Merton Meadows from the Terrace
""Tis raging noon, and vertical the sun
Darts on the head direct his forceful
GAY with June's livery of liveliest green,
By daisies crimson-edg'd, and cowslips dyed,
Smile Merton meadows in their summer pride,
While far off Isis glints back steely sheen
Yon stately avenue's tall trees between,
Like flash of casque and spear when warriors ride.
Sweet Cherwell-waters edge the nearer side.
The sleepy cattle seek a shady screen;
For 'tis still sultry noon: the martin wheels
Like a black spirit of night haunting the day,
His phantom circles high in the upper blue :
Shrill grasshopper clacks loud his whirring peals;
Proud dragon-flies glance by in armour new;
And the bee hums her homeward roundelay.
Ηδη ποτ' ἀνάβλεψας εἶδες νεφέλην κενταυρῷ ὅμοιαν ἡ παρδάλει, ή λυκῷ, ἡ ταυρῷ ;-ARISTOPH. Nubes.
"Sometimes we see a cloud that's dragonish ;
A vapour sometime like a bear or lion,
A tower'd citadel, a pendant rock,
A fork'd mountain or blue promontory,
With trees upon it, that nod unto the world,
And mock our eyes with air. Thou hast seen these signs;
They are black vesper's pageants."
Antony and Cleopatra.
"Pleasant at noon, beside the vocal brook,
To lie one down, and watch the floating cloud,
And shape to fancy's wild imaginings
Their ever-varying forms."-SOUTHEY.
Ar! there they rush in strange fantastic race,
The Sunshine and the Shadow, o'er the mead,
Swift as Camilla in their airy speed,
One following close the other in the chase,
Sure as the smile and tear on human face.
Oft when a child, not without dread indeed,
Perch'd on some breezy hill, I loved to heed
The same wild rushings o'er the meadowy space :
And dream'd them fiery horses yoked with black;
Or gold and ebon chains of giant size ;
Or happy angels driving shapes of sin.
Would I might view again the scudding rack Checker the silent earth, with child-like eyes, And read no sign of human pain therein !
Another Thought on the Same.
"The heavens declare the glory of God, and the firmament showeth his handiwork."-Psalm xix. 1.
THE Sceptic bends his sullen eyes on earth,
Bow'd down, like one beneath a load of years,
With hosts of philosophic doubts and fears,
Of his perverted reason the strange birth.
To him the things of Heav'n are nothing worth,
Not judg'd by finite rules; for his dull ears
There sings indeed no music in the spheres.
He will not turn to God in reason's dearth,
There find a cause for all things; like the child
Who gazes awestruck on the shades that move,
He knows not why, or whence, over the field,
A troop of spectral ghosts, fearful and wild;
Yet would he see, with one quick glance above,
Did he but lift his eyes, the cause reveal'd.
The Totalk of the Two Towers.
Principium, vector, dux, semita, terminus, idem."-BOETHIUS.
SURELY this walk, straight, simple in its line,
Was fashion'd by some holy-hearted man,
That at each limit turning, he might scan
Thy tower, dear Merton, or fair Magdalene, thine,
Point skyward with solemnity divine:
So, while he walk'd, were his reflections given
In ceaseless meditation to the Heav'n,
Of which his eyes beheld the earthly sign
Thus, while slow-pacing, often pausing, there,
I loved, perchance erroneously, to dream;
And oh methought, with an unutter'd pray'r,
May my life's pathway, level, straight, and true,
Like this with cause for holy breathings teem,
Begin and end with God, Him alway view.
[There was in Merton Gardens a broad, straight walk, where a beautifully picturesque effect was produced by introducing at either end of the vista the chapel towers of Magdalene and Merton.]
"Let me be nothing, if within the compass of myself I do not find the battle of separate passion against reason, reason against faith, faith against the devil, and my conscience against all. There is another man within me that's angry with me, rebukes me, commands, and dastards me."-Religio Medici.
"Sirenum voces et Circe pocula nosti."-HORACE.
SURELY I am twice self-but which is I,
I know not; whether he who thinks and writes
These sonnets; in all pure and good delights;
Loves contemplation and sweet charity,
And upward trains his spirit to the sky:
Or he who outflies Folly's wildest flights;
The sower of the bitter jest that bites;
Who clings to life's gross sensuality;
This shame; this double-face,—this fiend that mocks
His own faith and conviction wilfully;
This low mean plodder after worldly pelf;
This doubt; this devil-angel-paradox,-
O God! which is and which is not myself?
Which is the truth, and which hypocrisy ?
|