Poems (Baldwyn)/The Grove
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THE GROVE.
"Here poesy might awake her heaven-taught lyre,
And look through nature with creative fire;
Here, to the wrongs of fate half reconcil'd,
Misfortune's lighten'd steps might wander wild;
And disappointment in these lonely bounds,
Find balm to soothe her bitter, rankling wounds.
Here heart-struck grief might heavenward stretch her scan,
And injur'd worth forget and pardon man."
Burns.
And look through nature with creative fire;
Here, to the wrongs of fate half reconcil'd,
Misfortune's lighten'd steps might wander wild;
And disappointment in these lonely bounds,
Find balm to soothe her bitter, rankling wounds.
Here heart-struck grief might heavenward stretch her scan,
And injur'd worth forget and pardon man."
Burns.
Sweet grove, once more beneath thy quiet shades
I enter. Ah, I visit thee alone.
Thou art enshrin'd as sacred in my mind,
Thou temple of past joy;—sweet hours of rest,
When far escap'd from every crowding care
I here retired. Let me forget them now.
Oh, foliage fair!
How deep thy shadows, and how bright the boughs
That topmost wave in the soft sunny air!
How smooth the turf where wav'ring sunlight comes
Smiling so sweetly! Thou art all unchang'd.
Thou art the same, sweet grove, as in those hours
When in your stillness I first found repose!
Oh, gentle peace, descend! Far from my mind,
Ye clouds, that o'er the light of memory
Gather in darkness! Here I have been blest,
And, 'mid these scenes of nature that still smile
As changeless as at first, I would forget
Friendship's less faithful promise. Let me turn
Mine eyes to all the glories that are spread
So richly in the distance. Farther still!
Rest on the mountains, my sad gaze, and view
The grandeur of the hay that flows afar.
And farther still! my soul, look up, and see
How from the height of heaven the Lord looks down
And smiles on his creation: thou wilt then
Cease to muse sadly on life's fickle scene,
And, borne away on contemplation's wing,
Feel all thy powers renew'd.
Oh, Heav'nly Pow'r who rules o'er nature's works
And spreads a glorious lustre o'er them all,
Before whose throne the countless angels fall,
And worlds on worlds adoring e'er depend.
Shall I, a fragile being, tread the earth,
Reap thy rich blessings, and call forth my song?
(Ah, thus while list'ning to the richer strains
That nature breathes, imagining the praise
Of worlds on high,—it sinks and dies away.)
Shall I speak, move, or raise mine eye to heaven
Without a pray'r to Thee? Make new my heart;
Detach my soul from care. Save me, O Lord,
From ev'ry snare of pride, of human trust;
And my freed spirit, blended with my Lord's,
Which dwells in faithful hearts, shall sing thy praise,
Nor fear to call thee 'Father.'
Softly roll
The shadows o'er the landscape; bright the sun
Shines in the smiling heavens; gently breathe
The sighing winds; and flowers glance upward bright
Fair, fair is earth! and all around is peace.
Hark! hear that song that bursts upon the ear!
How sweet this woodland music! Where the waves
Roll their bright waters to the circling shore,
Soft sounds ascend. Ah, who has given us these?
Who spreads such beauty round us, and recalls,
By all these tokens of his power and love,
Our wand'ring hearts to heaven? Shall we give
Our little span of life to things that fade,
That ne'er repay our labour? All is ours!
(And we, O Lord, are thine!)—the world above
And all the beauties of the world below.
The poor and rich alike can feast on all,
Taste all the sweetness of the summer air,
And raise with joy the hymn of grateful praise.
Oh, that each heart were tun'd to sing thy praise,
And ev'ry mind prepar'd to own thy pow'r;
Detach'd from all vain, coveteous desires,
Would learn to gaze upon thy works, O God,
And feel that thou art here! Thus, thus inspir'd,
Sin, care, and sorrow flee, and, as those clouds
That roll'd their shades but now, leave no dark trace
While brightly shines the sun of light and joy.
But hush! Sweet grove, beneath your spreading shade
And soft descending branches, I retir'd
To seek forgetfulness of all the world,
And find beneath your bright, yet solemn screen,
A spot to weep o'er sorrow:—I was led
By gentle thoughts infus'd by solitude,
So lovely, rich, and fair, to turn and view
The glories spread around me, and recall%
The Lord who made them, and I felt my want
Of his sustaining favour: now my heart,
Refresh'd and strengthen'd, and with gentler thoughts
Of those it turn'd from, breathes a prayer sincere;
And as I view the mercies richly given
For man's true happiness,—the boundless store
Of beauty spread around for all who seek
Their pleasure in God's works,[1]—my spirit bows,
And, while it breathes its gratitude to heaven,
Humbly recalls its murm'rings.
Farewell,
Sweet scenes of peace and beauty! When the breeze
Sweeps like the whisperings of echoing song
Among these branches, it will speak to me,
When here I strays the blessedness of peace.
Alburgh, Vt.
I enter. Ah, I visit thee alone.
Thou art enshrin'd as sacred in my mind,
Thou temple of past joy;—sweet hours of rest,
When far escap'd from every crowding care
I here retired. Let me forget them now.
Oh, foliage fair!
How deep thy shadows, and how bright the boughs
That topmost wave in the soft sunny air!
How smooth the turf where wav'ring sunlight comes
Smiling so sweetly! Thou art all unchang'd.
Thou art the same, sweet grove, as in those hours
When in your stillness I first found repose!
Oh, gentle peace, descend! Far from my mind,
Ye clouds, that o'er the light of memory
Gather in darkness! Here I have been blest,
And, 'mid these scenes of nature that still smile
As changeless as at first, I would forget
Friendship's less faithful promise. Let me turn
Mine eyes to all the glories that are spread
So richly in the distance. Farther still!
Rest on the mountains, my sad gaze, and view
The grandeur of the hay that flows afar.
And farther still! my soul, look up, and see
How from the height of heaven the Lord looks down
And smiles on his creation: thou wilt then
Cease to muse sadly on life's fickle scene,
And, borne away on contemplation's wing,
Feel all thy powers renew'd.
Oh, Heav'nly Pow'r who rules o'er nature's works
And spreads a glorious lustre o'er them all,
Before whose throne the countless angels fall,
And worlds on worlds adoring e'er depend.
Shall I, a fragile being, tread the earth,
Reap thy rich blessings, and call forth my song?
(Ah, thus while list'ning to the richer strains
That nature breathes, imagining the praise
Of worlds on high,—it sinks and dies away.)
Shall I speak, move, or raise mine eye to heaven
Without a pray'r to Thee? Make new my heart;
Detach my soul from care. Save me, O Lord,
From ev'ry snare of pride, of human trust;
And my freed spirit, blended with my Lord's,
Which dwells in faithful hearts, shall sing thy praise,
Nor fear to call thee 'Father.'
Softly roll
The shadows o'er the landscape; bright the sun
Shines in the smiling heavens; gently breathe
The sighing winds; and flowers glance upward bright
Fair, fair is earth! and all around is peace.
Hark! hear that song that bursts upon the ear!
How sweet this woodland music! Where the waves
Roll their bright waters to the circling shore,
Soft sounds ascend. Ah, who has given us these?
Who spreads such beauty round us, and recalls,
By all these tokens of his power and love,
Our wand'ring hearts to heaven? Shall we give
Our little span of life to things that fade,
That ne'er repay our labour? All is ours!
(And we, O Lord, are thine!)—the world above
And all the beauties of the world below.
The poor and rich alike can feast on all,
Taste all the sweetness of the summer air,
And raise with joy the hymn of grateful praise.
Oh, that each heart were tun'd to sing thy praise,
And ev'ry mind prepar'd to own thy pow'r;
Detach'd from all vain, coveteous desires,
Would learn to gaze upon thy works, O God,
And feel that thou art here! Thus, thus inspir'd,
Sin, care, and sorrow flee, and, as those clouds
That roll'd their shades but now, leave no dark trace
While brightly shines the sun of light and joy.
But hush! Sweet grove, beneath your spreading shade
And soft descending branches, I retir'd
To seek forgetfulness of all the world,
And find beneath your bright, yet solemn screen,
A spot to weep o'er sorrow:—I was led
By gentle thoughts infus'd by solitude,
So lovely, rich, and fair, to turn and view
The glories spread around me, and recall%
The Lord who made them, and I felt my want
Of his sustaining favour: now my heart,
Refresh'd and strengthen'd, and with gentler thoughts
Of those it turn'd from, breathes a prayer sincere;
And as I view the mercies richly given
For man's true happiness,—the boundless store
Of beauty spread around for all who seek
Their pleasure in God's works,[1]—my spirit bows,
And, while it breathes its gratitude to heaven,
Humbly recalls its murm'rings.
Farewell,
Sweet scenes of peace and beauty! When the breeze
Sweeps like the whisperings of echoing song
Among these branches, it will speak to me,
When here I strays the blessedness of peace.
Alburgh, Vt.
- ↑ "The works of the Lord are great, sought out of all them that have pleasure therein." Psalms cxi, 2.