To me, with silence at the midnight hour,
When but the stars and I to fancy seem
Of all the world awake, thy woodlands wild
Loom like a halo-fram'd apocalypse,
And many a vision of things pass'd away
Assume the part that dreams perform in sleep.
The time-built trees, the labyrinths of woods,
And the lone holiness that dwells therein,
Dilate my spirit with sublimity,
As when I first felt, on the shoreless sea,
The viewless presence of the Infinite.
Oft when the fitful whisp'ring summer breeze
Rustled the foliage as in wantonness,
I paus'd to listen, as alone I stray'd,
Thinking of ocean and the starry night,
When the calm moon, high in the blue serene,
Survey'd below the hoary-headed waves,
Like old men murm'ring prayers of miseries,
As if in expectation that the heavens
Would alter destiny for their imploring.
But not in summer, when the kindly gale
Fann'd with delight, I only lov'd to roam
The wildering wilderness of ancient woods;
For in the turbulence of crash and storm,
Oft have I stood, enraptured with amaze,
To hear the mighty anthems of the boughs,
And see, with minglings of poetic thought,
The glorious light'nings pierce the vaulting leaves,
Showering a momentary day around,
Strewing the earth as 't were with radiant plumes,
Snatch'd by black demons from the angels' wings.
Yet though at times, when winter ruled the year,
And fear, the bedlamite, with arms outspread,
Rode on the mane of the unbridled blast,
Allured by dismal pleasure, I have sought
The top of some steep height, more did I love
To mark the openings of the balmy bud
In the soft air, when gracious spring reveal'd
Her emerald tints, bright upon every bough;
For then I saw divine Benevolence
Wreathe with the genial spirit of the day
The green assurances of plenty stor❜d,
And invitations to the thralls of care
To seek asylums where a man may scorn
The burly beadles of the feudal world.
But every season in the sylvan wild
Hath some peculiar solace of its own
To soothe the troubled mind; and thus though spring Seem'd joyous as the hopeful heart of youth,
It was not only with her promises
That I in lone sequester'd walks was pleas'd.
The fragrant greetings of the opening flower
Inspir'd still happier themes, for then the birds,
Though but at intervals too long, sing gay,
Till solitude grows social, and the rills,
Which noisy prattle in the vernal prime,
Like boist'rous children glad with holiday,
Pour their pure waters shrinkingly along,
As holy maidens, young and modestly,
Whisper responses at their confirmation.
But thou, O autumn! gorgeous, glorious queen!
To thee admiring homage most I paid,
Deeming that earth might then in splendor vie
With Heaven at eve. Bright sunset of the year!
All then seem'd flame, and all the forest then
An unconsuming conflagration blaz'd.
In such a scene, when the still bowery glade
Was all around full of strange mystic light,
As if, amidst the darkness of the shade,
Th' aurora of the northern morning shone,
Arak, a young Atlantine, musing, said:
'How holy is this calm magnificence
Of mountain, lake, and wood! The ceaseless roar
Of the hoarse cataract, by distance soften'd,
Seems as the soothing lull of Nature's voice.
Here I will pause, till old Orooko comes,
Nor on the simple worshippers intrude,
Who still with him refuse the Christian faith,
And midst those scenes of solemn loneliness,
With aimless rites and ineffectual prayers,
Adore the phantasies our nations serv'd,
Till blest Antonio from the ocean came.'
This Arak said, what time, like crested Mars,
Renown'd Sir Godfrey shook Jerusalem;
And as he spoke, abruptly from the bowers,
Orooko came, a pensive, aged man.
'And who,' cried he, 'art thou, who in these shades Presum'st, in that apostate's garb, to steal?'
'Dost thou not know me?' sigh'd the vestur'd youth, As if in doubt such strangeness were but feign'd.
'What, Arak! is it thee?' Arak advanc'd,
But th' old man, recoiling, said in tears:
thou hast the gods forsaken, And I, their priest, must never more again Receive thee to these arms, nor ever raise My hands above thee to implore THEIR blessing.
O ye unknown, dread and beneficent!
Pardon these tears, forgive any weak old heart,
That would extenuate this young man's sin!
But Arak, if in penitence thou com'st,
I'll bathe thy forehead with most joyous tears.'
Arak look'd seriously, and sadly said,
As if his heart were written with contrition,
'I bring a message to you from the king.'
Orooko sigh'd, and musingly awhile
Paus'd ere he spoke, and then said, as in sorrow:
'What would he now with me? Oh! he might spare
The little remnant I have left of life
To the deserted worship of the gods -
Our fathers' gods. The ever-bounteous powers,
Who never on our blest contented tribes
Sent civil discord, till that fatal hour
When on our coast the baleful stranger came,
Like something ominous cast from the sea!'
Sad arak heard him as a son attends
The aimless babble of his sire insane:
'Alas! Orooko, you will not discern
The good, the blessing, in Antonio given.'
But with a firmer, though a sadder voice,
The solemn old man in compassion said:
'Beneath the boughs of these far-spreading bowers
We happy dwelt, and with the morning light
Our hymn, as cheerful as the thankful birds',
Rose to the Powers that bless'd us; all the day
The active chase gave energy to health,
And when at night, our frugal meal despatch'd,
We stretch'd ourselves secure on Nature's lap,
And fear'd no danger in the form of man,
For we had nothing then that could be stol'n!
Spirit of Nature! did my tongue say nothing?
Yes, we had happiness, the bosom's gem,
But the wave's outcast has purloin'd them all!'
'He has enrich'd with better,' said the youth,
"Taught us to raise our homes and sheltering sheds,
The woes with which the God avenges guilt,
And the great promise of another life,
The glorious morning after death's dark night;
But the king summons you- obey the king.'
'I cannot aid him in his new designs;
My heart grows cold whene'er by chance afar
My wand'ring eyes see through the opening woods
This rising town, and dread presages come
That mighty deities, whose thrones of fire
Deep in the hollow of the mountains glow,
Will burst abroad, and hurl in floods of flame
The mad apostates and their homes away.
But what can Yamos now require of me?
Oh! he was once the sunbeam of my soul,
And surely did prolific Nature ne'er
A being fashion in the form of man,
So good, so kind, so modest, and so brave.
Methinks I could have pardon'd all the tribes,
Had they rais'd altars to adore that youth;
For they had but adored in him
The embodied excellence of all that lives.'
Arak compassionately heard him speak,
And said with reverence mingling with his sorrow,
'The queen of late, drooping, forgoes his love,
And he desires that with your speediest skill
You would restore to him her wonted fondness.'
The old man sigh'd, and then, relenting, said:
"Though she too is apostate, I will go;
Lead on, I'll follow: never but to take
Some gentle essence of appeasing herbs,
To quiet sorrow or extinguish pain,
Shall e'er my feet toward Atlantis tend.'
Meanwhile the king fraternal kindness felt
For strange Antonio, whose inspiring power
Awoke the slumbering genius of the land,
And thus his gratitude and hope express'd:
'Thrice have the trees renew'd and shed their leaves,
And the fourth fruit hangs blushing on the bough,
Since thou, Antonio, child of Providence,
Wast on our shore cast from the mystic waves,
To bless our wilds and regions undivulg'd.
How rich in knowledge hast thou made us all!
Yes, as the new moon out of darkness born,
Thou cheer'st our spirits with the blest reflex
Of that eternal light, which o'er thy world
Sheds its bright mid-day beams. In all this time,
With radiant wisdom ever blessing us,
Thou hast thyself remain'd alone unblest.'
Antonio sadden'd as he spoke, and said,
Like one that humbly with contrition grieves :
Most gracious Yamos! in what I have done,
I have in the effects a rich reward.
Yes, in the honors which the good unborn
Will pay my name, I do a meed foretaste.
The time will come, when from the eastern world,
With swan-like pomp, some daring mariner
Will this way steer, to whom these scenes unknown,
Of inland seas and forests infinite,
Shall be reveal'd. When that blest dove shall find
The arts of Europe and the Christian faith,
My name will shine in bright equality
With that of Abraham or Cadmus, they
Who in the olden time taught mankind truth.'
Benignant Yamos gently took his hand,
And, more with reverence than with friendship, spoke: 'But wherefore wilt thou not be one of us?
Our nations will to thy posterity
Give higher honors than to all our kings.
I pray thee, friend, or rather should I say,
Creative genius of this woodland world,'
Consent to what I pray for fair Morà
Has long the influence of thy virtues felt;
Felt as the flower that feels the solar beam."
You seem perplext! why are you thus disturb'd?'
Antonio wiped away a rueful tear,
And answer'd with a lowly contrite voice:
'My heart is glowing full of gratitude;
But in the fost ring of your infant state,
I have abundant blessing. Did I yield
To soft endearments, my ennobling aims
Might sink abortive, propagating wo.'
"Thou hast, Antonio, yet but precept given;
Give us example, too, that we may see,
By thy bright practice, how to guide ourselves.
The rights of fathers, husbands, sons, and men,
Thou hast to us prescrib'd, take now a wife,
And thereby show us we example need.'
The glozing spirit of the eastern clime
Enter'd Antonio, yet his conscious heart
Could not but mourn, as thus he did mislead :
"There is a beauty, Sir, in principles
Which men who most in theory revere,
Cannot transpose into their way of life.
I have denied myself connubial love,
Lest I should not in practice well conform
To those blest principles I try to teach.'
Yamos, with awe, such as of old with which
The votive pilgrim at Dodona's shrine
Heard the responses of the oracle,
Said as a worshipper, and then withdrew,
'I own the god-like grandeur of thy thought,"
And do thee homage; but while thus you scorn
A conscious, fallen, fearful, erring man,
Such virtue makes you glorious and divine.'
Antonio stood as one convicted stands,
And weeping briny bitterness, exclaim'd:
'How black and horrible methinks I seem,
Beside the lustre of thy purer mind!
Thou dost sustain me, Yamos, in thy love,
As the new moon in its embrace of brightness
Holds in its arms the dark and rayless old.'
Meanwhile to Idda from Antonio went
The noble Yamos, pensive to have fail'd,
And thus he tried her waywardness to soothe:
‘Alas, dear Idda! wherefore shun'st thou me?
The time was once, that I was all to thee;
The blossom breathing to the noontide sun
Its bosom's fragrance, never was more true
To it than thou to me; but thou art chang'd,
Ah me, how changed! looking askance on me
As on some hateful reptile that you fear'd.'
Moved by his sadness, conscious of a sin,
She answer'd, shudd'ring as with penitence:
'I know not, Yamos, why I should be thus;
I would to thee be what I was before,
But some foul vapor doth my brain infect,
And stain the wonted substance of my thoughts.'
Yamos replied: 'Since good Antonio
Hath not been potent to turn back again
Thy wander'd love, but ever still the more
This woful change works with increas'd dislike,
I have sent Arak to the old Orooko,
To bring him with his healthful simples here,
That we may try their power.' Idda exclaim'd!
'Leave where he lives that petulent old man!
What would he here, but fret, as he was wont,
Against Antonio, and with greeting eyes
Make still more irksome my unhappy heart?'
Griev'd Yamos said, almost bewailingly:
'Does he, too, Idda, grow unloved of thee?
Once that old man to thee was as a god'-
'But is he not Antonio's enemy?'
Cried the alarmed queen, 'and may he not
Come but to harm, and wither with dismay!?'
Perturbed Yamos said, as if t' appease
Some dread, begotten of an ailing fancy:
'He has refus'd to take the Christian faith,
Yet there's no enmity in his kind nature;
I'd think as soon Antonio bad and false,
As I could think the father would molest.'
'But wherefore bring him here?' the queen inquir'd:
'Art thou not ill at ease?' the king replied;
'Fair Morà droops, and all our med'cines fail.
Alas, poor Morà, solitary still,
With hopeless wishes she must ever pine:
Antonio has rejected her.' 'Rejected!'
The startled Idda, in amazement, cried:
'He will not marry!' sigh'd the youthful king;
'On his great purpose constantly intent,
He'll never join his fate to womankind;
I wish him happy who 's my people blest.'
'But he rejected her, and will not marry?'
With gladdening earnestness the queen inquired;
And Yamos answer'd: 'Why delights that you?
My dearest Idda, my once gentle Idda,
Why should the tidings such strange pleasure prove?'
'Oh, not to love him, were almost to sin
A sin as great as loving over much!'
'Ah! my fit comes! the kindling Idda cried;
'Over my head some dire unholy thing
Sits fell and hungry, feeding on my brain!
I would I were not what I am, or could
Again the virtue of thy love return.'
Then from his fond embrace she burst away,
As if his arms were flames that clasp'd with wo.
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