Poems

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
Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
? START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK POEMS ***
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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