Poems of James Russell Lowell Part 8

IV.

Her thoughts are never memories, But ever changeful, ever new, Fresh and beautiful as dew That in a dell at noontide lies, Or, at the close of summer day, The pleasant breath of new-mown hay: Swiftly they come and pa.s.s As golden birds across the sun, As light-gleams on tall meadow-gra.s.s Which the wind just breathes upon.

And when she speaks, her eyes I see Down-gus.h.i.+ng through their silken lattices, Like stars that quiver tremblingly Through leafy branches of the trees, And her pale cheeks do flush and glow With speaking flashes bright and rare As crimson North-lights on new-fallen snow, From out the veiling of her hair-- Her careless hair that scatters down On either side her eyes, A waterfall leaf-tinged with brown And lit with the sunrise.

V.

When first I saw her, not of earth, But heavenly both in grief and mirth, I thought her; she did seem As fair and full of mystery, As bodiless, as forms we see In the rememberings of a dream; A moon-lit mist, a strange, dim light, Circled her spirit from my sight;-- Each day more beautiful she grew, More earthly every day, Yet that mysterious, moony hue Faded not all away; She has a sister's sympathy With all the wanderers of the sky, But most I've seen her bosom stir When moonlight round her fell, For the mild moon it loveth her, She loveth it as well, And of their love perchance this grace Was born into her wondrous face.

I cannot tell how it may be, For both, methinks, can scarce be true, Still, as she earthly grew to me, She grew more heavenly too; She seems one born in Heaven With earthly feelings, For, while unto her soul are given More pure revealings Of holiest love and truth, Yet is the mildness of her eyes Made up of quickest sympathies, Of kindliness and ruth; So, though some shade of awe doth stir Our souls for one so far above us, We feel secure that she will love us, And cannot keep from loving her.

She is a poem, which to me In speech and look is written bright, And to her life's rich harmony Doth ever sing itself aright; Dear, glorious creature!

With eyes so dewy bright, And tenderest feeling Itself revealing In every look and feature, Welcome as a homestead light To one long-wandering in a clouded night, O, lovelier for her woman's weakness, Which yet is strongly mailed In armor of courageous meekness And faith that never failed!

VI.

Early and late, at her soul's gate, Sits Chast.i.ty in warderwise, No thoughts unchallenged, small or great, Go thence into her eyes; Nor may a low, unworthy thought Beyond that virgin warder win, Nor one, whose pa.s.sword is not "ought,"

May go without or enter in.

I call her, seeing those pure eyes, The Eve of a new Paradise, Which she by gentle word and deed, And look no less, doth still create About her, for her great thoughts breed A calm that lifts us from our fallen state, And makes us while with her both good and great-- Nor is their memory wanting in our need: With stronger loving, every hour, Turneth my heart to this frail flower, Which, thoughtless of the world, hath grown To beauty and meek gentleness, Here in a fair world of its own-- By woman's instinct trained alone-- A lily fair which G.o.d did bless, And which from Nature's heart did draw Love, wisdom, peace, and Heaven's perfect law.

LOVE'S ALTAR.

I.

I built an altar in my soul, I builded it to one alone; And ever silently I stole, In happy days of long-agone, To make rich offerings to that ONE.

II.

'Twas garlanded with purest thought, And crowned with fancy's flowers bright, With choicest gems 'twas all inwrought Of truth and feeling; in my sight It seemed a spot of cloudless light.

III.

Yet when I made my offering there, Like Cain's, the incense would not rise; Back on my heart down-sank the prayer, And altar-stone and sacrifice Grew hateful in my tear-dimmed eyes.

IV.

O'er-grown with age's mosses green, The little altar firmly stands; It is not, as it once hath been, A selfish shrine;--these time-taught hands Bring incense now from many lands.

V.

Knowledge doth only widen love; The stream, that lone and narrow rose, Doth, deepening ever, onward move, And with an even current flows Calmer and calmer to the close.

VI.

The love, that in those early days Girt round my spirit like a wall, Hath faded like a morning haze, And flames, unpent by self's mean thrall, Rise clearly to the perfect ALL .

IMPARTIALITY.

I.

I cannot say a scene is fair Because it is beloved of thee, But I shall love to linger there, For sake of thy dear memory; I would not be so coldly just As to love only what I must.

II.

I cannot say a thought is good Because thou foundest joy in it; Each soul must choose its proper food Which Nature hath decreed most fit; But I shall ever deem it so Because it made thy heart o'erflow.

III.

I love thee for that thou art fair; And that thy spirit joys in aught Createth a new beauty there, With thine own dearest image fraught; And love, for others' sake that springs, Gives half their charm to lovely things.

BELLEROPHON.

DEDICATED TO MY FRIEND, JOHN F. HEATH.

I.

I feel the bandages unroll That bound my inward seeing; Freed are the bright wings of my soul, Types of my G.o.d-like being; High thoughts are swelling in my heart And rus.h.i.+ng through my brain; May I never more lose part In my soul's realm again!

All things fair, where'er they be, In earth or air, in sky or sea, I have loved them all, and taken All within my throbbing breast; No more my spirit can be shaken From its calm and kingly rest!

Love hath shed its light around me, Love hath pierced the shades that bound me; Mine eyes are opened, I can see The universe's mystery, The mighty heart and core Of After and Before I see, and I am weak no more!

II.

Upward! upward evermore, To Heaven's open gate I soar!

Little thoughts are far behind me, Which, when custom weaves together, All the n.o.bler man can tether-- Cobwebs now no more can bind me!

Now fold thy wings a little while, My tranced soul, and lie At rest on this Calypso-isle That floats in mellow sky, A thousand isles with gentle motion Rock upon the sunset ocean; A thousand isles of thousand hues, How bright! how beautiful! how rare!

Into my spirit they infuse A purer, a diviner air; The earth is growing dimmer, And now the last faint glimmer Hath faded from the hill; But in my higher atmosphere The sun-light streameth red and clear, Fringing the islets still;-- Love lifts us to the sun-light, Though the whole world would be dark; Love, wide Love, is the one light, All else is but a fading spark; Love is the nectar which doth fill Our soul's cup even to overflowing, And, warming heart, and thought, and will, Doth lie within us mildly glowing, From its own centre raying out Beauty and Truth on all without.

III.