THE VALLEY OF FERN. PART 1. THERE is a lone valley, few charms can it number, Compar'd with the lovely glens north of the Tweed; No mountains enclose it where morningmists slumber, And it never has echoed the shepherd's soft reed. No streamlet of crystal, its rocky banks laving, Flows through it, delighting the ear and On its sides no proud forests, their foliage the eye; waving, wind's sigh; And felt grateful and tranquil while gazing on thee. Yes! moments there are, when mute nature is willing To teach, would proud man but be humble and learn; When her sights and her sounds on the heartstrings are thrilling: And this I have felt in the Valley of Fern. For the bright chain of being, though widely extended, Unites all its parts in one beautiful whole; In which Grandeur and Grace are enchantOf which GOD is the Centre, the Light, ingly blended, and the Soul! Meet the gales of the Autumn or Summer-And holy the hope is, and sweet the sensation, Which this feeling of union in solitude Yet by me it is priz'd, and full dearly I love it, And oft my steps thither I pensively turn; It has silence within, Heaven's proud arch above it,' And my fancy has nam'd it the Valley of Fern. And have found in my musings a bond of connexion With thy landscape so peaceful, and all that was there: In the verdure that sooth'd, in the flowers that brighten'd, brings; It gives silence a voice-and to calm contemplation Unseals the pure fountain whence happiness springs. Then Nature, most loved in her loneliest silent bosom Shall hold him who loves thee, thy beauties may live: In the blackbird's soft note, in the hum of And thy turf's em'rald tint, and thy broom's the bee, yellow blossom, I found something that lull'd, and insensibly Unto loiterers like him soothing pleasure lighten'd, may give. As brightly may morning, thy graces invest- We know all we see in this beauteous creation, ing With light, and with life, wake thy inmates However enchanting its beauty may seem, Is doom'd to dissolve, like some bright exhalation, from sleep; And as softly the moon, in still loveliness resting, To gaze on its charms, thy lone landscape may steep. Then, should friend of the bard, who hath paid with his praises The pleasure thou'st yielded, e'er seek thy sojourn, Should one tear for his sake fill the eye while it gazes, It may fall unreprov'd in the Valley of Fern. PART II. That dazzles, and fades in the morning's first beam. The gloom of dark forests, the grandeur of mountains, The verdure of meads, and the beauty of flowers; The seclusion of valleys, the freshness of fountains, The sequester'd delights of the loveliest bowers: THOU art chang'd, lovely spot! and no more Which, sooner or later, will uncreate earth. thou displayest, To the eye of thy votary, that negligent grace, Which, in moments the saddest, the tenderest, the gayest, Allur'd him so oft thy recesses to trace. The hand of the spoiler has fallen upon thee, And marr'd the wild beauties that deck'd thee before; And the charms, which a poet's warm praises had won thee, Exist but in memory, and bless thee no more. Thy green, palmy fern, which the softest and mildest Of Summer's light breezes could ruffle,-is fled; And the bright-blossom'd ling, which spread o'er thee her wildest And wantonest hues,—is uprooted and dead. Yet now, even now, that thou neither belongest, Or seemst to belong, unto Nature or Art; The love I still bear thee is deepest and strongest, And thy fate but endears thee the more to my heart. Thou art passing away, like some beautiful vision, From things which now are, unto those that have been! And wilt rise to my sight, like a landscape elysian, With thy blossoms more bright, and thy verdure more green. Thou wilt dwell in remembrance, among those recesses Which fancy still haunts; though they were, and are not; Whose loveliness lives, and whose beauty still blesses, Which, though ceasing to be, can be never forgot. Yet, acknowledging this, it may be that the feelings Which these have awaken'd, the glimpses they 've given, Combin'd with those inward and holy revealings That illumine the soul with the brightness of heaven, May still be immortal, and destin❜d to lead us, Hereafter, to that which shall not pass away; To the loftier destiny God hath decreed us, Nor would Infinite Wisdom have plann'd and perfected, With such grandeur and majesty, beauty and grace, The world we inhabit, and thus have connected The heart's better feelings with nature's fair face, If the touching emotions, thus deeply excited, Towards Him who made all things, left nothing behind, Which, enduring beyond all that sense has delighted, Becomes intellectual, immortal, as mind! But they do; and the heart that most fondly has cherish'd Such feelings, nor suffer'd their ardour to chill, Will find, when the forms which inspir'd them have perish'd, Their spirit and essence remain with it still. Thus thinking, I would not recall the brief measure Of praise, lovely valley! devoted to thee; Well has it been won by the moments of pleasure Afforded to some, justly valued by me. May their thoughts and mine often silently ponder Over every lov'd spot that our feet may have trod; And teach us, while through nature's beauties we wander, All space is itself but the temple of God! That 80, when our spirits shall pass through the portal Of Death, we may find, in a state more sublime, Immortality owns what could never be mortal! And Eternity hallows some visions of Time! VERSES, While the dark tempest's terrors last, The thunder's roar, the lightning's gleam, But when we know we do not dream, One hope in such an hour is left, Our dearest hopes He would not crush, A bruised reed He will not break: But hearts that bow before Him, Shall own his Mercy while they ache, And gratefully adore Him! How much was done in hours so few! Hopes wither'd, hearts divided: STANZA S. MARY! I wake not now for thee As once I tonch'd its strings, Fresh pleasure on their wings. But HE, who gave thee vital breath, Hath visited thy frame To God! from whence it came. Well, HE is good! and surely thou And gratefully confess, Joys, griefs, loves, fears, and feelings too, Then start not at its transient gloom; Stern death at once decided. With Thee 'tis over! There are some, Who, in mute consternation, Fearfully shrink from hours to come Of heartfelt desolation. Let Faith and Hope beyond the tomb O Death! where is thy sting? May that pure innocence, which now It is the talisman, whose touch And it shall teach thee, us'd as such, In all the countless codes and creeds Which man for man has plann'd, Is much, that he who oftenest reads Can never understand. May these be as a volume seal'd;- Thus should it be; for thou art one And the uncharter'd breeze, that sweeps Then be a child of Nature's school, For they are still the truly wise, Farewell! I dare not hope that prayer Of mine can prove of worth; Yet this may not disperse in air, Since thou hast given it birth. Oh, for thy sake! and theirs no less, SILENT WORSHIP. THOUGH glorious, O God! must thy temple have been, On the day of its first dedication, When the Cherubim's wings widely waving were scen On high, o'er the ark's holy station; When even the chosen of Levi, though skill'd To minister, standing before Thee, Retir'd from the cloud which the temple then fill'd, And thy glory made Israel adore Thee: Though awfully grand was thy majesty then; Yet the worship thy gospel discloses, Less splendid in pomp to the vision of men, Far surpasses the ritual of Moses. And by whom was that ritual for ever repeal'd? But by HIM, unto whom it was given On earth's best charms, on sun, and skies, To enter the Oracle, where is reveal'd, As wisdom's open book. There may thy dawning reason read And guileless thought, and virtuous deed, Thus taught, nor art, nor base deceit Shall mar thy opening youth; Not the cloud, but the brightness of heaven. Who, having once enter'd, hath shown us the way, O Lord! how to worship before thee; Not with shadowy forms of that earlier day, But in spirit and truth to adore thee! Thy heart with healthful hopes shall beat, This, this is the worship the Saviour made Thy tongue be tun'd to truth. known, When she of Samaria found him And when, through childhood's paths of By the patriarch's well, sitting weary, alone, |