Seven Journeys to Earth , opus 71

The linnet in the rocky dells
The moor lark in the air
The bee among the heather bells
That hide a lady fair

The wild deer browse above her breast
The wild birds raise their brood
And they, her smiles of love caressed
Have left her solitude

I ween that when the graves dark wail
Did first her form retain
They thought their hearts could ne'er recall
The light of joy again

They thought the tide of grief would flow
Unchecked through future years
But where is all their anguish now
And where are all their tears?

Well let them fight for honours breath
Or pleasures shade pursue
The dweller in the land of death
Is changed and careless too

And, if their eyes should watch and weep
Till sorrows source were dry
She would not, in her tranquil sleep
Return a single sigh

Blow west-wind, by the lonely mound
And murmur summer streams
There is no need of other sound
To soothe a lady's dreams

Hope was but a timid friend;
She sat without the grated den,
Watching how my fate would tend,
Even as selfish-hearted men.

She was cruel in her fear;
Through the bars one weary day,
I looked out to see her there,
And she turned her face away!

Like a false guard, false watch keeping,
Still in strife, she whispered peace;
She would sing while I was weeping,
If I listened, she would cease.

False she was, and unrelenting;
When my last joys strewed the ground,
Even Sorrow saw, repenting,
Those sad relics scattered round;

Hope, whose whisper would have given
Balm to all my frenzied pain,
Stretched her wings, and soared to heaven,
Went, and ne'er returned again!

Death, that struck when I was most confiding
In my certain Faith of joy to be,
Strike again, Time's withered branch dividing
From the fresh root of Eternity!

Leaves, upon Time's branch, were growing brightly,
Full of sap and full of silver dew;
Birds, beneath its shelter, gathered nightly;
Daily, round its flowers, the wild bees flew.

Sorrow passed and plucked the golden blossom,
Guilt stripped off the foliage in its pride;
But, within its parent's kindly bosom,
Flowed forever Life's restoring tide.

Little mourned I for the parted Gladness,
For the vacant nest and silent song;
Hope was there and laughed me out of sadness,
Whispering, "Winter will not linger long."

And behold, with tenfold increase blessing
Spring adorned the beauty-burdened spray;
Wind and rain and fervent heat caressing
Lavished glory on its second May.
High it rose; no winge'd grief could sweep it;
Sin was scared to distance with its shine:
Love and its own life had power to keep it
From all 'Wrong, from every blight but thine!

Heartless Death, the young leaves droop and languish!
Evening's gentle air may still restore --
No: the morning sunshine mocks my anguish
Time for me must never blossom more!

Strike it down, that other boughs may flourish
Where that perished sapling used to be;
Thus, at least, its mouldering corpse will nourish
That from which it sprung-Eternity.

Will the day be bright or cloudy?
Sweetly has its dawn begun;
But the heav'n may shake with thunder
Ere the setting of the sun.
 
Lady, watch Apollo's journey:
Thus thy first born's course shall be
If his beams through summer vapours
Warm the earth all placidly,
Her days will pass like a pleasant dream
In sweet tranquillity.

If it darken, if a shadow
Quench his rays and summon rain,
Flow'rs may open, buds may blossom:
Bud and flow'r alike are vain;
Her days shall pass a mournful story
All in care and tears and pain.

If the wind be fresh and free,
The wide skies clear and cloudless blue,
The woods and fields and golden flowers 
Sparkling in sunshine and in dew,
Her days shall pass in Glory's light
The world's dry desert through.

What rider up Gobeloin's glen
Has spurred his straining steed,
And fast and far from living men
Has passed with maddening speed?

I saw his hoof-prints mark the rock,
When swift he left the plain;
I heard deep down the echoing shock
Re-echo back again.

From cliff to cliff, through rock and heath,
That coal-black courser bounds;
Nor heeds the river pent beneath,
Nor mark how fierce it sounds

With streaming hair, and forehead bare,
And mantle waving wide,
His master rides; the eagles there
Soar up on every side.

The goats fly by with timid cry,
Their realm rashly won;
They pause--he still ascends on high--
They gaze, but he is gone.

O gallant horse, hold on thy course;
The road is tracked behind.
Spur, rider, spur, or vain thy force--
Death comes on every wind.

Roared thunder loud from that pitchy cloud?
From it do torrents flow?
Or wakes the breeze in the swaying trees
That frown so dark below?

He breathes at last, when the valley's passed;
Rests on the grey rock's brow;
What ails the steed?--at thy master's need,
Wilt thou prove faithless now?

No, hardly checked, with ears erect,
The charger champed his rein,
Ere his quivering limbs all foam beflecked,
Were off like light again!

Hark! through the pass with threatening crash
Comes on the increasing roar!
But what shall brave the deep, deep wave,
The deadly pass before?

Their feet are dyed in a darker tide,
Who dare those dangers drear.
Their breasts have burst through the battle's worst,
Why should they tremble here?

Strong hearts they bear, and arms as good,
To conquer or to fall;
They dash into the boiling flood;
They gain the root's steep wall.

"Now, my brave men, this one pass more,
This narrow chasm of stone,
And Douglas for our sovereign's gore
Shall yield us back his own."

I hear their ever-rising tread
Sound through the granite glen;
There is a tall pine overhead
Held by the mountain men.

That dizzy bridge no horse could track
Has checked the outlaw's way;
There like a wild beast turns he back,
And grimly stands at bay.

Why smiles he so, when far below
He spies the toiling chase?
The pond'rous tree swings heavily,
And totters from its place.

They raise their eyes, for sunny skies
Are lost in sudden shade:
But Douglas neither shrinks nor flies,
He need not fear the dead. 

This shall be thy lullaby,
Rocking on the stormy sea;
Though it roar in thunder wild,
Sleep, stilly sleep, my dark-haired child.

When our shuddering boat was crossing
Eldern's lake, so rudely tossing,
Then 'twas first my nursling smiled;
Sleep, softly sleep, my fair-browed child.

Waves above thy cradle break;
Foamy tears are on the cheek;
Yet the ocean's self grows mild
When it bears my slumbering child.