PART FIFTH.
LANG SYNE - VISION OF THE DELUGE - CONCLUSION
The music of "Lang Syne!" Oh! long ago
It died away - died, and was heard no more!
And where those hills that skirt the level vale,
On to the left, the prospect intercept,
I would not, could not look, were they removed;
I would not, could not look, lest I should see
The sunshine on that spot of all the world,
Where, starting from the dream of youth, I gazed
Long since, on the cold, clouded world, and cried,
Beautiful vision, loved, adored, in vain, 10
Farewell - farewell, for ever!
How sincere,
How pure was my heart's love! oh! was it not?
Yes; Heaven can witness, now my brow is changed,
And I look back, and almost seem to hear
The music of the days when we were young,
Like music in a dream, ere we awoke,
Oh! witness, Heaven, how fervent, how sincere -
How fervent, and how tender, and how pure, 19
Was my fond heart's first love!
The summer eve
Shone, as with sympathy of sweet farewell,
Upon thy Tor, and solitary mound,
Glaston, as rapidly I passed along,
Borne from those scenes for ever, while with song
The sorrows of the hour and way beguiled.
So passed the days of youth, which ne'er return,
Tearful; for worldly fortune smiled too late,
And the poor minstrel-boy had then no wealth,
Save such as poets dream of - love and hope. 30
At Fortune's frown, the wreath which Hope entwined
Lay withering, for the dream had been too sweet
For human life; yet never, though his love,
All his fond love, he muttered to the winds;
Though oft he strove, distempered, without joy,
To drown even the remembrance that he lived -
Never a weak complaint escaped his lip,
Save that some tender tones, as he passed on,
Died on his desultory lyre.
No more! 40
Forget the shadows of a feverish dream,
That long has passed away! Uplift the eyes
To Him who sits above the water flood, -
To Him who was, and is, and is to come!
Wrapped in the view of ages that are passed,
And marking here the record of earth's doom,
Let us, even now, think that we hear the sound -
The sound of the great flood, the peopled earth
Covering and surging in its solitude!
Let us forget the passing hour, the stir 50
Of this tumultuous scene of human things,
And bid imagination lift the veil 52
Spread o'er the rolling globe four thousand years!
The vision of the deluge! Hark - a trump!
It was the trump of the Archangel! Stern
He stands, whilst the awakening thunder rolls
Beneath his feet! Stern, and alone, he stands
Upon Imaus' height!
No voice is heard
Of revelry or blasphemy so high! 60
He sounds again his trumpet; and the clouds
Come deepening o'er the world!
Why art thou pale?
A strange and fearful stillness is on earth,
As if the shadow of the Almighty passed
O'er the abodes of man, and hushed at once
The song, the shout, the cries of violence,
The groan of the oppressed, and the deep curse
Of blasphemy, that scowls upon the clouds,
And mocks the deeper thunder! 70
Hark! a voice -
Perish! Again the thunder rolls; the earth
Answers, from north to south, from east to west -
Perish! The fountains of the mighty deep
Are broken up; the rushing rains descend,
Like night - deep night; while, momentary seen,
Through blacker clouds, on his pale phantom-horse,
Death, a gigantic skeleton, rides on,
Rejoicing, where the millions of mankind -
Visible, where his lightning-arrows glared - 80
Welter beneath the shadow of his horse!
Now, dismally, through all her caverns, Hell
Sends forth a horrid laugh, that dies away,
And then a loud voice answers - Victory!
Victory to the rider and his horse! 85
Victory to the rider and his horse!
Ride on: - the ark, majestic and alone
On the wide waste of the careering deep,
Its hull scarce peering through the night of clouds,
Is seen. But, lo! the mighty deep has shrunk! 90
The ark, from its terrific voyage, rests
On Ararat. The raven is sent forth, -
Send out the dove, and as her wings far off
Shine in the light, that streaks the severing clouds,
Bid her speed on, and greet her with a song: -
Go, beautiful and gentle dove;
But whither wilt thou go?
For though the clouds ride high above,
How sad and waste is all below!
The wife of Shem, a moment to her breast 100
Held the poor bird, and kissed it. Many a night
When she was listening to the hollow wind,
She pressed it to her bosom, with a tear;
Or when it murmured in her hand, forgot
The long, loud tumult of the storm without.
She kisses it, and at her father's word,
Bids it go forth.
The dove flies on! In lonely flight
She flies from dawn till dark;
And now, amid the gloom of night, 110
Comes weary to the ark.
Oh! let me in, she seems to say,
For long and lone hath been my way!
Oh! once more, gentle mistress, let me rest,
And dry my dripping plumage on thy breast!
So the bird flew to her who cherished it. 116
She sent it forth again out of the ark; -
Again it came at evening fall, and, lo!
An olive-leaf plucked off, and in its bill.
And Shem's wife took the green leaf from its bill, 120
And kissed its wings again, and smilingly
Dropped on its neck one silent tear for joy.
She sent it forth once more; and watched its flight,
Till it was lost amid the clouds of heaven:
Then gazing on the clouds where it was lost,
Its mournful mistress sung this last farewell: -
Go, beautiful and gentle dove,
And greet the morning ray;
For, lo! the sun shines bright above,
And night and storm have passed away. 130
No longer, drooping, here confined,
In this cold prison dwell;
Go, free to sunshine and to wind,
Sweet bird, go forth, and fare thee well!
Oh! beautiful and gentle dove,
Thy welcome sad will be,
When thou shalt hear no voice of love,
In murmurs from the leafy tree:
Yet freedom, freedom shalt thou find,
From this cold prison's cell; 140
Go, then, to sunshine and the wind,
Sweet bird, go forth, and fare thee well![86]
And never more she saw it; for the earth
Was dry, and now, upon the mountain's van,
Again the great Archangel stands; the light
Of the moist rainbow glitters on his hair - 146
He to the bow uplifts his hands, whose arch
Spans the whole heaven; and whilst, far off, in light,
The ascending dove is for a moment seen,
The last rain falls - falls, gently and unheard. 150
Amid the silent sunshine! Oh! look up! -
Above the clouds, borne up the depth of light,
Behold a cross! - and round about the cross,
Lo! angels and archangels jubilant,
Till the ascending pomp in light is lost,
Lift their acclaiming voice - Glory to thee,
Glory, and praise, and honour be to thee,
Lord God of hosts; we laud and magnify
Thy glorious name, praising Thee evermore,
For the great dragon is cast down, and hell 160
Vanquished beneath thy cross, Lord Jesus Christ!
Hark! the clock strikes! The shadowy scene dissolves,
And all the visionary pomp is past!
I only see a few sheep on the edge
Of this a'rial ridge, and Banwell Tower,
Gray in the morning sunshine, at our feet.
Farewell to Banwell Cave, and Banwell Hill,
And Banwell Church;[87] and farewell to the shores
Where, when a child, I wandered; and farewell,
Harp of my youth! Above this mountain-cave 170
I leave thee, murmuring to the fitful breeze
That wanders from that sea, whose sound I heard
So many years ago.
Yet, whilst the light
Steals from the clouds, to rest upon that tower,
I turn a parting look, and lift to Heaven
A parting prayer, that our own Zion, thus, -
With sober splendour, yet not gorgeous, 178
Her mitred brow tempered with lenity
And apostolic mildness - in her mien
No dark defeature, beautiful as mild,
And gentle as the smile of charity, -
Thus on the Rock of Ages may uplift
Her brow majestic, pointing to the spires
That grace her village glens, or solemn fanes
In cities, calm above the stir and smoke,
And listening to deep harmonies that swell
From all her temples!
So may she adorn -
Her robe as graceful, as her creed is pure - 190
This happy land, till time shall be no more!
And whilst her gray cathedrals rise in air,
Solemn, august, and beautiful, and touched
By time, to show a grace, but no decay,
Like that fair pile, which, from hoar Mendip's brow,
The traveller beholds, crowning the vale
Of Avalon, with all its towers in light;
So, England, may thy gray cathedrals lift
Their front in heaven's pure light, and ever boast
Such prelate-lords - bland, but yet dignified - 200
Pious, paternal, and beloved, as he
Who prompted, and forgives, this Severn song!
And thou, O Lord and Saviour! on whose rock
That Church is founded, though the storm without
May howl around its battlements, preserve
Its spirit, and still pour into the hearts
Of all, who there confess thy holy name,
Peace, that, through evil or through good report,
They may hold on their blameless way!
For me, 210
Though disappointment, like a morning cloud,
Hung on my early hopes, that cloud is passed, -
Is passed, but not forgotten, - and the light
Is calm, not cold, which rests upon the scene,
Soon to be ended. I may wake no more
The melody of song on earth; but Thee,
Father of Heaven, and Saviour, at this hour,
Father and Lord, I thank Thee that no song
Of mine, from youth to age, has left a stain
I would blot out; and grateful for the good
Thy providence, through many years, has lent,
Humbly I wait the close, till Thy high will
Dismiss me, - blessed if, when that hour shall come,
My life may plead, far better than my song.
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 4: The reader is referred to Dr Buckland's most interesting illustrations of these remains of a former world. The Bishop of Bath and Wells has built a picturesque and appropriate cottage near the cave, on the hill commanding this fine view.]
[Footnote 5: The stupendous Cheddar Cliffs, in the neighbourhood.]
[Footnote 6: Wookey, Antrum Ogonis.]
[Footnote 7: Uphill church.]
[Footnote 8: Flat and Steep Holms.]
[Footnote 9: Mr Beard, of Banwell, called familiarly "the Professor," but in reality the guide.]
[Footnote 10: Egyptian god of silence.]
[Footnote 11: Halt of the French army at the sight of the ruins.]
[Footnote 12: The Roman way passes immediately under Banwell.]
[Footnote 13: The abbey was built by the descendants of Becket's murderers. Almost at the brink of the channel, being secured from it only by a narrow shelf of rocks called Swallow-clift, William de Courteneye, about 1210, founded a friary of Augustine monks at Worsprynge, or Woodspring, to the honour of the Holy Trinity, the Virgin Mary, and St Thomas ' Becket. William de Courteneye was a descendant of William de Traci, and was nearly related to the three other murderers of ' Becket, to whom this monastery was dedicated.]
[Footnote 14: See the late Sir Charles Elton's pathetic description of the deaths of his two sons at Weston, whilst bathing in his sight; one lost in his endeavour to save his brother.]
[Footnote 15: Called "The Wolves," from their peculiar sound.]
[Footnote 16: Uphill.]
[Footnote 17: Southey.]
[Footnote 18: Three sisters.]
[Footnote 19: Dr Henry Bowles, physician on the staff, buried at sea.]
[Footnote 20: Charles Bowles, Esq. of Shaftesbury.]
[Footnote 21: The author.]
[Footnote 22: Young's "Night Thoughts."]
[Footnote 23: Clock in the Cathedral.]
[Footnote 24: Traditional name of the clock-image, seated in a chair, and striking the hours.]
[Footnote 25: Vide the old ballad.]
[Footnote 26: A book, called the "Villager's Verse Book," to excite the first feelings of religion, from common rural imagery, was written on purpose for these children.]
[Footnote 27: See "Pilgrim's Progress."]
[Footnote 28: See Rowland Hill's caricatures, entitled "Village Dialogues."]
[Footnote 29: The text, which no Christian can misunderstand, "God is not willing," is turned, by elaborate Jesuitical sophistry, to "God is willing," by one "master in Israel." So that, in fact, the Almighty, saying No when he should have said Yes, did not know what he meant, till such a sophistical blasphemer set him right! To such length does an adherence to preconceived Calvinism lead the mind.]
[Footnote 30: "And now abideth faith, hope, and charity, these three; but the greatest of these is charity." - St Paul.]
[Footnote 31: Literally the expression of Hawker, the apostle of thousands and thousands. I speak of the obvious inference drawn from such expressions, and this daring denial of the very words of his Master: "Happy are ye, if ye do them!" - Christ. "But in vain," etc.]
[Footnote 32: I fear many churches have more to answer for than tabernacles.]
[Footnote 33: The long controversial note appended to this poem has been purposely suppressed.]
[Footnote 34: I forget in what book of travels I read an account of a poor Hottentot, who being brought here, clothed, and taught our language, after a year or two was seen, every day till he died, on some bridge, muttering to himself, "Home go, Saldanna."]
[Footnote 35: See Bishop Heber's Journal. Yet the Shaster, or the holy book of the Hindoos, says, "No one shall be burned, unless willingly!"]
[Footnote 36: Cowper.]
[Footnote 37: The English landlord has been held up to obloquy, as endeavouring to keep up the price of corn, for his own sordid interest; but rent never leads, it only follows, and the utmost a landlord can get for his capital is three per cent., whereas the lord of whirling wheels gains thirty per cent.]
[Footnote 38: These lines were written at Stourhead.]
[Footnote 39: The Bishop of Bath and Wells. Ken was one of the seven bishops sent to the Tower by James. He had character, patronage, wealth, station, eminence: he resigned all, at the accession of King William, for the sake of that conscience which, in a former reign, sent him a prisoner to the Tower. He had no home in the world; but he found an asylum with the generous nobleman who had been his old schoolfellow at Winchester. Here, it is said, he brought with him his shroud, in which he was buried at Frome; and here he chiefly composed his four volumes of poems.]
[Footnote 40: The Rev. Mr Skurray.]
[Footnote 41: The seat of the Earl of Cork and Orrery.]
[Footnote 42: Mrs Heneage, Compton House.]
[Footnote 43: Mrs Methuen, of Corsham House.]
[Footnote 44: For the "Society for Promoting Christian Knowledge," on which occasion a sermon was preached by the author.]
[Footnote 45: A book, just published, with this title, "The Duke of Marlborough is rector of Overton, near Marlborough."]
[Footnote 46: Rev. Charles Hoyle, Vicar of Overton, near Marlborough.]
[Footnote 47: "Killarney," a poem.]
[Footnote 48: Sonnets.]
[Footnote 49: "Exodus," a poem.]
[Footnote 50: Large coloured prints, in most cottages.]
[Footnote 51: The letter said to be written by our Saviour to King Agbarus is seen in many cottages.]
[Footnote 52: Tib, the cat.]
[Footnote 53: The notes of the cuckoo are the only notes, among birds, exactly according to musical scale. The notes are the fifth, and major third, of the diatonic scale.]
[Footnote 54: The "whip-poor-will" is a bird so called in America, from his uttering those distinct sounds, at intervals, among the various wild harmonies of the forest. See Bertram's Travels in America.]
[Footnote 55: In Cornwall, and in other countries remote from the metropolis, it is a popular belief, that they who are to die in the course of the year appear, on the eve of Midsummer, before the church porch. See an exquisite dramatic sketch on this subject, called "The Eve of St Mark," in Blackwood.]
[Footnote 56: Madern-stone, a Druidical monument in the village of Madern, to which the country people often resort, to learn their future destinies.]
[Footnote 57: Such is the custom in Cornwall.]
[Footnote 58: Polwhele. These are the first four lines of the real song of the season, which is called "The Furry-song of Helstone." Furry is, probably, from Feri'.]
[Footnote 59: Campanula cymbalaria, foliis hederaciis.]
[Footnote 60: Erica multiflora, common in this part of Cornwall.]
[Footnote 61: The rhythm of this song is taken from a ballad "most musical, most melancholy," in the Maid's Tragedy, "Lay a garland on my grave."]
[Footnote 62: The bay of St Ives.]
[Footnote 63: Feniculum vulgare, or wild fennel, common on the northern coast of Cornwall.]
[Footnote 64: Revel is a country fair.]
[Footnote 65: It is a common idea in Cornwall, that when any person is drowned, the voice of his spirit may be heard by those who first pass by.]
[Footnote 66: The passage folded down was the 109th Psalm, commonly called "the imprecating psalm." I extract the most affecting passages: -
"May his days be few."
"Let his children be fatherless, and his wife a widow."
"Let there be none to extend mercy."
"Let their name be blotted out, because he slayed even the broken in heart."]
[Footnote 67: The people of the country consult the spirit of the well for their future destiny, by dropping a pebble into it, striking the ground, and other methods of divination, derived, no doubt, from the Druids. - Polwhele.]
[Footnote 68: Bay of St Michael's Mount.]
[Footnote 69: The blue jay of the Mississippi. See Chateaubriand's Indian song in "Atala."]
[Footnote 70: Called the Flying Dutchman, the phantom ship of the Cape.]
[Footnote 71: Sudden storms are very common in this bay.]
[Footnote 72: A wild flower of the most beautiful blue, adorning profusely, in spring, the green banks of lanes and hedgerows.]
[Footnote 73: Called Chickell, in Cornwall, the wheat-ear. This should have been mentioned before, where the small well is spoken of in the garden-plot: -
"From time to time, a small bird dipped its bill."]
[Footnote 74: Alluding to the well-known story.]
[Footnote 75: Having gained the University prize the first year.]
[Footnote 76: J. P. Miles, Esq., whose fine collection of paintings, at his magnificent seat, Leigh Court, is well known.]
[Footnote 77: Married, whilst these pages were in the press, to a son of my early friend.]
[Footnote 78: A wild, desolate, and craggy vale, so called most appropriately, and forming a contrast to the open downs of Fayland, and the picturesque beauties of Brockley.]
[Footnote 79: Langford Court, the seat of the late Right Hon. Hely Addington.]
[Footnote 80: The Rev. Thomas Wickham, Rector of Yatton.]
[Footnote 81: Langhorne, the poet, Rector of Blagdon.]
[Footnote 82: Mrs Hannah More, of Barley-Wood, near Wrington, since dead.]
[Footnote 83: The Rector of Wrington, Mr Leaves, was the composer of the popular melody; but there is an old Scotch tune, to which the words were originally adapted. By melody, I mean the music to the words.]
[Footnote 84: Miss Stephens, now the Countess Dowager of Essex.]
[Footnote 85: "She looked in my face, till my heart was like to break." - Auld Robin Gray. Nothing can exceed the pathos with which Miss Stephens sings these words.]
[Footnote 86: This song, set to music by the author, was originally written for an oratorio.]
[Footnote 87: Banwell church is eminently beautiful, as are all the churches in Somersetshire. Dr Randolph has lately added improvements to the altar-piece.]