Personal Poems, Complete

TO A FRIEND, ON HER RETURN FROM EUROPE.

     How smiled the land of France
     Under thy blue eye's glance,
     Light-hearted rover
     Old walls of chateaux gray,
     Towers of an early day,
     Which the Three Colors play
     Flauntingly over.

     Now midst the brilliant train
     Thronging the banks of Seine
     Now midst the splendor
     Of the wild Alpine range,
     Waking with change on change
     Thoughts in thy young heart strange,
     Lovely, and tender.

     Vales, soft Elysian,
     Like those in the vision
     Of Mirza, when, dreaming,
     He saw the long hollow dell,
     Touched by the prophet's spell,
     Into an ocean swell
     With its isles teeming.

     Cliffs wrapped in snows of years,
     Splintering with icy spears
     Autumn's blue heaven
     Loose rock and frozen slide,
     Hung on the mountain-side,
     Waiting their hour to glide
     Downward, storm-driven!

     Rhine-stream, by castle old,
     Baron's and robber's hold,
     Peacefully flowing;
     Sweeping through vineyards green,
     Or where the cliffs are seen
     O'er the broad wave between
     Grim shadows throwing.

     Or, where St. Peter's dome
     Swells o'er eternal Rome,
     Vast, dim, and solemn;
     Hymns ever chanting low,
     Censers swung to and fro,
     Sable stoles sweeping slow
     Cornice and column!

     Oh, as from each and all
     Will there not voices call
     Evermore back again?
     In the mind's gallery
     Wilt thou not always see
     Dim phantoms beckon thee
     O'er that old track again?

     New forms thy presence haunt,
     New voices softly chant,
     New faces greet thee!
     Pilgrims from many a shrine
     Hallowed by poet's line,
     At memory's magic sign,
     Rising to meet thee.

     And when such visions come
     Unto thy olden home,
     Will they not waken
     Deep thoughts of Him whose hand
     Led thee o'er sea and land
     Back to the household band
     Whence thou wast taken?

     While, at the sunset time,
     Swells the cathedral's chime,
     Yet, in thy dreaming,
     While to thy spirit's eye
     Yet the vast mountains lie
     Piled in the Switzer's sky,
     Icy and gleaming:

     Prompter of silent prayer,
     Be the wild picture there
     In the mind's chamber,
     And, through each coming day
     Him who, as staff and stay,
     Watched o'er thy wandering way,
     Freshly remember.

     So, when the call shall be
     Soon or late unto thee,
     As to all given,
     Still may that picture live,
     All its fair forms survive,
     And to thy spirit give
     Gladness in Heaven!

     1841