song: and there is joy in heaven.
Dost thou not see the underlying world
Clad with an outer zone of brooding light,
Whence, inward ever, sparkles leap and flash
Like the sea--spray beneath the evening star?
These are the tides of Hope, that daily fill
Life's river: thus it is decreed on high.
Because all light and gladness speeds away
Into the dark; and from the life of man
There floweth daily forth a stream of joy
Into a chasm whose depth we know not of;--
Therefore the soul doth day by day demand
Fresh food for strong desire; and therefore Hope,
Like ever--youthful Hebé to the throng
Of the immortals on Olympus' top,
Stands ministering, and from her golden cup
Deals sweetest potion to the thirsting soul.

It sorteth well with weakness to have need
To lean upon a stronger, and depend
Even for each step upon another's will:
It suiteth well with man's infirmity
To be linked fast with on ward--looking hope,
And doubt, and strong desire; to see but part
Of all before it, and but now and then
Gain a bright glimpse of beauty, now and then
To feel a sprinkling of the pleasant spray
Of the great ocean--stream of truth that laves
With living floods the walls of the city of life.

But wherefore doth infirmity still haunt
The mournful destinies of human kind?
Why, since the earth is full of beauty, lacks
Her best inhabitant in his best part
His rightful share apportioned? Why doth man,
Sole heir of misery, walk the happy earth,
Feeding on poisons, shut from perfect joy?

Because the beauties of this nether world
Are born, and live and die, and their reward
Is, that from them one particle of bliss
Makes way into the life of higher things,
Nourishing that whence nourishment may flow
Up to the soul of man, the holy place
Of this great natural temple. The small flower
That was our favourite in the happy years
Of childhood, in each scheme of riper days
Hath borne its part; but it hath long ago
Passed into earth and laid its beauty by:
And some that seem eternal,--the dark hills
And thickly--timbered valleys, the great sea,
The never--changing watchers of the sky,
Are daily testimonies, by whose word
Speaks the great Spirit to the soul of man.
So that their place is finally assigned
In universal being, and their rank
Defined, and to what end they minister,
And to that end how far. But who shall set
Definite limits to the human soul,
Or bound the mighty yearnings of desire
Wherewith the spirit labours after truth?
All natural teaching,--all the thoughts that owe
Their being to the multitude of things
Which crowd upon us daily from without,
Go forward without labour; and when spurred
By call for mightier energies, the soul
Summons its hidden forces, and springs up
Mail--clad in most unvanquishable might,
A bright aspirant to a higher meed
Of beauty and desire; thence to look up
To some yet loftier spiritual throne.
Because the heart of man is capable
Of all degrees of purity and power;
Because the purest heart is mightiest
For strife with evil; therefore is the life
Of man encompassed with infirmity;
And therefore to the kingdom of our God
Much tribulation is the beaten path.

Shall miserable Man, the sport of winds
And the keen breath of the eager winter air,
Think condescension to bow down in woe,
To court his brother dust, and lift his cries,
Wafting against the thunder--thrones of Heaven
The incense of his wailings? Not that power
Is thereby sacrificed, or human souls
Lose aught of marvellous splendour;--know ye not
That he who kneels is higher than who stands?
The prostrate than the upright; the opprest
Than the oppressor? how more heavenly light
Breaks in upon the spirit through distress?
The reed that waves along the river's brink,
Spearing its way into the summer air,
Is not so glorious, as when laid by winds
It rests upon the mirror of the flood,
Gemmed with bright globes of dew; the stream that winds
Through unopposing flats its teeming way,
Floated with merchandise to the broad sea,
We love not like the tumbling mountain linn,
That hath not where to flow, breaking its path
Through fragments rough, and over mossy crags,
Down to the headlong cliff that tops the waves.

Hast thou not marked, how close together linked
Glory and Sadness walk; how never flower
Were half so beautiful, did we not know
That it must droop and wither? deem not then
That all the anguish--cries of this great world
Which reach us where we stand, find not in heaven
Fit greeting; there are those who minister
Outside the golden gates, to purify
The sorrow and the joy that enters there;
And I have heard from that bright visitant
Who comes to me each night, when my small flock
Is folded safe, by wearied Nature left
To the great Shepherd who can never sleep,
That oftentimes the pale and weeping souls
Dazzle them as they pass to meet their Lord
In glittering frost--robes of the purest spar
Circled with many crowns; and oftentimes
One who was joyous all, and in the world
Shone like a star, comes drooping in a mist,
And falters at the steep and narrow stair;
Nor enters, till with sprinkling and with words
The shadow of the earthy melt away.

Hear thou a vision--fitly told thee now
When we are parted from the nether world,
A dream of import strange, and prophecy
Which after--time shall prove. 'Twas on a night
Such as my spirit loves; moonlit and calm,
But veiled with amber mist, wherein there dwelt
Light, clothing equally the arch of heaven.
I had flown upwards on the stripping wings
Of meditation through the ample sky;
By the Queen--crescent, and past many a star
Thronged with unsinning shapes, whose atmosphere
Made clearer shining round me as I fled,
Reluctantly bound onward through the vast
And peopled universe: and now a light
Fell on me as from some self--shining tract,
Broad and uncentred: and I felt my thoughts
Grew pure and wonderful, and even this flesh
Into a glorious temple purified,
For such a saintly soul as now it shrined
Not all unfitting. And methought in sight
Full opposite, a beautiful green land,
In light not clear nor dark; a mellow day
Shed its soft influence over hill and dale,
And tenderest foliage down a hundred dells
Spread over paths that wound beside the bed
Of tinkling streamlets. Thickly scattered stood
Elm--shaded cottages, and wreathèd smoke
In bright blue curls went up, and o'er the vales
That lay toward the waves, slept peacefully.
'Twas such a land as summer travellers see
On Britain's western shores, who from the hills
Painfully climbed, beyond the Severn sea
Look over into Cambria, facing south,
To Aberavon, by the stream of Taff,
And old Glamorgan.--Then my fancy changed;
'Twas the third morning since my angel--guide
Landed me from strange voyage; scarcely yet
The search of this new home had given repose
To my way--wearied eyes. Thou canst not tell
How bright a morn it was; never such sun
Looked on the nether earth, as now above
Heaven's everlasting hills with perfect orb
Rose joyous, and from every brake the birds
Under the thick leaves starred with prisms of dew
Crowded their mellow warbles. Shapes in white
Over the lawns and by the hedge--row sides
Moved glorious; all the breathings of the air
Were full of joy, and every passing sound
Thrilled through me like the touch of her I love.
And on a sudden from an upland copse
Tangled with woodbine and lithe virgin--bower,
Broke forth a river of full melody,
Gushing like some long reach of pouring linn
In underlying valley, when the stars
Are out upon the mountain. Mute I turned
And listened, till the music of that voice
So took my senses captive, that I stood
Emptied of thought and human consciousness;
Like her who from the sulphur--steaming vale
Hurrying away in olden time, looked back
On Admah and Zeboim, and the plain
Of fruitful Sodom lately loved, and there,
As in her fondness she had looked, stood fixed.
''Hither,'' it said, ''come hither, child of earth,
Curb thy wild leapings of unquiet thought,
And glide into the calm of hope fulfilled.
Here is no sport of words, nor lying smile
Of rash undowried promise, hither come,
And I will show thee blest realities
More bright than earthly dreams.'' As by a charm
Led on, I followed, through the scented air
Moving with speed of thought, till in a shade
Most like to that, where in the morn of life
I opened forth to thee mine inner heart
When thou hadst picked thine apron full of flowers,--
I saw an angel form, serene and tall,
Far lifted into blessedness of look
Above our mortal state; and yet methought
I knew her eyes, I knew her cast of shape:
As when we see a new--acquainted face
Fixed on us strangely with accustomed looks.
''Draw near,'' she said, in that same wondrous voice
That filled the air of heaven, heard nigher now,
Like some clear organ, when the swell of song
Tempers the long--drawn music; ''let me look
Into thy face, and read thine open soul.
For blessed angels see not as ye see
Down on the nether earth, each fleeting spark
Of high desire, and each conception bold
Of worthy daring, to the insight keen
Of heavenly spirits hath its proper form
And presence, as to thee its earthly veil:''--
And as she spoke, a flush of sudden love,
Like shade athwart a sunny upland thrown,
Passed on her cheek;--''Dear child, the child of tears,
Thou didst not know me; scarcely had thy face
Learned to acknowledge with uncertain calm
(Which mother--love would fain hear called a smile)
My careful ministrations, when a voice
Mysterious called, first softly and scarce heard,
Then loud and louder waxing--'Come away'--
Till the dread sound struck on my throbbing brain,
And I was carried from thee. Ever since,
In the pure summer air of this sweet land,
God hath been ripening for enjoyment high
My patient spirit; but thine earthly speech
Hath not the signs that might disclose to thee
By what enlightening, what blessed sight,
These eyes have gained; or how the faithful sense,
Close--leaguing with the soul, searches unchecked
Things that lie hid beyond the visible blue
And past the flickering stars. ''But thou mayest know
Thus far, that there are many globes, as this
Hung in the middle firmament, where dwell
Pure spirits, ruling or obeying each
The gentle course of those their shining homes,
Or resting after lives of over--toil,
Or from the sources, at whose distant streams
They loved to drink on earth, feeding at will
Their ever--new desire; some by the flood
That girds the city of God, hold communing
With those that pass, or muse along the brink,
Or cull the lavish flowers; some that love best
To dwell in conflict, on the verge extreme
Sit of this tract of heaven, where night and day
The various plunging of the chafèd sea
Doth homage to their restless thirst of change.

''This isle of ours (to which I marvel how
Thy steps have come) its own inhabitants
Hath portioned: a blest tribe, who love the calm,
And tend these mystic plants, and night and morn
(For night and morn we mark, as on the earth,
Thought not with setting or returning light,
But with alternate song, and visits new
Of blessed ones from God) for worship meet,
Drawing the lengthened chant, and marrying
The raptures of Earth's sweetest melodies
To pure assurance of untroubled souls.
Thou sawest, if thy way I right divine
To have lain upward, for thou art not yet
As one of us, and shalt return to earth,
Where many valleys meet, a gulf of air,
Quiet, and full of this our ether--light;
Call this 'the haven of Lost Hope'--for here
Speed all the holy souls who left the world
While Hope was young, and Promise in her bud;--
Hither they sped, and wait, till there shall sound
A call to higher meed of blessedness,
The second in Heaven's roll, (if we may trust
The songs of the bright quires that hover round,)
Next to the sainted ones, that fought the fight
Against the sword, or fire, or piercing scorn,
Enduring unto death. If truly rise
Thoughts on my spirit, (and responses false
Have seldom place in temples purified,)
Thou to this island after certain days
Shalt send a blest inhabitant, thyself,
Or other, from the chambers of thine heart
Unwilling parted, friend of hopes and fears.
Weep not,''--for one large tear, born first of joy,
And fully ripened by a throe of grief,
Rolled on my cheek,--''Weep not, for ill thou knowst
That earthly hope is like the precious ore,
Rough and unseemly, till unwelcome force
Crush it in sunder, and the glittering rack
Refine with fire, till its calm shining face
Give back the unbroken sky. Thou canst not tell
How rich a dowry Sorrow gives the soul,
How firm a faith, and eagle--sight of God.
So mayest thou see upon the Earth at night,
After a day of storms, whose sun hath set
In sorrow, when the horizontal round
Is hemmed by sullen clouds, there opens forth
High in the zenith a clear space, in which,
As in a gulf embayed, broods quietly
The glory of the Moon, from underneath
Her misty veil sent upwards; and the stars
Far up the avenues of light disclose.''

She ceased to speak--and aught of joy or fear
That might be left me from that voice divine
Not long was present; for along the shade
A troop of blessed children sporting past--
Oft have I mused ere now on ancient gems,
And sculptured forms of godlike symmetry,
And grace of pictured limbs; but never yet
Saw I such beauty, nor in song attained
So fair conceit, as now in light of Love
Shone in my sight these little ones of Heaven.
Naked they were, if that were nakedness
Which clothed the spirit pure with glorious veil,
The richest dress of God's own fashioning;
With perfect liberty and sport of limb
They gambolled by us on the summer turf,
Each chasing other, and in meetings fond
Twining their innocent arms, and snatching oft
Kisses of playful love; and then they stood
As children might have stood if children were
In the first Paradise, arm over arm,
Clad with a crimson glow, listening our talk,
Their little breasts panting with joy and play.
For there had flowed afresh from that sweet fount
Words of high import, and oft questioning
I dwelt upon her lips, and thus had stayed
Contented ever; but the light began
Slowly to wane around me, and her form
Dimmer and dimmer grew, her voice more faint,
Her answers rare and short;--the sporting band
Of holy children last remained in sight,
And parted last; and all around me then
Was darkness, till our grange, and humble Church,
And row of limes that eastward fence our home,
Now visible against the waking dawn
Came slowly into presence, and this Earth
Flowed in, and loosed the avenues of sense.