To a Gentleman

Friend of the wise! and Teacher of the Good!Into my heart have I received that LayMore than historic, that prophetic LayWherein (high theme by thee first sung aright)Of the foundations and the building upOf a Human Spirit thou hast dared to tellWhat may be told, to the understanding mindRevealable; and what within the mindBy vital breathings secret as the soulOf vernal growth, oft quickens in the heartThoughts all too deep for words!--

Theme hard as high!Of smiles spontaneous, and mysterious fears(The first-born they of Reason and twin-birth),Of tides obedient to external force,And currents self-determined, as might seem,Or by some inner Power; of moments awful,Now in thy inner life, and now abroad,When power streamed from thee, and thy soul receivedThe light reflected, as a light bestowed--Of fancies fair, and milder hours of youth,Hyblean murmurs of poetic thoughtIndustrious in its joy, in vales and glensNative or outland, lakes and famous hills!Or on the lonely high-road, when the starsWere rising; or by secret mountain-streams,The guides and the companions of thy way!

Of more than Fancy, of the Social SenseDistending wide, and man beloved as man,Where France in all her towns lay vibratingLike some becalmed bark beneath the burstOf Heaven's immediate thunder, when no cloudIs visible, or shadow on the main.For thou wert there, thine own brows garlanded,Amid the tremor of a realm aglow,Amid a mighty nation jubilant,When from the general heart of human kindHope sprang forth like a full-born Deity!--Of that dear Hope afflicted and struck down,So summoned homeward, thenceforth calm and sureFrom the dread watch-tower of man's absolute self,With light unwaning on her eyes, to lookFar on-herself a glory to behold,The Angel of the vision! Then (last strain)Of Duty, chosen Laws controlling choice,Action and joy!--An orphic song indeed,A song divine of high and passionate thoughtsTo their own music chaunted!

O great Bard!Ere yet that last strain dying awed the air,With steadfast eye I viewed thee in the choirOf ever-enduring men. The truly greatHave all one age, and from one visible spaceShed influence! They, both in power and act,Are permanent, and Time is not with them,Save as it worketh for them, they in it.Nor less a sacred Roll, than those of old,And to be placed, as they, with gradual fameAmong the archives of mankind, thy workMakes audible a linked lay of Truth,Of Truth profound a sweet continuous lay,Not learnt, but native, her own natural notesAh! as I listen'd with a heart forlorn,The pulses of my being beat anew:And even as life retains upon the drowned,Life's joy rekindling roused a throng of pains--Keen pangs of Love, awakening as a babeTurbulent, with an outcry in the heart;And fears self-willed, that shunned the eye of hope;And hope that scarce would know itself from fear;Sense of past youth, and manhood come in vain,And genius given, and knowledge won in vain;And all which I had culled in wood-walks wild,And all which patient toil had reared, and all,Commune with thee had opened out--but flowersStrewed on my corse, and borne upon my bier,In the same coffin, for the self-same grave!

That way no more! and ill beseems it me,Who came a welcomer in herald's guise,Singing of glory, and futurity,To wander back on such unhealthful road,Plucking the poisons of self-harm! And illSuch intertwine beseems triumphal wreathsStrew'd before thy advancing!

Nor do thou,Sage Bard! impair the memory of that hourOf thy communion with my nobler mindBy pity or grief, already felt too long!Nor let my words import more blame than needs.The tumult rose and ceased: for Peace is nighWhere wisdom's voice has found a listening heart.Amid the howl of more than wintry storms,The halcyon hears the voice of vernal hoursAlready on the wing.

Eve following eve,Dear tranquil time, when the sweet sense of HomeIs sweetest! moments for their own sake hailedAnd more desired, more precious, for thy song,In silence listening like a devout child,My soul lay passive, by thy various strainDriven as in surges now beneath the stars,With momentary stars of my own birth,Fair constellated foam, still darting offInto the darkness; now a tranquil sea,Outspread and bright, yet swelling to the moon.

And when--O Friend! my comforter and guide!Strong in thyself, and powerful to give strength!--Thy long sustained Song finally closed,And thy deep voice had ceased--yet thou thyselfWert still before my eyes, and round us bothThat happy vision of beloved faces--Scarce conscious, and yet conscious of its closeI sate, my being blended in one thought(Thought was it? or aspiration? or resolve?)Absorbed, yet hanging still upon the sound--And when I rose, I found myself in prayer.