Poems (Hinxman)/The Poet's Adventure

by Emmeline Hinxman

THE POET'S ADVENTURE.

It was in that choice hour of summer days
 When Earth begins towards quiet to incline,
When sunshine mellows, and makes golden haze
 Through which the oak tree's bole and red-limbed pine
Show larger than the truth, but when the shadows
Not yet have stretched, nor dews have touched the meadows.

I, lying by an ample stream that swept
 Through forest privacies for many a mile,
With eyelids closed, but with a heart that kept
 A waking consciousness of joy the while,
Anon heard sounds of music, which the river
Did in wild fragments to mine ear deliver.

Then much I marvelled who or what were they
 From the unused echoes drew so sweet reply;
Whether a troop of dames and gallants gay
 Anon should in their painted barge glide by,
Or whether gifted shepherd at his leisure
Piped on his reeds a quaint and mournful measure.

But soon I was aware that never rose
 From voice or hollow flute so wild a strain,
Nor yet from chords—or saving only those
 That utter to the wind their wayward pain.
Like them I heard this music swell and languish,
And shudder with a strange harmonious anguish.

Now with the winding stream it wound along,
 The air was all with one calm murmur filled;
Lo! now upshot the treble fierce and strong,
 And through the forest like sharp arrows thrilled;
Now drop by drop fell, aimless, without power,
The weary notes, like chimes from an old tower.

Quick throbbings took my heart: entranced I lay
 In passive wonder and in sad delight;
While to mine eyes unconscious tears made way
 And dimmed them: so that moving shape, snow-white,
Which up the river they ere long discovered,
Seemed like a cloud that o'er its bosom hovered.

But it drew onwards, slowly it drew on,
 Between the woods, midway upon the stream,
"Self-gathered," conscious,calm;—a radiant swan,
 Her music floating with her like a dream:—
She passed, the shades with her white presence cleaving,
And in her wake a silver ripple leaving.

A deer that on the sedgy margin stood,
 Leaning to drink, drew backwards solemnly;
A dove that had been murmuring to her brood
 Some cradle-music, hushed the lullaby:
Such reverence as men pay to things of heaven
Wag by these creatures to her passing given.

But as a spell the marvel seemed to strike
 My senses, and all movement to restrain
Till she was gone: then up I rose, and, like
 A mourner following in her funeral train,
Moved after: she, meantime, unconscious gliding,
To groves and waters her sad news confiding.

And in my heart I said, "O thou, Death-dowered,
 Death-taught! what impulse makes this music's soul?
What sharp regrets in those quick notes are showered?
 What pangs or triumphs through that loud torrent roll?
What passions in thy smooth white bosom riot
Which seems a dedicated shrine of quiet?

"O art thou in thy song a mockery
 "To thy sad self, while yet the spell must flow?
Or art thou with thy doom content to buy
 This gift of glory? or dost thou bestow
A grateful offering, choicest of her treasures,
On listening Nature, whence thou drew'st thy pleasures?

"What sense within thee rose? what voice came to thee
 Whilst thou wast with thy milk-white peers at play?
What mandate with a lightning strength shot through thee,
 Bidding thee from their joyaunce drop away?"
So, as I gently followed, did I ponder
On the sadness, and the sweetness, and the wonder.

But now the woods were left, and forth we came
 Where the bright gorse exhaled its dainty breath;
Between two pointed hills the sunset's flame
 Had leave to dwell, and slanted o'er the heath,
A tender crimson flushed the river's bosom,
Oft starred by image of the golden blossom.

Here wreathed the quiet music through the air,
 And hung upon it like a Summer mist;—
But now the plain gave way to meadows fair,
 And now the stream by willow sprays was kissed;
The chequered banks revealed the hand of tillage,
And shone, not far, the casements of a village.

Now broke the sound of instrument and song
 On that sad creature's dirge; but she serene
Still kept her way, and came upon a throng
 Of youths and maidens dancing o'er a green;
Not lambs, not swallows mad with whirling pleasure
Than these more gleesome in their giddy measure.

When they beheld that vision, suddenly
 The music paused, and broke the startled ring,
Scattered in gazing groups till it went by.
 But to those hearts the sober mood could cling
Not long; soon turned they to their sports and laughter,
One deep-eyed maid alone looked sadly after.

Her eyes awhile, but still my constant feet,
 Pursued my pale enchantress; while the strain
That had been floating forth serenely sweet,
 Now rushed on ringing notes of rage or pain,
As though that dying heart was stung to madness
By glimpse of life, and love, and youthful gladness.

And ere again had sunk her passion's blast,
 Fields were behind us left, and haunts of men;
By holt, and heath, and bare green hill we passed
 Into sad shadows of a rocky glen.
The stream foreknew the battle yet untasted,
And like a courser to the onset hasted.

And now it rushed between its narrow banks,
 Whirled in black eddies, fell in foaming sheet;
The oak and birch clomb down the slimy flanks
 Of the echoing rocks, midway in air to meet;
A heavy odour hung among their bowers,
Like the drenched forests after August showers.

As one who leaning from a sea-girt rock
 To watch the storm-vext bark upon her way,
Now sliding down smooth gulphs, now in the shock
 Of meeting breakers caught, and hid in spray,
Holds at each plunge his breath suspended, fearing
To see no more the white sail re-appearing,—

So hung I o'er the waters which tossed on
 That failing life with foam and fierce rebound,
While from the whirlpools ever and anon
 A sharp note pierced their hoarse eternal sound;
So shoots a cry, the sullen tempest rending,
From the lost bark, through cloven seas descending.

But she, unharmed and undisturbed, came forth
 To calmer regions: now in shallows wide
The torrent spread, outwearied with its wrath,
 The smooth red steep receded on each side,
And fragments, by some ancient tempest shattered,
Lay in the dimpling waters idly scattered.

By this, the moon bent her pale brow in heaven,
 And wavered over head the Milky Zone,
Westward, a faint light hung, where Day had striven
 Long with encroaching Night, and lay o'erthrown;
And swelling on the wind's uncertain motion,
Was heard the murmur of the distant Ocean.

More solemn and more sweet the music grew,
 And laid a deeper spell on heart and ear;
A vague distress through all my senses flew,
 My pulses quickened with a nameless fear;—
Now oft by pause and sob the strain was broken,
My pausing heart kept measure with each token.

And now the path ran through untrodden brakes,
 Old stems before me leant, and herbage rank
Perplexed me—burdocks, and lithe briars like snakes,
 While crumbled underneath the treacherous bank.
Strange were all things about me,—strange and dreary,
And I by strange fears vexed, amazed and weary.

And then I was aware of Nature's law:
 How from bold eyes her mysteries are hidden,—
How by this toilsome pathway, and this awe
 Had she, displeased, my prying steps forbidden,
Veiling the secret of her stricken daughter
From all but midnight and the plaintive water.

I turned, rebuked, and as in distance died
 The enchanting sounds, I mused upon the end;—
If she, washed down upon the ebbing tide,
 Gave her last cadence with its voice to blend,
Then like a fair weed, prone upon the surges,
Was tossed, unconscious of their rude, hoarse dirges.

But rather I believed, ere yet those seas
 Were reached, for her the curving margin gave
A peaceful cove, where drooped the willow trees,
 And round the lily's leaf the weltering wave
Lisped of repose; there did one low note sever
The tremulous chord—there anchored she for ever.

  March 14. 1850.