Strophes LXI à LXXX

Keep the old Homestead sacred. What a night!
It must have borrowed somewhat of the day,
In honor of thine eyes, love. The warm light
That bathes yon church and village, is as gay
And cheering as if the first golden ray
Of morning’s sun had pierced it with its beams.
Some Recluse, yonder, keeps his holiday
In that obscure ravine. Peace to his dreams!
Uncursed with lust of gold, or wild, unholy schemes.

Still loftily looms the Cape! Still proudly soar
The vassal Hills—innumerable—vast!
And majesty and beauty evermore
Surfeit the sense with a divine repast.
Another group of dwellings—’tis the last;
Another spire flashing above the trees
That screen the little church. Our slender mast
Leans to the gale, and while the glorious breeze
Quickens our speed, look round, for there are charms to please

On either hand. A dream it well might be:
Hills rising here, and mountains looming there;
Islands reposing on a moonlit sea
With which the winds are toying; everywhere
The shores are bold, precipitous and fair.
Grosse Isle sits dreamily-languid; all around,
Its subject-islands slumber. In the air
The clouds have melted into light. No sound
Stirs the sweet calm, save where the jovial billows bound.

Press on, courageous bark!—the wind is fair,
As it should ever be when Love sets sail
Beneath such skies as these, whose glowing air
Quickens our souls, as odors scent the gale.
Soon will the stars be dim, the Moon grow pale,
As with Orion down the dreamy west
She wanders, like a Beauty, proud and frail,
To where her lonely couch waits to be press’d,
A fearful secret in her warm, voluptuous breast.

This Isle* might guard the entrance to a sphere
Of heavenly tranquillity! The mind
Puts off its weight of cares, for Beauty here
Sits like a wondrous deity enshrined
Among the hills. Oh, God! but Thou art kind!
St. Paul’s delightful Bay, fit mirror for
The stars, glows like a vision which the wind
Wafts by some Angel standing on the shore,
As bless’d as if he trod heaven’s star-enameled floor.

The distant knolls are soft as midnight clouds
Filled with bright memories of departed day.
Like purple glories rolling up the woods,
This rugged wilderness which we survey
Extends in wild, magnificent array,
To regions rarely trod by mortal feet.
Ev’n here, love, though we would, we cannot stay;
We cannot loiter near this calm retreat;
The Morn approaches, and his fiery steeds are fleet.

These two majestic hills* kneel down to kiss
The village at their feet; the cottages,
Pearl-like and glowing, speak of human bliss,
With a low, eloquent tongue. Fit symbols, these,
Of a diviner life—of perfect Ease
Allied to bless’d Repose. The church spire looks
Like a sweet promise smiling through the trees;
While far beyond this loveliest of nooks,
The finely-rounded swells dream of the babbling brooks.

Eboulements† sleeps serenely in the arms
Of the Maternal hill, upon whose breast
It lies, like a sweet, infant soul, whose charms

Fill some fond mother’s bosom with that rest
Caused by the presence of a heavenly guest.
How coyly—close—it nestles! how retired,
Half conscious of its charms, and half oppress’d,
As with a blushing sense of being admired;
As modest as a gem, with gem-like beauty fired.

The stream reflects these cottages, like swans
Reposing on its surface, or faint dreams
But half remembered when the morning dawns,
And tremulous sleep wakes with the day’s first beams,
Past the monotonous “Capes.”* The moonlight gleams
Full on the mossy slopes and banks that lie
Along the silent shores, as well beseems
So fair a region. Why, love, dost thou sigh?
But wherefore ask, loved one? My own heart tells me why:

Our spirits are as one. The morning, love,
Will part us. We have lived an age tonight.
Love is immortal. Hope is from above.
Sit nearer to me, for thine eyes are bright
With tears. There is a fairer land in sight.
Our love is sphered with truth. Eternity
Will crown that love, if we but love aright;

    If Love be Truth, indeed. Soft-eyed one! we.
Must seek beyond the veil what here can never be!

Welcome the granite sternness of Malbaie!*
The last dim light of the declining moon
Falls dimly on its rugged banks. The day
Will shortly waken from its dreamy swoon;
His chariot long hath swept the sullen noon
Of midnight; and beneath our feet, the sun
Rolls, flaming, towards the East. His fierce breath soon
Along the undulating hills will run,
Rousing the piney vales and forests, one by one.

And Darkness, like a Fate, comes stealing down
In her black mantle, step by step, until
The trembling stars have dwindled down to one
Pale, solitary watcher. Lone and chill
Falls its meek glance on river, wood and hill.
See, you can even mark its heart-beats, love!
Each mortal has his mission to fulfil,
Each planet is accountable to Jove,
Both do His high behests, His sovereign Will approve.

I knew a man whose prayerful soul was set
To a devotional music, like a psalm

Fresh from a Master-Artist’s brain; and yet,
There came a time when his mind’s starriest calm
‘Was quenched in Unbelief. Once, like a palm
He flourished, till deep thinking brought a doubt
Of a Hereafter, and the Great 1 AM!
Like a new light, Faith slowly came, and out
Of his dark world he strode, believing and devout.

So rolls the bright Dawn up the Orient,
Out of the pitchy hour that precedes
The flush of Day. Darkness was surely sent
To make the Light more blessed. The heart bleeds
That has been sown with Error—lo! the seeds
Have brought forth Truth. So Good from Evil springs
And all is mystery. Our noblest deeds
May bring us bitter fruits. Frail man who clings
To Life, is perfected when Death reveals all things.

The Morning Star has gone back into heaven,
The Sun’s light-footed Herald, the gray Dawn,
Is passing upwards, and the dusk is riven
By a warm tinge, like to a purple lawn,
O’er which a misty saffron veil is drawn.
But warmer is the rose-tint spreading now
Along the dim horizon, erst so wan,
Like Health returning to the pallid brow
And cheek of some young sufferer, with a welcome glow.

    In the East the blooming Angel,
    Morning, hov’reth, like a gorgeous rose,
    Waking many a fair Evangel
    From her heavenly repose.
    From her brow a radiant glory
    Falls, like fire from above,
    Telling the impassioned story
    Of God’s everlasting love.
Love’s Angels ever walk their starry round,
And each new Morn beholds Love newly crowned.

    Love, that at the primal waking
    Of the Dawn in Eden’s bowers,
    Wandered through the Garden, slaking
    His warm thirst from Eden’s flowers;
    And the same sweet Eden-nectar
    Flows wherever Love is found,
    Even when the midnight’s spectre
    Treads upon earth’s hallowed ground.
Love’s Angels ever walk their starry round,
And with each Morning Love is newly crowned.

    Blessed light of early Morning!
    At whose dawn the stars retire,
    With thy warmth our souls adorning,
    Fill us with love’s ardent fire—
    With the love that comes from heaven,
    With the hope that soars on high,
    That our faults may all be shriven,
    As thy splendors fill the sky.
Love’s Angels ever walk their starry round,
And with each Morning Love is newly crowned.

    Calmly is the River glowing,
    Like a burnished, crystal sea,
    Like pure thoughts forever flowing
    Heavenward eternally.
    Slowly up the distant mountains
    Rolls the changing purple screen,
    While the swift rills, from their fountains
    Leaping, clothe their sides with green.
Love’s Angels ever walk their starry round,
And with each Morning Love is newly crowned.

    O’er the earth Love’s blooming Angels
    - Loiter, hand in hand with Morn,
    Fair-browed, golden-crowned Evangels,
    Twin companions, heaven-born.
    Life, and Light, and Joy attending,
    Hymns and prayers salute their ears,
    Earth’s sweet hallelujahs blending
    ‘With the anthems of the spheres.
Love’s Angels ever walk their starry round,
And with each Morning Love is newly crowned.

Like maid-wife waiting for her wedded lord,
The morn waits for the sun with a flushed cheek.
I hear the songs of birds; the breeze has stirred
Their dwellings, as it rustled from the peak
Of yonder mountain with a playful shriek.
Now my fair shallop, leap! the blessed Day
Opens its crystal gates, and up the meek
And wan-faced sky the sun’s darts cleave their way,
As our bark cleaves the black and frowning Saguenay.

Mysterious Source of Light, triumphant Sun!
A Royal Witness hast thou been to me
Of th’ existence of the Eternal One!
But e’en thy light compared with Deity,
Is as a dew-drop to the boundless sea.
What Angel-plaudits from surrounding spheres
Must have been echoed through infinity,
When first above thy myriads of compeers
Thou rod’st, exulting o’er the starry charioteers.

Couldst thou reveal the secret of thy birth,
The pain and travail of thy Parent, Night,
The worlds would glow with wonder, as the earth.
Glows with the fervor of thy glorious light.
Roll on in all thy mystery and might!
For thou art worthy of the Hand Divine
That waved thee into being, in the sight
Of His archangels, and the heavenly line
Of saints, who, wondering, praised the Omnipotent Design.

In golden volumes rolls the blessed light
Along the sterile mountains, Pile on Pile
The granite masses rise to left and right:
Bald, stately bluffs that never wear a smile;
Where vegetation fails to reconcile
The parchéd shrubbery and stunted trees
To the stern mercies of the flinty soil.
And we must pass a thousand bluffs like these,
Within whose breasts are locked a myriad mysteries.

Here is a barren crag, at whose brown feet
Patiently sits the church and gleams the spire,
Commerce has found this a deserved retreat;
Here groan the mills, and there, the household fire
Sends up its smoke above the struggling briar
And dwarfish evergreens that grow between
The stubborn rocks—that grow but to expire.
Not here the thrifty farmer’s face serene—
The lumberer alone lends life to the grim scene.