―1―

† The person here alluded to, is an intimate friend of the Authors, and a
particular acquaintance ^{‸ {Joseph Bringhurst Jr.}} of the one to whom the poem is adressed—

	The Muse, whom hymns devout and heavenly strains,
	Meet for inspired lips and hallowed ears,
	Only delights: She, whose resounding song,
	The world primeval heard, and those who dwelt
	In bright abodes, ere the primæval world
	Arose from Chaos; her benign regards
	On thee hath shed, and upward led thy steps
	To brighter worlds, where to thy eyes is given
	Freedom
	―2―
	Freedom to range abroad, and amplitude
	The wide survey to comprehend, and send
	Her steadfast glance to bounds, where nature stands
	Check’d by the dreary void; or mount to heights,
	Above all height, and inaccessible
	By all of earthly kin, to all but thee,
	And those of lot as happy, whom the voice
	Divine, the herald of supernal grace
	Hath call’d; to whom the Spirit devout and pure,
	Imparts her fiery energies, and gives
	Infernal foes to vanquish, and to drag
	In triumph, at their charriot-wheels, and raise
	Illustrious trophies, sacred to the fame,
	Earn’d in hard conflict with the host of ills,
	That throng this mortal scene——     O thou! what name
	Befits thee best? for not thy name is known,
	Thy heavenly name; there are, indeed, who know
	Thy sacred footsteps, and —(the mild behests,
	Oft by supernal grace, consigned to thee, —)
	Have witness’d thy approach at solemn hours;
	Friend of devotion! Dictatress of praise!
	Mistress of heavenly Minstrelsy! That rule’st
	The choral Symphony, when angels join,
	On heavens high altars, their unclouded flame
	To kindle, whence harmonious incense rolls;
	Be just, Thy hand be lavish still to pour
	―3―
	Thy bounties on my friend, but O! to one,
	Confine not thy beneficence, but shed
	On me thy inspiration; deign to hear
	Another Supplicant; nor turn away
	Indignant, should he urge an equal claim,
	To gifts from thee, thy succour, when he lifts
	In solitude his tuneful prayer —     The youths,
	Whom Sympathy of Souls consenting wills
	Unite; Alike by fortune scorn’d; to fame
	Alike unknown; whom some prevailing power,
	Hath guided to the self-same trait, and doom’d
	Their cups to overflow with kindred ills:
	Youths, whom an equal fate condemns to waste,
	In dull obscurity, their joyless days;
	Victims of dark oblivion, ere the prime
	Of life ascend; Ere the refulgent morn
	That rose so fair, yield to expecting noon
	Her sway: Noon, that Alas! shall ne’er arrive;
	Yet not to them, their ruling fate denies,
	Blest antidote of ill, the cure of all,
	The solace, dearer to their hearts, than all
	The splendour of renown, the pomp of power,
	Or wealth drawn from o’erflowing mines, the boast
	Of
	―4―
	Of Cochin, or Peru: Their humble fate,
	Not hopeless, while a smiling ray serene
	Illumes their dubious steps, and paths obscure;
	While Friendship, from her native seats descending,
	Of holy rest, this lower scene, for them
	Her transient dwelling deigns to make: To those
	Whom common griefs betide, one star malign,
	O let thy precious gifts be common too!

	For twangling wires, loquacious, thrill the ear,
	And shed a sweet intoxication round;
	But thou, and thy unwarbled raptures, cloath’d
	In sanctity of Silence, borne along
	―5―
	On plumes of darkness, o’er the untroubled waves
	Of midnight air: — Stars listen and the Earth,
	Hush’d all her echoes, stands as panic-struck —
	The Soul, how dost thou lift to heights, denied
	To earth-born Minstrelsy, in her best mood,
	At her best hour, obsequeous night attending,
	Adorn’d with all her stars, or with the moon,
	In peerless majesty, or star of Eve
	The bridal lamp, in modest pomp array’d,
	While, with the vocal lapse of streams, that chide
	The busy resonance of sandy shores,
	The solemn grove her stilly murmurs mingles;
	And pipes, and strings, and voices sweet unite
	To form the spell; but she of earthly mould,
	And mortal mother is, earth-born, earth-doom’d;
	But thou, enshrin’d in starry tabernacle,
	Of heavenly origin, the darling art
	Of dread Eternity! what wonder then
	“Thy notes the Soul, hers only charm the ear?”

	Thou standest at the door of bliss, and guard’st
	The holy Vestibule from all profane
	Intrusion; Me, no wayward thought conducts,
	Of pride and vain imagination bred;
	No curious eye, that, in its boundless range,
	Must
	―7―
	Must needs look in and see what strange or new
	Religions house contains; and whether Sage,
	Or Moralist speak true, who hither call
	Each wayfarer, urging his tardy step
	This way, and spurring his reluctant pace,
	By hanging in his view the token high
	Of hospitable invitation, fair
	With golden characters inscrib’d that all
	May read who list, “Lo! the abode
	“Of happiness; who e’er is wise will knock,
	“The porter ready stands to open, all
	“Who seek, will find.”     There is, who, glad to find
	What, e’er he came, he was resolv’d to find,
	The hope that leads to heaven, a dream that flits,
	A meteor of the intellectual night;
	A wild phantasm, child of a feverish dream,
	Nursling of Ignorance, the gilded toy
	Of doating age, that, faultering and aghast,
	Looks on th’ oblivious night, that lours at hand,
	As children, fancy struck, look on the void
	Of cheerless dark, with thousand spectres throng’d. —
	Full freighted with discoveries returns
	Of monkish dreams, and priestly craft; talk loud
	―7―
	Of miracles which none believ’d who saw;
	Of mystic prophecies, a knotted maze,
	Inextricate, obscure, inscrutable,
	That must be first fulfill’d, ere understood:
	Of Chance that made a world, and chance that rules.

	The studious path have I not tried? and found
	Joys bright indeed in prospect, but, alass!
	Tasteless or bitter found when to my lips
	I fondly lifted the enchanted cup.
	In fancys fairy land, my steps have long
	Been wont to stray, where Schylkill pours her tide
	‘Twixt unaspiring banks, low-brow’d, and rich
	In nought but waving rushes, sight deform’d,
	And indelectable; O’er downs that stretch
	On either hand, for many a weary mile,
	By many an Ox, and many a ranging steed,
	Depastur’d; Scenes, that sober thought abhors;
	Scenes, unakin to beauty, health estrang’d;
	But deck’d with orient charms, when fancy wav’d
	Her wand, and rent the veil which hides
	Her
	――
	Her soft retreats from vulgar gaze, and opes,
	In genial hues array’d, a prospect wide
	And scenes dear only to poetic eyes.

	Plain Nature, in her flowery paths, has long
	Detain’d me, lost in her inchanting maze
	Awhile:
	―9―
	Awhile: Anon delighted more to trace
	The footsteps of Linnean guide, and out
	Of such sweet prison wind me, by the clue
	Spun by Upsalian hands, conducted safe
	Through pleasant paths: And long has been the march
	And weary through the thorny tracts that lead
	To nothing in the metaphysic wilderness.

	To trace the secrets of mysterious mind;
	To tame the ofspring, frolicksome and wild,
	Of fancy, in unwonted fetters bound,
	And captive to the Analytic power:
	And fleeting memory’s capricious train:
	Or thoughts of dubious stock, and stubborn kind,
	(Link’d and unlink’d at random starting now
	A thousand leagues awry, eluding long
	The yoke which to impose my task enjoin’d)
	To teach to range, in phalanx firm, and form
	The mystic dance spontaneous, and to move
	Their files in beauteous order, quick to spy
	Error their lurking foe, or ardent wield
	In war with Sophistry indignant arms —
	To beat, with indefatigable heels,
	Th’ Highway which Reasons oracle directs,
	The traveller to tread, who meditates
	A Journey from his own to other worlds;
	Has
	―10―
	Has oft been mine: Nor have I fail’d to march
	Under Newtonian banners, war to wage
	With Ignorance and prejudice, intrench’d
	Behind the mound of old opinion, arm’d
	With plausibilities, whose force is known
	To all, and which a thousand victories
	Attest; but weary of protracted war,
	And endless conflict, soon I leave the field
	To those who list, and speed to scenes of gay
	And wild exuberance, where fancy sports
	At freedom, doating on the specious worlds,
	That, (mimicing Omnipotence,) she builds,
	Strengthens, embellishes, admires, anon
	Diverted by a newer frisk, o’erturns
	With headlong haste, what she, with equal haste,
	Had built; prone to abolish as create.

	O then I linger’d in the bright retreats,
	Where forms august or beautiful advance,
	Called by the pencils magic from the bounds
	Remote, of an ideal Universe.
	Oft in poetic groves stray’d, and pluck’d
	With wanton hand wreathes that disdeign’d a date
	Less than immortal, wreaths, by phrenzy deem'd
	What
	―11―
	What less than phrenzy could? reserv’d for me.
	Such is the fond delusive dream that haunts,
	The slumbers of the youthful poet, prone
	To banquet on futurity, and gild
	His twilight with the splendour of Renown;
	And slow the glittering honours to resign,
	Though snatch’d to decorate illustrious brows,
	For his unfit.     Oft has the towering pride
	Of Rome or Athens, fill’d my eager eye?
	The dome that rear’d aloft, repos’d in air
	Sublime as heavens high arch, in tranquil state,
	Majestic, as a slumbering deity;
	Or springing upward, seem’d averse to yield
	Obedience to the power that check’d his flight,
	Audacious, and confin’d his feet to earth.

	How while I gaz’d aloft has wonder crept
	Slowly at first with stealthy pace along
	My bosom, ‘till anon the rapture rose
	To dizzy heights: The eye too narrow seem’d
	To grasp the vast design, the brain too small
	To harbour the gigantic thought that grows
	At every glance; ‘till starting from my dream
	Of extacy, the beatific dream,
	Child of Vetruvian, and Paladian Art
	The
	―12―
	The boast of ancient days; I hye me straight
	To classic fields where many a nodding tower
	And crumbling Arch, remain to tell the tale
	Of Empires time engulph’d, and grandeurs fallen
	The prey of barbarous rage, remain to charm
	Th’ Enthusiastic eye, to sandy wilds
	I bend my way, to ponder, where the hills
	Hide in their ‸ mighty bosom forms of old
	Creation: such as giant arms have built;
	Or, as the rover of the desert dreams,
	The work of more than mortal hands, of Sage
	Enchanters, destin’d to survive the wreck
	Of Nations, and to stand while Nature stands:
	Proof against every shock but that which sounds
	The signal of the general doom, the Shock
	That into primitive confusion hurls,
	This beauteous world. Here stray’d I, while my soul
	Revolv’d the mutable and transient state
	Of things made up of mortal elements —

	The witcheries of Music too have oft,
	Too oft in chains of sweet inchantment led
	My captive soul, too wise to spurn the yoke,
	But with such thraldom pleas’d, while far aloof
	The thoughts that brooded o’er disastrous scenes
	To
	―13―
	To some, obey’d the melting voice and fled;
	Or ghastly reminiscence ceas’d to haunt
	My footsteps sure to shun the forthright path.

	Fair friend, for friend to every good, thou art,
	And virtuous plan; Thou, where thy maker leads,
	Wilt scruple not to follow; Him, that loves
	Each sign of meek repentance, and whose ear
	Propitious to the good, is bent to hear,
	The breathings of a Soul devoutly rais’d
	To him, as to the sacred source of Joy
	And Peace; that spurns the chains of Sence, and lifts
	An
	―14―
	An Eye of trembling hope to Heaven, and him
	That there inhabits, highest, holiest, best.
	Thou, him, whom, in all else, the pattern pure
	Thou deem’st, and high example, safest guide
	Of erring men; Beacon, whose sacred lamp
	Darts thro’ this drear expanse of stormy waves
	A Ray serene, propitious, to detect
	Incircling perils and disclose the sands
	Insidious and the hostile shore, and rocks,
	Whose thundering Echoes menace high, and send,
	Aided by ruffian blasts, defiance far —
	Like him thou, to the good, wilt prove a friend.
	—If but a spark appears to glimmer there,
	Where, ere this spark was kindled, single night
	Prevail’d, and thou canst foster it, and raise
	A flame that points to Heaven, thy aid will not
	Be wanting; O! to me impart that Aid!

	If gentle intercourse, benign regards,
	The interchange of words, and looks, that know
	No guile; that friendship, in her ardent mood,
	Will furnish to the lips and eyes of those
	That own her righteous sway, will aught avail,
	To raise the soul to virtue, and dislodge
	Ill thoughts from their strong holds, where long they held
	The Sceptre, and maintain’d disast’rous sway,
	And
	―15―
	And kept their gloomy court, Wilt thou withhold
	The succour sought? for knowest thou not the force
	Contagious of a fair example set,
	By Virtue femininely cloath’d, and deck’d
	With charms that hover only round the shrine
	Of lovely woman; loveliest, when, amidst
	Their radiant sphere, by mystic notes and high,
	Led on, the muses and the graces meet,
	To mingle energies, and mingle charms.
	When, in her train, are seen, in heavenly guise,
	Impassion’d Innocence with Candour link’d,
	That never smiles, but thousand hearts are touch’d,
	With glowing adoration and sweet awe,
	Resistless yoke imposing: knowest thou not
	The potency of precepts, dropp’d from lips
	Rever’d and lov’d? By Virtues charms enthrall’d
	To beauteous Sanctity no stranger I
	Ere long will be, if fondest hope deceive
	This heart no more; if thou, fair maid, appear’st
	Soft advocate, yet irresistible
	In Virtues cause, If thou, preceptress mild,
	Wilt deign a pupil in Religions school
	To prompt; his erring steps to check; his right
	To urge; When by temptation led astray,
	The warning voice, that whispers still, “beware”
	The inward oracle whose “still, small voice”
	Wafts
	―16―
	Wafts to the hallowed ear divine behests,
	And speaks in vain, unheard or disobey’d,
	And would, though thunders spoke; Be thou at hand,
	To hurl rebuke from thy indignant eye.

	Accept in recompense, if aught can be,
	A not unworthy recompense, accept —
	Thou seest the boon I crave I fondly think
	Already
	―17―
	Already given — in recompence accept
	A thousand grateful fervours, and what else
	May better prove than barren thanks, the soil,
	Its savageness subdued, and call’d though late,
	To blest fertillity, by balmy dews,
	Shed by propitious friendship, forth may throw,
	Accounted not of thy accepting hand
	Unworthy: Slender, is indeed, the boon,
	Of natures sparing hand, wise to dispense,
	Frugal and circumspect, what, when bestow’d,
	She knows not whether or to good or ill
	May furnish arms. Her eyes abated nought
	Of rigorous regard, and cold, but scoul’d
	A cheerless glance, and louring, when, on me,
	New cradled, and as yet unvisited
	By light of Reasons morn, their orbs were turn’d.

	Oft o’er the margin of thy natal stream
	I stray’d of late; the moon my lamp; and oft,
	Beneath the shady copse that skirts her shore,
	Found refuge from the noon-tides fiercer ray.
	An haunt to musing sacred, dear to those
	Who meet, in Solitude, a friend that opes
	The door to solemn thoughts, and lifts the veil
	That, to the prensive Votarist, denies
	Communion with his own sad heart; a Scene
	By
	―18―
	By its own charms endear’d to those who seek
	No banquet more delicious than the green
	Abodes of nature unmolested yet
	By Art. To those retreats, it was but late
	That Chance my steps conducted; if to chance
	I owe the boon, not rather to the hand
	Of some aerial guardian, wise and good,
	Supernal friend; for shall I not adore
	The hand unseen, that led to these retreats
	A wanderer I, and reckless which the tract,
	If friendly to forgetfulness, it gave to
	To medling thoughts, a respite, or deceiv’d
	A moment of it customary freight
	Of dark repinings; when the only bliss
	Was not to think; Since the distracted mind,
	Immanacled by some infernal Spell
	A Vassal to some Necromantic power,
	Could scape not from the mirror, which upheld
	Before her startled eye, and shew’d her nought,
	But her own image, ghastly and deform’d
	By many a boisterous passion, prone to ill,
	Flagitious, by a sable troop beset
	Of bad intents.     O Shall I not adore
	The guidance, which, with radiant finger, points
	To
	―19―
	To these divine abodes, where troublous waves
	Assail no more, the shatter’d bark, so long
	By tempest tost, but, opening to the view
	Of Eyes devout, the happy Isle, at last —
	Nights shady curtain rising, death atchiev’d
	In triumph, past the grave — the happy Isle
	Is seen, the haven of eternal rest,
	Where ministers of ill molest no more
	The good, and weary Virtue finds repose.

	‘Twas here that first my eyes beheld
	My
	―20―
	My mystic guide; my Genius; my divine
	Instructress; better Angel; Heavenly friend;
	Ætherial Messenger, with heavens behests
	Encharg’d; My heart and fancy’s Queen, my muse.
	A mortal shape assuming, here she stept
	Forth from an azure cloud, in flowing vest
	Array’d, of dazzling hues, with locks that play’d,
	Though in bright circlet crown’d, and threw around,
	A fragrance overtasking mortal sence:
	Light from above her harbinger, her train
	Harmonious airs, with every symbol deck’d
	Of beatific power: She came, she stood
	Before me visibly: These wakeful eyes
	Beheld her, in her borrowed shape how fair!

	Or haply I but dream’d; for o’er the world,
	Meek twilight, stealing from her western cave,
	With progress unobserv’d, dumb steps and slow,
	Had thrown her sober mantle: Nature slept.
	But hush’d was not the air: for Silence breathes
	A more resistless spell, when leagu’d with sounds
	That haunt the leafy covert, sounds unown’d
	By earth, or air; Sounds, that await the beck
	Of Echo, who delights in fostering glooms,
	And bowers canopied by intertwin’d
	And
	―21―
	And verdant branches; And abhoring rest
	Will bandy hollow noises with herself
	If other work be wanting; shrowded here,
	She caught the floating murmur most akin
	To Silence, winding through the rocky maze:
	The chiding of the torrent stream, that leap’d
	From rock to rock, and clamour’d as in rage,
	That for its wave no rest was found, was heard;
	But heard afar —     In this recess I sat,
	And saw, or dream’d I saw an airy shape,
	And heard aerial notes, a voice that far
	Outwarbled dulcet breath that whispers love
	At bridal hours, Out-talk’d impassion’d strings,
	Kiss’d by enamour’d fingers, or by airs
	Æolian kiss’d; it sung and this the song —
	But whither would thy steps Audacious Youth
	Lead thee? Who told thee that Albina’s ear,
	Would deem the accents of thy friendship sweet.
	Nor dress her eye in terrors when thou come’st
	Before her in this questionable shape?

	Thou knowest not whether to thy strains she lend
	Benign attention, and dispos’d to hear
	The
	―22―
	The dictates of thy inoffensive Muse,
	Smilest on her artless efforts; withhold’st
	Her hand, if, from her unexhausted store,
	Hereafter she select a tribute meet
	For her; the incense of a guileless heart,
	And fancy touch’d by no polluted flame.

	Or whether in decorum’s mounds intrench’d,
	Suspicions guard the door, and wary watch
	Keep, that no lurking foes have entrance there,
	To trouble their enchanted Queen, that sits
	In dreary state, with icy fetters bound
	Of cold Punctilio; scornful she reject
	Thy humble lay, and blast the infant hope
	Ere while so blithesome. — Here — O most rever’d!
	And gentlest of thy Sex! O most belov’d!
	Though, with such love as Angels smile to see
	In those whom sex distinguish not, the love
	That boasts participation with divine
	Ex‸istancies; Soul-thraldom; Reason leagued
	With reason, to improve the structure fair
	Of Knowledge; heart with heart allied, to nurse
	The plants, whose golden fruits, transplanted, when,
	To heavenly ground, shall smile with orient hues,
	And
	―23―
	And shed eternal fragrance; here thy friend,
	(For such himself will deem what-e’er decree
	Thy sternness shall pronounce,) thy pupil here,
	Is not untremulous — suspense shall stand,
	‘Till thou, in thy own time, transmit the pledge
	Of peace or enmity; nor leave thou him
	Bewilder’d in a doubtful maze, and lost
	In fears, that his audacious lay has come
	Too soon, or late; and no acceptance found —