The Project Gutenberg EBook of Poems, by Walter R. Cassels

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Title: Poems

Author: Walter R. Cassels

Release Date: November 29, 2003 [EBook #10328]

Language: English

*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK POEMS ***

Produced by David Ross and PG Distributed Proofreaders

POEMS

BY

WALTER R. CASSELS

LONDON

1856

CONTENTS.

MABEL HEBE SPRING THE BITTERN GONE BEATRICE DI TENDA SERENADE THE EAGLE WHITHER? THE MORNING STAR THE DELECTABLE MOUNTAINS THE DARK RIVER WYTHAM WOODS THE STAR IN THE EAST UNDER THE SEA WIND A CHALLENGE AT PARTING A WITHERED ROSE-BUD DE PROFUNDIS THE MOTHER SONNET—DATUR HORA QUIETI SEA MARGINS SONG—"LOVE TOOK ME SOFTLY BY THE HAND" THE BELL LLEWELLYN A SHELL THE RAVEN SONNETS ON THE DEATH OF THE DUKE OF WELLINGTON THE PASSAGE-BIRDS MEMNON A CONCEIT THE LAND'S END THE OLDEN TIME FATHER AND SON ORION THE GOLDEN WATER YEARS AGO VULCAN SONG—"THE DAYS ARE PAST" GUY OF WARWICK AT EVENTIDE A DIRGE TO MY DREAM-LOVE A NIGHT SCENE SONNET—"O CLOUD SO GOLDEN" FLOATING DOWN THE RIVER ORPHEUS THE SCULPTOR

M A B E L,
A Sketch.

DRAMATIS PERSONAE.

     ORAN, a Speculative Philosopher.
     MABEL, his Wife.
     HER FATHER.
     MAURICE, }
     ROGER, } her brothers.

MABEL.

SCENE I—A Study. Books, pictures, and sculpture about the room, interspersed with chemical and other instruments, globes, &c.; a singular blending of science with art, indicating a delicate and speculative organization in the arranger.

ORAN, MAURICE, and ROGER.

ORAN.

Well, well! and so ye deem I love her not,
Ye and the world that love so passing well?—
That still I trifle with her bright young life,
As the wind plays with some frail water-bell,
Wafting it wantonly about the sky,
Till at some harsher breath it breaks and dies?

MAURICE.

Nay, not thus far would our reflections go.
Friendship paints not with the foul brush of Conscience!
But thou, a man of dark and mystic aims,
Tracking out Science through forbidden ways,
Leaving the light and trodden paths to grope
'Mid fearful speculations and wild dreams,
May'st hunt thy Will-o'-the-wisp until thou lead'st
Our sister, all unwitting, to her death.

ROGER.

That shalt thou answer unto us. Thy life
Shall be to her life like the sun and shade,
Lost in one setting.

ORAN.

                 Ay! thou sayest well—
Thou sayest well. How oft a random shaft
Striketh King Truth betwixt the armour-joints!—
One life, one sun, one setting for us both.

Which way, then, tend your fears? What certain aim
Have all these strokes you level at my ways?

ROGER.

We say that you, against all light received,
Against all laws of prudence and of love,
Practise dark magic on our sister's soul—
That by strange motions, incantations, spells,
So work you on her spirit that strange sleep,
Sombre as Death's dark shadow, presently
Steals o'er her fragile body, dulls her sense,
And wraps her wholly in its chill embrace;
That thus, spell-bound, lost to the living world,
She lies till thou again unwind her chain,
And wak'st her feebly to this life of earth.
Thus dost thou peril her, thou blinded man!
Sett'st her dear life against thy moonstruck thought,
And slay'st thy dove on Folly's altar-steps.

MAURICE.

Ay! if you loved her, would your eyes have miss'd
The moonish faintness that o'erlaps her now,
Melting the fresh, full, ruddy glow of health
To loveliness most heavenly, yet most sad?
Her cheeks, where youth once summer'd into roses,
Glow now with faint exotic loveliness,
Not native to this harsh and gusty earth;
And from her large dark eyes there seems to gaze
Some angel with mute, melancholy looks,
As from a casement at this jarring world.

ORAN.

Ha! then you too have seen it; it is not,
O Heaven!—is not delusion, this fond dream,
But even now it works, works bliss for her.
Proceed, Sir … you were saying … Sir, I list …
That in her eyes you saw angelic fire,
Pure from the dross, the dimming clouds of earth,
Deem'd now her frame ethereal, unakin
To earth's clay-moulded fabrics—such, perchance,
As entering heaven, might have left its dust
At the bright folding portals, sandal-like,
And thence, repassing in seraphic trance,
Still left unclaim'd the vesture at the gate!

ROGER.

You glory in her weakness! 'Tis too much—
Rash man, beware, a bitter end will come.

MAURICE.

I fain would think that study hath o'erwrought
Your heated brain to this short fever fit,
That soon may pass and leave your vision clear.
In truth, I note strange changes in your mien—
A wandering glance, quick, restless eagerness,
Rapt snatches of deep thought, wherein the mind
Seems cleaving heaven with wild extatic wings:
Your cheeks are pale, and all your nervous frame
Thrills 'neath some strange enthusiastic touch.
Lay by your books awhile, and breathe again,
As in those days gone by, the country air,
The sweet, calm country air, where perfume floats
Like love that finds no heart so godlike large
Can clasp it wholly in its one embrace,
But overflows creation with its bliss.
Thus shall you quickly exorcise this madness,
And cleanse your brain of these pernicious dreams.

ORAN.

This madness! I bethink me of the past,
Of all the great and noble who have toil'd
Amid the deep dark mines of burning thought,
Wearing out life to quarry forth the Truth;
Of all the seers and watchers, early and late
Waiting with eager blood-hot eyes the light
Rising afar in some untrodden East,
Full of divine and precious influence,
Calling, like Mezzuin from his minaret,
The thankless world to worship and be glad;
Of all the patient thinkers of the earth
Who talk'd with Wisdom like familiar friends,
Until their voices unaccustom'd grew,
And men stared blankly at them as they pass'd:
I do bethink me of them all, and know
How each walk'd through his labyrinth of scorn,
And was accounted mad before all men.
But patience!—Winter bears within its breast
The nascent seeds of golden harvest-time.

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