Strange ministrant of undescribéd sounds.
That come a-swooning over hollow grounds,
And wither drearily on barren moors:
Dread opener of the mysterious doors
Leading to universal knowledge-see,
Great son of Dryope,
The many that are come to
With leaves about their brows.
Be still the unimaginable lodge
For solitary thinkings; such as dodge
Conception to the very bourne of heaven,
Then leave the naked brain: be still the leaven,
That, spreading in this dull and clodded earth,
Gives it a touch ethereal-a new birth:
Be still a symbol of immensity;
A firmament reflected in a sea;
An element filling the space between ;
An unknown-but no more: We humbly screen
With uplift hands our foreheads, lowly bending,
And giving out a shout most heaven-rending,
Conjure thee to receive our humble Pæan,
Upon thy mount Lycean!
A thing of beauty is a joy for ever ! CCCXXXIII. HARTLEY COLERIDGE, 1796-1849
What was't awakened first the untried ear
Of that sole man who was all human kind?
Was it the gladsome welcome of the wind,
Stirring the leaves that never yet were sere?
The four mellifluous streams which flowed so near,
Their lulling murmurs all in one combined?
The note of bird unnamed? The startled hind
Bursting the brake-in wonder, not in fear,
Of her new lord? Or did the holy ground
Send forth mysterious melody to greet
The gracious presence of immaculate feet?
Did viewless seraphs rustle all around,
Making sweet music out of air as sweet?
Or his own voice awake him with its sound ?
CCCXXXIV. JOHN G. C. BRAINARD 1796-1828.
There's beauty in the deep:
The wave is bluer than the sky;
And though the light shine bright on high,
More softly do the sea-gems glow,
That sparkle in the depths below;
The rainbow's tints are only made
When on the waters they are laid,
And sun and moon most sweetly shine
Upon the ocean's level brine.
There's beauty in the deep.
There's music in the deep
It is not in the surf's rough roar,
Nor in the whispering, shelly shore ;-
They are but earthly sounds, that tell
But little of the sea-nymph's shell,
That sends its loud clear note abroad,
Or winds its softness through the flood,
Echoes through groves with coral gay,
And dies, on spongy
banks away.
There's music in the deep.
There's quiet in the deep :
Above, let tide and tempests rave,
And earth-born whirlwinds wake the wave;
Above, let care and fear contend
With sin and sorrow to the end:
Here, far beneath the tainted foam,
That frets above our peaceful home,
We dream in joy, and wake in love,
Nor know the rage that yells above.
There's quiet in the deep.
CCCXXXV. EDWIN ATHERSTONE, 1796--18**.
LAST DAYS OF HERCULANEUM.
There was a man,
A Roman soldier, for some daring deed
That trespassed on the laws, in dungeon low
Chained down. His was a noble spirit, rough,
But generous, and brave, and kind.
He had a son, it was a rosy boy,
A little faithful copy of his sire
In face and gesture. In her pangs she died
That gave him birth; and ever since the child
Had been his father's solace and his care.
The father shared and heightened. But at length
The rigorous law had grasped him, and condemned
To fetters and to darkness.
He felt in all its bitterness :-the walls
Of his deep dungeon answered many a sigh
And heart-heav'd groan. His tale was known, and touch'd His jailor with compassion ;-and the boy,
Thenceforth a frequent visitor, beguiled
His father's lingering hours, and brought a balm
With his loved presence that in every wound
Dropt healing. But in this terrific hour
He was a poisoned arrow in the breast
Where he had been a cure.
With earliest morn,
Of that first day of darkness and amaze,
He came.
The iron door was closed-for them
Never to open more! The day, the night,
Dragged slowly by; nor did they know the fate
Impending o'er the city. Well they heard
The pent-up thunders in the earth beneath,
And felt its giddy rocking; and the air
Grew hot at length, and thick; but in his straw
The boy was sleeping and the father hoped
The earthquake might pass by; nor would he wake
From his sound rest the unfearing child, nor tell
The dangers of their state. On his low couch
The fettered soldier sunk-and with deep awe
Listened the fearful sounds :—with upturned eye
To the great gods he breathed a prayer;-then strove
To calm himself, and lose in sleep a while
His useless terrors. But he could not sleep :-
His body burned with feverish heat;-his chains
Clanked loud although he moved not: deep in earth
Groaned unimaginable thunders :-sounds,
Fearful and ominous, arose and died
Like the sad moanings of November's wind
In the blank midnight. Deepest horror chilled
His blood that burned before;-cold clammy sweats
Came o'er him :-then anon a fiery thrill
Shot through his veins. Now on his couch he shrunk
And shivered as in fear :-now upright leaped,
As though he heard the battle trumpet sound,
And longed to cope with
A troubled dreamy sleep.
Never to waken more!
But terrible his agony.
death.
He slept at last
Well-had he slept
His hours are few,
Burst forth the lightnings
Shook with the thunders. They awoke ;—they sprung
Amazed upon their feet. The dungeon glowed
A moment as in sunshine-and was dark :-
Again a flood of white flame fills the cell;
Dying away upon the dazzled eye
In darkening, quivering tints, as stunning sound
Dies throbbing, ringing in the ear. Silence,
And blackest darkness. With intensest awe
The soldier's frame was filled; and many a thought
Of strange foreboding hurried through his mind,
As underneath he felt the fevered earth
Jarring and lifting-and the massive walls
Heard harshly grate and strain :-yet knew he not,
While evils undefined and yet to come
Glanced through his thoughts, what deep and cureless
Fate had already given. Where, man of woe;
Where, wretched father! is thy boy? Thou callest
His name in vain :-he cannot answer thee.
Loudly the father called upon his child :-
No voice replied. Trembling and anxiously
He searched their couch of straw :—with headlong haste
Trod round his stinted limits, and, low bent,
Groped darkling on the earth :-no child was there.
Again he called:-again at farthest stretch
Of his accursed fetters-till the blood
Seemed bursting from his ears, and from his eyes
Fire flashed-he strained with arm extended far
And fingers widely spread, greedy to touch
Though but his idol's garment. Useless toil!
Yet still renewed :-still round and round he goes,
And strains and snatches-and with dreadful cries
Calls on his boy. Mad frenzy fires him now;
He plants against the wall his feet;-his chain
Grasps;-tugs with giant strength to force away
The deep-driven staple;-yells and shrieks with rage.
And, like a desert lion in the snare
Raging to break his toils-to and fro bounds.
But see! the ground is opening:—a blue light
Mounts, gently waving-noiseless :-thin and cold.
It seems, and like a rainbow tint, not flame;
But by its lustre, on the earth outstretched,
Behold the lifeless child!-his dress is singed,
And over his serene face a dark line
Points out the lightning's track.
And all his fury fled :-a dead calm fell
That instant on him :-speechless, fixed he stood,
And with a look that never wandered, gazed
Intensely on the corse. Those laughing eyes
Were not yet closed-and round those pouting lips
The wonted smile returned.
The father stands :-no tear is in his eye :-
The thunders bellow-but he hears them not :--
The ground lifts like a sea :-he knows it not :-
The strong walls grind and gape:-the vaulted roof
Takes shape like bubble tossing in the wind :-
See! he looks up and smiles;-for death to him
Is happiness. Yet could one last embrace
Be given, 'twere still a sweeter thing to die.
It will be given. Look! how the rolling ground,
At every swell, nearer and still more near
Moves towards the father's outstretched arm his boy :Once he has touched his garment;--how his eye
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