Poems (Campbell)/The Dawn of Day
THE DAWN OF DAY.SEPTEMBER 30, 1813.
The dewy morn so soft and still,
Peeps over Brassa's heath-clad hill:
Nor may the slightest breath of breeze
Break the broad mirror of the seas,
That shows the rudely pencil'd Baard,[1]
And thy dark brow, majestic Ward,
Rising from the azure wave,
That scarcely dares thy feet to lave!
But though so stilly and so deep,
At thy green base the billows sleep,
The Baas[2] of Boister's sullen roar
Echo along the rocky shore.
The silver moon, far in the west,
Sinks in her cloudy bed to rest,
Where deeper hang the gath'ring shades,
As by degrees her pale light fades:
Soft show'rs unheard, and scarcely seen,
Descend upon the with'ring green;
Slow rolling mists the landscape shroud,
"And kerchief'd in a homely cloud,"
The dewy morn, through twilight pale,
Smiles, sadly sweet, on hill and dale.
Peeps over Brassa's heath-clad hill:
Nor may the slightest breath of breeze
Break the broad mirror of the seas,
That shows the rudely pencil'd Baard,[1]
And thy dark brow, majestic Ward,
Rising from the azure wave,
That scarcely dares thy feet to lave!
But though so stilly and so deep,
At thy green base the billows sleep,
The Baas[2] of Boister's sullen roar
Echo along the rocky shore.
The silver moon, far in the west,
Sinks in her cloudy bed to rest,
Where deeper hang the gath'ring shades,
As by degrees her pale light fades:
Soft show'rs unheard, and scarcely seen,
Descend upon the with'ring green;
Slow rolling mists the landscape shroud,
"And kerchief'd in a homely cloud,"
The dewy morn, through twilight pale,
Smiles, sadly sweet, on hill and dale.
Oh! loveliest scene, and yet so sad,—
More dear to me than sun-shine glad!
The bitter, troublous cares of life,
And all their turmoil, all their strife,
Seem slumb'ring with the glare of day,
And meditation's holy sway,
Sublimes to loftier views the mind,
To wonder, love, and praise resign'd.
More dear to me than sun-shine glad!
The bitter, troublous cares of life,
And all their turmoil, all their strife,
Seem slumb'ring with the glare of day,
And meditation's holy sway,
Sublimes to loftier views the mind,
To wonder, love, and praise resign'd.
Where now, the proud, the scornful look,
That timid sorrow scarce can brook—
The bitter taunt, the cruel sneer,
That even friendship's face can wear—
And cold neglect, that day by day
Consumes the mourner's life away?
Where now, the agony of heart
That faithless friendship can impart?
Oh! it is worse than ail the rest,—
It poisons, while it wounds the breast!
And neither time, nor reason's sway
Can pluck the fatal thorn away.
That timid sorrow scarce can brook—
The bitter taunt, the cruel sneer,
That even friendship's face can wear—
And cold neglect, that day by day
Consumes the mourner's life away?
Where now, the agony of heart
That faithless friendship can impart?
Oh! it is worse than ail the rest,—
It poisons, while it wounds the breast!
And neither time, nor reason's sway
Can pluck the fatal thorn away.
Now like some dark distressful dream
That cross'd the brain, these sorrows seem;
And 'mid this heav'nly breathing calm
If tears are shed, such tears are balm!—
Such tears are mine———although they flow
From sources of severest woe,
They fall as softly as the show'rs
Fall on the fading grass and flow'rs.
That cross'd the brain, these sorrows seem;
And 'mid this heav'nly breathing calm
If tears are shed, such tears are balm!—
Such tears are mine———although they flow
From sources of severest woe,
They fall as softly as the show'rs
Fall on the fading grass and flow'rs.
Oh! Thou, whose grace can thus impart,
Ease to a bruis'd and bleeding heart,
Accept the praise my lips would give,
And let me to thy glory live!
From Thee each blessing I have known,
Each warm regard that friends have shown,
From Thee, alone, oh God! they came,
And shalt not Thou, thine own reclaim!
Ease to a bruis'd and bleeding heart,
Accept the praise my lips would give,
And let me to thy glory live!
From Thee each blessing I have known,
Each warm regard that friends have shown,
From Thee, alone, oh God! they came,
And shalt not Thou, thine own reclaim!
If the full tide of bitter woe
Has made these aching eyes o'erflow;
If to my lips with deep-drawn sighs
One impious murmur e'er did rise,
Forgive me, bright Omnipotence!
And to this erring heart dispense
The grace to feel, the faith to know,
That whom thou lov'st, thou chast'nest so.
And when the snares of busy day
Again beset my weary way,
Oh! let thy pow'r, my God! controul
The warring passions of my soul;
Give me to see, and choose the right,
And guard me both by day and night!
Has made these aching eyes o'erflow;
If to my lips with deep-drawn sighs
One impious murmur e'er did rise,
Forgive me, bright Omnipotence!
And to this erring heart dispense
The grace to feel, the faith to know,
That whom thou lov'st, thou chast'nest so.
And when the snares of busy day
Again beset my weary way,
Oh! let thy pow'r, my God! controul
The warring passions of my soul;
Give me to see, and choose the right,
And guard me both by day and night!
- ↑ "Baard" is a very high rock, covered to its "giddy edge" by a beautiful green-sward.
- ↑ "Baas" are rocks overflowed by the sea, but visible at low water. Those alluded to above, take their name from a place called Boister, in the Island of Brassa, on the coast of which they are situated. The roar of the waves over them is heard, even in the calmest night, at Lerwick; and the awful effect it produces, when no living object interrupts the tranquillity of the scene, and every other sound is hushed, may he more easily imagined than described.