Poems (E. L. F.)/Loch long
ON SAILING ON LOCH LONG BY MOONLIGHT.
Evening shadows deeply fell
Over mountain, flood, and dell,
And a rich and roseate hue
Its own gladness softly threw
O'er a scene as brightly blest
As ever hushed my soul in rest.
Then the pale moon in silence rose
Amid that deep and calm repose,
And smiles from heaven mildly bent
Along that spacious firmament;
While stars of brightest beauty shone,
Dazzling and fair to look upon,
As if they felt a presence there,
The spirit—passion of the air—
A something holy, true, and good,
Ruling that silent solitude.
Oh! who could gaze on such a scene,
Nor feel the power of Nature's sheen,
Concentrating whole years of bliss
In one deep moment passed like this?
Loch Long in tranquil beauty lay,
And calm each deep indented bay,
And rocky fragments wildly threw
Their rude grey shadows o'er the deep,
As if the darkness of each hue
Could lull that water's life to sleep.
And giant mountains towering high—
Earth-born dwellers of the sky—
In silent majesty looked down,
While moonbeams kissed away each frown,
Until they seemed in gladness there
The treasured monarchs of the air.
And gushing streams, in frantic play,
Came leaping o'er that rocky bay,
Gleaming beneath the moonlight pale,
Like waking spirits of the vale,
Until they reached that living deep,
And found a home in Nature's keep.
But yet another lake is there,
Enshrined by mountains bleak and bare;
Yet wild in grandeur is the scene,
And beauty lingers there, I ween.
Far on a promontory's keep,
Laved by the waters of the deep,
There stand, in ruined glory piled,
The fragments of a fortress wild—
A rude memorial of the past,
That still through living years may last;
And memory's enraptured gaze
Gives back the scenes of other days,—
And Carrick Castle, bold and free,
The land-mark of Loch Goil shall be.
Oh! could I live in scenes of love,
Or picture visions from above
With all the force of passion's power
In Imag'ry's own magic hour,
Thought could not paint, lip could not tell,
The witchery of that evening spell.
Upon that lake's calm bosom sped
A tiny bark, whose sails were spread
To catch each zephyr hovering nigh—
The soft night-breeze of that pure sky,
As ever and anon it came,
Retiring yet, and still the same,
As if it would for ever keep
Its burden on that lonely deep.
Hush! for the voice of song is there,
A wild and melancholy air,
Thrilling the hearts that bark doth bear:
Soft o'er the deep its magic fell,
Bearing a charmed, living spell,
Leaving the heart that mellowed tone
That music gives, and gives alone.
Again a voice in cadence rose
Over that deep and still repose,
And poesy gushed forth its truth
Fresh from the buoyanecy of youth;
And tales of love and gladness woke
In each heart's home; while that voice spoke
Free from the heart, 'twas there to claim
An echo in each listener's frame.
And well it told, for when 'twas o'er,
A silence deeper than before
O'er each fair presence gently came,
The meetest tribute it could claim;
For who in words could e'er express
The fulness of deep joyousness?
Oh! many a year may pass away,
And hours of mirth and gladness play
Around each heart that beat that day,
But there will never come again
An hour of bliss less free from pain;
Nor scenes of beauty e'er compare
With what we viewed, nay, worshipped there:
In memory's life it will live for ever,
While heart and soul beat on together.
Over mountain, flood, and dell,
And a rich and roseate hue
Its own gladness softly threw
O'er a scene as brightly blest
As ever hushed my soul in rest.
Then the pale moon in silence rose
Amid that deep and calm repose,
And smiles from heaven mildly bent
Along that spacious firmament;
While stars of brightest beauty shone,
Dazzling and fair to look upon,
As if they felt a presence there,
The spirit—passion of the air—
A something holy, true, and good,
Ruling that silent solitude.
Oh! who could gaze on such a scene,
Nor feel the power of Nature's sheen,
Concentrating whole years of bliss
In one deep moment passed like this?
Loch Long in tranquil beauty lay,
And calm each deep indented bay,
And rocky fragments wildly threw
Their rude grey shadows o'er the deep,
As if the darkness of each hue
Could lull that water's life to sleep.
And giant mountains towering high—
Earth-born dwellers of the sky—
In silent majesty looked down,
While moonbeams kissed away each frown,
Until they seemed in gladness there
The treasured monarchs of the air.
And gushing streams, in frantic play,
Came leaping o'er that rocky bay,
Gleaming beneath the moonlight pale,
Like waking spirits of the vale,
Until they reached that living deep,
And found a home in Nature's keep.
But yet another lake is there,
Enshrined by mountains bleak and bare;
Yet wild in grandeur is the scene,
And beauty lingers there, I ween.
Far on a promontory's keep,
Laved by the waters of the deep,
There stand, in ruined glory piled,
The fragments of a fortress wild—
A rude memorial of the past,
That still through living years may last;
And memory's enraptured gaze
Gives back the scenes of other days,—
And Carrick Castle, bold and free,
The land-mark of Loch Goil shall be.
Oh! could I live in scenes of love,
Or picture visions from above
With all the force of passion's power
In Imag'ry's own magic hour,
Thought could not paint, lip could not tell,
The witchery of that evening spell.
Upon that lake's calm bosom sped
A tiny bark, whose sails were spread
To catch each zephyr hovering nigh—
The soft night-breeze of that pure sky,
As ever and anon it came,
Retiring yet, and still the same,
As if it would for ever keep
Its burden on that lonely deep.
Hush! for the voice of song is there,
A wild and melancholy air,
Thrilling the hearts that bark doth bear:
Soft o'er the deep its magic fell,
Bearing a charmed, living spell,
Leaving the heart that mellowed tone
That music gives, and gives alone.
Again a voice in cadence rose
Over that deep and still repose,
And poesy gushed forth its truth
Fresh from the buoyanecy of youth;
And tales of love and gladness woke
In each heart's home; while that voice spoke
Free from the heart, 'twas there to claim
An echo in each listener's frame.
And well it told, for when 'twas o'er,
A silence deeper than before
O'er each fair presence gently came,
The meetest tribute it could claim;
For who in words could e'er express
The fulness of deep joyousness?
Oh! many a year may pass away,
And hours of mirth and gladness play
Around each heart that beat that day,
But there will never come again
An hour of bliss less free from pain;
Nor scenes of beauty e'er compare
With what we viewed, nay, worshipped there:
In memory's life it will live for ever,
While heart and soul beat on together.