Poems by Currer, Ellis, and Acton Bell

POEMS BY ELLIS BELL

FAITH AND DESPONDENCY

     "The winter wind is loud and wild,     Come close to me, my darling child;     Forsake thy books, and mateless play;     And, while the night is gathering gray,     We'll talk its pensive hours away; —     "Ierne, round our sheltered hall     November's gusts unheeded call;     Not one faint breath can enter here     Enough to wave my daughter's hair,     And I am glad to watch the blaze     Glance from her eyes, with mimic rays;     To feel her cheek, so softly pressed,     In happy quiet on my breast,     "But, yet, even this tranquillity     Brings bitter, restless thoughts to me;     And, in the red fire's cheerful glow,     I think of deep glens, blocked with snow;     I dream of moor, and misty hill,     Where evening closes dark and chill;     For, lone, among the mountains cold,     Lie those that I have loved of old.     And my heart aches, in hopeless pain,     Exhausted with repinings vain,     That I shall greet them ne'er again!"     "Father, in early infancy,     When you were far beyond the sea,     Such thoughts were tyrants over me!     I often sat, for hours together,     Through the long nights of angry weather,     Raised on my pillow, to descry     The dim moon struggling in the sky;     Or, with strained ear, to catch the shock,     Of rock with wave, and wave with rock;     So would I fearful vigil keep,     And, all for listening, never sleep.     But this world's life has much to dread,     Not so, my Father, with the dead.     "Oh! not for them, should we despair,     The grave is drear, but they are not there;     Their dust is mingled with the sod,     Their happy souls are gone to God!     You told me this, and yet you sigh,     And murmur that your friends must die.     Ah! my dear father, tell me why?     For, if your former words were true,     How useless would such sorrow be;     As wise, to mourn the seed which grew     Unnoticed on its parent tree,     Because it fell in fertile earth,     And sprang up to a glorious birth —     Struck deep its root, and lifted high     Its green boughs in the breezy sky.     "But, I'll not fear, I will not weep     For those whose bodies rest in sleep, —     I know there is a blessed shore,     Opening its ports for me and mine;     And, gazing Time's wide waters o'er,     I weary for that land divine,     Where we were born, where you and I     Shall meet our dearest, when we die;     From suffering and corruption free,     Restored into the Deity."     "Well hast thou spoken, sweet, trustful child!     And wiser than thy sire;     And worldly tempests, raging wild,     Shall strengthen thy desire —     Thy fervent hope, through storm and foam,     Through wind and ocean's roar,     To reach, at last, the eternal home,     The steadfast, changeless shore!"

STARS

     Ah! why, because the dazzling sun     Restored our Earth to joy,     Have you departed, every one,     And left a desert sky?     All through the night, your glorious eyes     Were gazing down in mine,     And, with a full heart's thankful sighs,     I blessed that watch divine.     I was at peace, and drank your beams     As they were life to me;     And revelled in my changeful dreams,     Like petrel on the sea.     Thought followed thought, star followed star,     Through boundless regions, on;     While one sweet influence, near and far,     Thrilled through, and proved us one!     Why did the morning dawn to break     So great, so pure, a spell;     And scorch with fire the tranquil cheek,     Where your cool radiance fell?     Blood-red, he rose, and, arrow-straight,     His fierce beams struck my brow;     The soul of nature sprang, elate,     But mine sank sad and low!     My lids closed down, yet through their veil     I saw him, blazing, still,     And steep in gold the misty dale,     And flash upon the hill.     I turned me to the pillow, then,     To call back night, and see     Your worlds of solemn light, again,     Throb with my heart, and me!     It would not do – the pillow glowed,     And glowed both roof and floor;     And birds sang loudly in the wood,     And fresh winds shook the door;     The curtains waved, the wakened flies     Were murmuring round my room,     Imprisoned there, till I should rise,     And give them leave to roam.     Oh, stars, and dreams, and gentle night;     Oh, night and stars, return!     And hide me from the hostile light     That does not warm, but burn;     That drains the blood of suffering men;     Drinks tears, instead of dew;     Let me sleep through his blinding reign,     And only wake with you!

THE PHILOSOPHER

     Enough of thought, philosopher!     Too long hast thou been dreaming     Unlightened, in this chamber drear,     While summer's sun is beaming!     Space-sweeping soul, what sad refrain     Concludes thy musings once again?     "Oh, for the time when I shall sleep     Without identity.     And never care how rain may steep,     Or snow may cover me!     No promised heaven, these wild desires     Could all, or half fulfil;     No threatened hell, with quenchless fires,     Subdue this quenchless will!"     "So said I, and still say the same;     Still, to my death, will say —     Three gods, within this little frame,     Are warring night; and day;     Heaven could not hold them all, and yet     They all are held in me;     And must be mine till I forget     My present entity!     Oh, for the time, when in my breast     Their struggles will be o'er!     Oh, for the day, when I shall rest,     And never suffer more!"     "I saw a spirit, standing, man,     Where thou dost stand – an hour ago,     And round his feet three rivers ran,     Of equal depth, and equal flow —     A golden stream – and one like blood;     And one like sapphire seemed to be;     But, where they joined their triple flood     It tumbled in an inky sea     The spirit sent his dazzling gaze     Down through that ocean's gloomy night;     Then, kindling all, with sudden blaze,     The glad deep sparkled wide and bright —     White as the sun, far, far more fair     Than its divided sources were!"     "And even for that spirit, seer,     I've watched and sought my life-time long;     Sought him in heaven, hell, earth, and air,     An endless search, and always wrong.     Had I but seen his glorious eye     ONCE light the clouds that wilder me;     I ne'er had raised this coward cry     To cease to think, and cease to be;     I ne'er had called oblivion blest,     Nor stretching eager hands to death,     Implored to change for senseless rest     This sentient soul, this living breath —     Oh, let me die – that power and will     Their cruel strife may close;     And conquered good, and conquering ill     Be lost in one repose!"

REMEMBRANCE

     Cold in the earth – and the deep snow piled above thee,     Far, far, removed, cold in the dreary grave!     Have I forgot, my only Love, to love thee,     Severed at last by Time's all-severing wave?     Now, when alone, do my thoughts no longer hover     Over the mountains, on that northern shore,     Resting their wings where heath and fern-leaves cover     Thy noble heart for ever, ever more?     Cold in the earth – and fifteen wild Decembers,     From those brown hills, have melted into spring:     Faithful, indeed, is the spirit that remembers     After such years of change and suffering!     Sweet Love of youth, forgive, if I forget thee,     While the world's tide is bearing me along;     Other desires and other hopes beset me,     Hopes which obscure, but cannot do thee wrong!     No later light has lightened up my heaven,     No second morn has ever shone for me;     All my life's bliss from thy dear life was given,     All my life's bliss is in the grave with thee.     But, when the days of golden dreams had perished,     And even Despair was powerless to destroy;     Then did I learn how existence could be cherished,     Strengthened, and fed without the aid of joy.     Then did I check the tears of useless passion —     Weaned my young soul from yearning after thine;     Sternly denied its burning wish to hasten     Down to that tomb already more than mine.     And, even yet, I dare not let it languish,     Dare not indulge in memory's rapturous pain;     Once drinking deep of that divinest anguish,     How could I seek the empty world again?

A DEATH-SCENE

     "O day! he cannot die     When thou so fair art shining!     O Sun, in such a glorious sky,     So tranquilly declining;     He cannot leave thee now,     While fresh west winds are blowing,     And all around his youthful brow     Thy cheerful light is glowing!     Edward, awake, awake —     The golden evening gleams     Warm and bright on Arden's lake —     Arouse thee from thy dreams!     Beside thee, on my knee,     My dearest friend, I pray     That thou, to cross the eternal sea,     Wouldst yet one hour delay:     I hear its billows roar —     I see them foaming high;     But no glimpse of a further shore     Has blest my straining eye.     Believe not what they urge     Of Eden isles beyond;     Turn back, from that tempestuous surge,     To thy own native land.     It is not death, but pain     That struggles in thy breast —     Nay, rally, Edward, rouse again;     I cannot let thee rest!"     One long look, that sore reproved me     For the woe I could not bear —     One mute look of suffering moved me     To repent my useless prayer:     And, with sudden check, the heaving     Of distraction passed away;     Not a sign of further grieving     Stirred my soul that awful day.     Paled, at length, the sweet sun setting;     Sunk to peace the twilight breeze:     Summer dews fell softly, wetting     Glen, and glade, and silent trees.     Then his eyes began to weary,     Weighed beneath a mortal sleep;     And their orbs grew strangely dreary,     Clouded, even as they would weep.     But they wept not, but they changed not,     Never moved, and never closed;     Troubled still, and still they ranged not —     Wandered not, nor yet reposed!     So I knew that he was dying —     Stooped, and raised his languid head;     Felt no breath, and heard no sighing,     So I knew that he was dead.

SONG

     The linnet in the rocky dells,     The moor-lark in the air,     The bee among the heather bells     That hide my lady fair:     The wild deer browse above her breast;     The wild birds raise their brood;     And they, her smiles of love caressed,     Have left her solitude!     I ween, that when the grave's dark wall     Did first her form retain,     They thought their hearts could ne'er recall     The light of joy again.     They thought the tide of grief would flow     Unchecked through future years;     But where is all their anguish now,     And where are all their tears?     Well, let them fight for honour's breath,     Or pleasure's shade pursue —     The dweller in the land of death     Is changed and careless too.     And, if their eyes should watch and weep     Till sorrow's source were dry,     She would not, in her tranquil sleep,     Return a single sigh!     Blow, west-wind, by the lonely mound,     And murmur, summer-streams —     There is no need of other sound     To soothe my lady's dreams.

ANTICIPATION

     How beautiful the earth is still,     To thee – how full of happiness?     How little fraught with real ill,     Or unreal phantoms of distress!     How spring can bring thee glory, yet,     And summer win thee to forget     December's sullen time!     Why dost thou hold the treasure fast,     Of youth's delight, when youth is past,     And thou art near thy prime?     When those who were thy own compeers,     Equals in fortune and in years,     Have seen their morning melt in tears,     To clouded, smileless day;     Blest, had they died untried and young,     Before their hearts went wandering wrong, —     Poor slaves, subdued by passions strong,     A weak and helpless prey!     'Because, I hoped while they enjoyed,     And by fulfilment, hope destroyed;     As children hope, with trustful breast,     I waited bliss – and cherished rest.     A thoughtful spirit taught me soon,     That we must long till life be done;     That every phase of earthly joy     Must always fade, and always cloy:     'This I foresaw – and would not chase     The fleeting treacheries;     But, with firm foot and tranquil face,     Held backward from that tempting race,     Gazed o'er the sands the waves efface,     To the enduring seas —     There cast my anchor of desire     Deep in unknown eternity;     Nor ever let my spirit tire,     With looking for WHAT IS TO BE!     "It is hope's spell that glorifies,     Like youth, to my maturer eyes,     All Nature's million mysteries,     The fearful and the fair —     Hope soothes me in the griefs I know;     She lulls my pain for others' woe,     And makes me strong to undergo     What I am born to bear.     Glad comforter! will I not brave,     Unawed, the darkness of the grave?     Nay, smile to hear Death's billows rave —     Sustained, my guide, by thee?     The more unjust seems present fate,     The more my spirit swells elate,     Strong, in thy strength, to anticipate     Rewarding destiny!

THE PRISONER

A FRAGMENT     In the dungeon-crypts idly did I stray,     Reckless of the lives wasting there away;     "Draw the ponderous bars! open, Warder stern!"     He dared not say me nay – the hinges harshly turn.     "Our guests are darkly lodged," I whisper'd, gazing through     The vault, whose grated eye showed heaven more gray than blue;     (This was when glad Spring laughed in awaking pride;)     "Ay, darkly lodged enough!" returned my sullen guide.     Then, God forgive my youth; forgive my careless tongue;     I scoffed, as the chill chains on the damp flagstones rung:     "Confined in triple walls, art thou so much to fear,     That we must bind thee down and clench thy fetters here?"     The captive raised her face; it was as soft and mild     As sculptured marble saint, or slumbering unwean'd child;     It was so soft and mild, it was so sweet and fair,     Pain could not trace a line, nor grief a shadow there!     The captive raised her hand and pressed it to her brow;     "I have been struck," she said, "and I am suffering now;     Yet these are little worth, your bolts and irons strong;     And, were they forged in steel, they could not hold me long."     Hoarse laughed the jailor grim:  "Shall I be won to hear;     Dost think, fond, dreaming wretch, that I shall grant thy prayer?     Or, better still, wilt melt my master's heart with groans?     Ah! sooner might the sun thaw down these granite stones.     "My master's voice is low, his aspect bland and kind,     But hard as hardest flint the soul that lurks behind;     And I am rough and rude, yet not more rough to see     Than is the hidden ghost that has its home in me."     About her lips there played a smile of almost scorn,     "My friend," she gently said, "you have not heard me mourn;     When you my kindred's lives, MY lost life, can restore,     Then may I weep and sue, – but never, friend, before!     "Still, let my tyrants know, I am not doomed to wear     Year after year in gloom, and desolate despair;     A messenger of Hope comes every night to me,     And offers for short life, eternal liberty.     "He comes with western winds, with evening's wandering airs,     With that clear dusk of heaven that brings the thickest stars.     Winds take a pensive tone, and stars a tender fire,     And visions rise, and change, that kill me with desire.     "Desire for nothing known in my maturer years,     When Joy grew mad with awe, at counting future tears.     When, if my spirit's sky was full of flashes warm,     I knew not whence they came, from sun or thunder-storm.     "But, first, a hush of peace – a soundless calm descends;     The struggle of distress, and fierce impatience ends;     Mute music soothes my breast – unuttered harmony,     That I could never dream, till Earth was lost to me.     "Then dawns the Invisible; the Unseen its truth reveals;     My outward sense is gone, my inward essence feels:     Its wings are almost free – its home, its harbour found,     Measuring the gulph, it stoops and dares the final bound,     "Oh I dreadful is the check – intense the agony —     When the ear begins to hear, and the eye begins to see;     When the pulse begins to throb, the brain to think again;     The soul to feel the flesh, and the flesh to feel the chain.     "Yet I would lose no sting, would wish no torture less;     The more that anguish racks, the earlier it will bless;     And robed in fires of hell, or bright with heavenly shine,     If it but herald death, the vision is divine!"     She ceased to speak, and we, unanswering, turned to go —     We had no further power to work the captive woe:     Her cheek, her gleaming eye, declared that man had given     A sentence, unapproved, and overruled by Heaven.

HOPE

     Hope Was but a timid friend;     She sat without the grated den,     Watching how my fate would tend,     Even as selfish-hearted men.     She was cruel in her fear;     Through the bars one dreary day,     I looked out to see her there,     And she turned her face away!     Like a false guard, false watch keeping,     Still, in strife, she whispered peace;     She would sing while I was weeping;     If I listened, she would cease.     False she was, and unrelenting;     When my last joys strewed the ground,     Even Sorrow saw, repenting,     Those sad relics scattered round;     Hope, whose whisper would have given     Balm to all my frenzied pain,     Stretched her wings, and soared to heaven,     Went, and ne'er returned again!

A DAY DREAM

     On a sunny brae alone I lay     One summer afternoon;     It was the marriage-time of May,     With her young lover, June.     From her mother's heart seemed loath to part     That queen of bridal charms,     But her father smiled on the fairest child     He ever held in his arms.     The trees did wave their plumy crests,     The glad birds carolled clear;     And I, of all the wedding guests,     Was only sullen there!     There was not one, but wished to shun     My aspect void of cheer;     The very gray rocks, looking on,     Asked, "What do you here?"     And I could utter no reply;     In sooth, I did not know     Why I had brought a clouded eye     To greet the general glow.     So, resting on a heathy bank,     I took my heart to me;     And we together sadly sank     Into a reverie.     We thought, "When winter comes again,     Where will these bright things be?     All vanished, like a vision vain,     An unreal mockery!     "The birds that now so blithely sing,     Through deserts, frozen dry,     Poor spectres of the perished spring,     In famished troops will fly.     "And why should we be glad at all?     The leaf is hardly green,     Before a token of its fall     Is on the surface seen!"     Now, whether it were really so,     I never could be sure;     But as in fit of peevish woe,     I stretched me on the moor,     A thousand thousand gleaming fires     Seemed kindling in the air;     A thousand thousand silvery lyres     Resounded far and near:     Methought, the very breath I breathed     Was full of sparks divine,     And all my heather-couch was wreathed     By that celestial shine!     And, while the wide earth echoing rung     To that strange minstrelsy     The little glittering spirits sung,     Or seemed to sing, to me:     "O mortal! mortal! let them die;     Let time and tears destroy,     That we may overflow the sky     With universal joy!     "Let grief distract the sufferer's breast,     And night obscure his way;     They hasten him to endless rest,     And everlasting day.     "To thee the world is like a tomb,     A desert's naked shore;     To us, in unimagined bloom,     It brightens more and more!     "And, could we lift the veil, and give     One brief glimpse to thine eye,     Thou wouldst rejoice for those that live,     BECAUSE they live to die."     The music ceased; the noonday dream,     Like dream of night, withdrew;     But Fancy, still, will sometimes deem     Her fond creation true.

TO IMAGINATION

     When weary with the long day's care,     And earthly change from pain to pain,     And lost, and ready to despair,     Thy kind voice calls me back again:     Oh, my true friend!  I am not lone,     While then canst speak with such a tone!     So hopeless is the world without;     The world within I doubly prize;     Thy world, where guile, and hate, and doubt,     And cold suspicion never rise;     Where thou, and I, and Liberty,     Have undisputed sovereignty.     What matters it, that all around     Danger, and guilt, and darkness lie,     If but within our bosom's bound     We hold a bright, untroubled sky,     Warm with ten thousand mingled rays     Of suns that know no winter days?     Reason, indeed, may oft complain     For Nature's sad reality,     And tell the suffering heart how vain     Its cherished dreams must always be;     And Truth may rudely trample down     The flowers of Fancy, newly-blown:     But thou art ever there, to bring     The hovering vision back, and breathe     New glories o'er the blighted spring,     And call a lovelier Life from Death.     And whisper, with a voice divine,     Of real worlds, as bright as thine.     I trust not to thy phantom bliss,     Yet, still, in evening's quiet hour,     With never-failing thankfulness,     I welcome thee, Benignant Power;     Sure solacer of human cares,     And sweeter hope, when hope despairs!

HOW CLEAR SHE SHINES

     How clear she shines!  How quietly     I lie beneath her guardian light;     While heaven and earth are whispering me,     "To morrow, wake, but dream to-night."     Yes, Fancy, come, my Fairy love!     These throbbing temples softly kiss;     And bend my lonely couch above,     And bring me rest, and bring me bliss.     The world is going; dark world, adieu!     Grim world, conceal thee till the day;     The heart thou canst not all subdue     Must still resist, if thou delay!     Thy love I will not, will not share;     Thy hatred only wakes a smile;     Thy griefs may wound – thy wrongs may tear,     But, oh, thy lies shall ne'er beguile!     While gazing on the stars that glow     Above me, in that stormless sea,     I long to hope that all the woe     Creation knows, is held in thee!     And this shall be my dream to-night;     I'll think the heaven of glorious spheres     Is rolling on its course of light     In endless bliss, through endless years;     I'll think, there's not one world above,     Far as these straining eyes can see,     Where Wisdom ever laughed at Love,     Or Virtue crouched to Infamy;     Where, writhing 'neath the strokes of Fate,     The mangled wretch was forced to smile;     To match his patience 'gainst her hate,     His heart rebellious all the while.     Where Pleasure still will lead to wrong,     And helpless Reason warn in vain;     And Truth is weak, and Treachery strong;     And Joy the surest path to Pain;     And Peace, the lethargy of Grief;     And Hope, a phantom of the soul;     And life, a labour, void and brief;     And Death, the despot of the whole!

SYMPATHY

     There should be no despair for you     While nightly stars are burning;     While evening pours its silent dew,     And sunshine gilds the morning.     There should be no despair – though tears     May flow down like a river:     Are not the best beloved of years     Around your heart for ever?     They weep, you weep, it must be so;     Winds sigh as you are sighing,     And winter sheds its grief in snow     Where Autumn's leaves are lying:     Yet, these revive, and from their fate     Your fate cannot be parted:     Then, journey on, if not elate,     Still, NEVER broken-hearted!

PLEAD FOR ME

     Oh, thy bright eyes must answer now,     When Reason, with a scornful brow,     Is mocking at my overthrow!     Oh, thy sweet tongue must plead for me     And tell why I have chosen thee!     Stern Reason is to judgment come,     Arrayed in all her forms of gloom:     Wilt thou, my advocate, be dumb?     No, radiant angel, speak and say,     Why I did cast the world away.     Why I have persevered to shun     The common paths that others run;     And on a strange road journeyed on,     Heedless, alike of wealth and power —     Of glory's wreath and pleasure's flower.     These, once, indeed, seemed Beings Divine;     And they, perchance, heard vows of mine,     And saw my offerings on their shrine;     But careless gifts are seldom prized,     And MINE were worthily despised.     So, with a ready heart, I swore     To seek their altar-stone no more;     And gave my spirit to adore     Thee, ever-present, phantom thing —     My slave, my comrade, and my king.     A slave, because I rule thee still;     Incline thee to my changeful will,     And make thy influence good or ill:     A comrade, for by day and night     Thou art my intimate delight, —     My darling pain that wounds and sears,     And wrings a blessing out from tears     By deadening me to earthly cares;     And yet, a king, though Prudence well     Have taught thy subject to rebel     And am I wrong to worship where     Faith cannot doubt, nor hope despair,     Since my own soul can grant my prayer?     Speak, God of visions, plead for me,     And tell why I have chosen thee!