| |
Ulcombe, September 1826
(For an Album)
“MAN goeth forth” with reckless trust | |
| Upon his wealth of mind, | |
| As if in self a thing of dust | |
| Creative skill might find; | |
| He schemes and toils; stone, wood, and ore | 5 |
| Subject or weapon of his power. | |
| |
| By arch and spire, by tower-girt heights, | |
| He would his boast fulfil; | |
| By marble births, and mimic lights,— | |
| Yet lacks one secret still; | 10 |
| Where is the master-hand shall give | |
| To breathe, to move, to speak, to live? | |
| |
| O take away this shade of might, | |
| The puny toil of man, | |
| And let great Nature in my sight | 15 |
| Unroll her gorgeous plan; | |
| I cannot bear those sullen walls, | |
| Those eyeless towers, those tongueless halls. | |
| |
| Art’s labour’d toys of highest name | |
| Are nerveless, cold, and dumb; | 20 |
| And man is fitted but to frame | |
| A coffin or a tomb; | |
| Well suit when sense is pass’d away, | |
| Such lifeless works the lifeless clay. | |
| |
| Here let me sit where wooded hills | 25 |
| Skirt yon far-reaching plain; | |
| While cattle bank its winding rills, | |
| And suns embrown its grain; | |
| Such prospect is to me right dear, | |
| For freedom, health, and joy are here. | 30 |
| |
| There is a spirit ranging through | |
| The earth, the stream, the air; | |
| Ten thousand shapes, garbs ever new, | |
| That restless One doth wear; | |
| In colour, scent, and taste, and sound | 35 |
| The energy of life is found. | |
| |
| The leaves are rustling in the breeze, | |
| The bird renews her song; | |
| From field to brook, o’er heath, o’er trees, | |
| The sunbeam glides along; | 40 |
| The insect, happy in its hour, | |
| Floats softly by, or sips the flower. | |
| |
| Now dewy rain descends, and now | |
| Brisk showers the welkin shroud; | |
| I care not, though with angry brow | 45 |
| Frowns the red thunder cloud; | |
| Let hail storm pelt, and lightning harm, | |
| ’Tis Nature’s work, and has its charm. | |
| |
| Ah! Lovely Nature! others dwell | |
| Full favour’d in thy court; | 50 |
| I of thy smiles but hear them tell, | |
| And feed on their report, | |
| Catching what glimpse an Ulcombe yields | |
| To strangers loitering in her fields. | |
| |
| I go where form has ne’er unbent | 55 |
| The sameness of its sway; | |
| Where iron rule, stern precedent, | |
| Mistreat the graceful day; | |
| To pine as prisoner in his cell, | |
| And yet be thought to love if well. | 60 |
| |
| Yet so His high dispose has set, | |
| Who binds on each his part; | |
| Though absent, I may cherish yet | |
| An Ulcombe of the heart; | |
| Calm verdant hope divinely given, | 65 |
| And suns of peace, and scenes of heaven;— | |
| |
| A soul prepared His will to meet, | |
| Full fix’d His work to do; | |
| Not labour’d into sudden heat, | |
| But inly born anew.— | 70 |
| So living Nature, not dull Art, | |
| Shall plan my ways and rule my heart. | |
| |
