The Descent Of The Rhone.

THE DESCENT OF THE RHONE.

Often when my thought has been

Pondering on what solemn scene,

Which of all the glorious shows

Nature can at will disclose,

Once beholden by the eye,

Ever after would supply

Most unto the musing heart

Of memories which should not depart—

It has seemed no ampler dower

Of her beauty or her power

We could win, than night and day,

An illimitable way,

To sail down some mighty river,

Sailing as we would sail for ever.

Lo! my wish is almost won,

Broadly flows the stately Rhone,

And we loosen from the shore

Our light pinnace, long before

The young East in gorgeous state

Has unlocked his ruby gate,

And our voyage is not done

At the sinking of the sun;

But for us the azure Night

Feeds her golden flocks with light:

Ours are all the hues of heaven,

Sights and sounds of morn and even;

In our view the day is born;

First the stars of lustre shorn,

Until Hesper, he who last

Kept his splendour, now fades fast;

A faint bloom over heaven is spread,

And the clouds blush deeper red,

Till from them the stream below

Catches the same roseate glow;

The pale east lightens into gold,

And the west is with the fold

Of the mantle of dim night

Scarcely darkened or less bright—

Till, his way prepared, at length

Rising up in golden strength,

Tramples the victorious sun

The dying stars out, one by one.

Fairer scene the opening eye

Of the day can scarce descry—

Fairer sight he looks not on

Than the pleasant banks of Rhone;

Where in terraces and ranks,

On those undulating banks,

Rise by many a hilly stair

Sloping tiers of vines, where’er

From the steep and stony soil

Has been won by careful toil,

And with long laborious pains

Fenced against the washing rains,

Fenced and anxiously walled round,

A little patch of garden ground.

Higher still some place of power,

Or a solitary tower,

Ruined now, is looking down

On some quiet little town

In a sheltered glen beneath,

Where the smoke’s unbroken wreath,

Mounting in the windless air,

Rests, dissolving slowly there,

O’er the housetops like a cloud,

Or a thinnest vapourous shroud.

Morn has been, and lo! how soon

Has arrived the middle noon,

And the broad sun’s rays do rest

On some naked mountain’s breast,

Where alone relieve the eye

Massive shadows, as they lie

In the hollows motionless;

Still our boat doth onward press.

Now a peaceful current wide

Bears it on an ample tide,

Now the hills retire, and then

Their broad fronts advance again,

Till the rocks have closed us round,

And would seem our course to bound,

But anon a way appears,

And our vessel onward steers,

Darting swiftly as between

Narrow walls of a ravine.

Morn has been and noon—and now

Evening falls about our prow:

But the sunken sunset still

Burns behind the western hill;

Lo! the starry troop again

Gather on the ethereal plain;

Even now and there were none,

And a moment since but one;

And anon we lift our head,

And all heaven is overspread

With a still assembling crowd,

With a silent multitude—

Venus, first and brightest set

In the night’s pale coronet,

Armed Orion’s belted pride,

And the Seven that by the side

Of the Titan nightly weave

Dances in the mystic eve,

Sisters linked in love and light;

’Twere in truth a solemn sight,

Were we sailing now as they,

Who upon their western way

To the isles of spice and gold,

Nightly watching, might behold

These our constellations dip,

And the great sign of the Ship

Rise upon the other hand,

With the Cross that seems to stand

In the vault of heaven upright,

Marking the middle hour of night—

Or with them whose keels first prest

The mighty rivers of the west,

Who the first with bold intent

Down the Orellana went,[6]

Or a dangerous progress won

On the mighty Amazon,

By whose ocean-streams they tell

How yet the warrior-maidens dwell.

But the Fancy may not roam;

Thou wilt keep it nearer home,

Friend, of earthly friends the best,

Who on this fair river’s breast

Sailest with me fleet and fast,

As the unremitting blast

With a steady breath and strong

Urges our light boat along.

We this day have found delight

In each pleasant sound and sight

Of this river bright and fair,

And in things which flowing are

Like a stream, yet without blame

These my passing song may claim,

Or thy hearing may beguile,

If we not forget the while,

That we are from childhood’s morn

On a mightier river borne,

Which is rolling evermore

To a sea without a shore,

Life the river, and the sea

That we seek—eternity.

We may sometimes sport and play,

And in thought keep holiday,

So we ever own a law,

Living in habitual awe,

And beneath the constant stress

Of a solemn thoughtfulness,

Weighing whither this life tends,

For what high and holy ends

It was lent us, whence it flows,

And its current whither goes.

There is ample matter here

For as much of thought and fear,

As will solemnize our souls—

Thought of how this river rolls

Over millions wrecked before

They could reach that happy shore,

Where we have not anchored yet;

Of the dangers which beset

Our own way, of hidden shoal,

Waters smoothest where they roll

Over point of sunken rock,

Treacherous calm, and sudden shock

Of the storm, which can assail

No boat than ours more weak or frail—

Matter not alone of sadness,

But no less of thankful gladness,

That, whichever way we turn,

There are steady lights that burn

On the shore, and lamps of love

In the gloomiest sky above,

Which will guide our bark aright

Through the darkness of our night—

Many a fixed unblinking star

Unto them that wandering are

Through this blindly-weltering sea.

Themes of high and thoughtful glee,

When we think we are not left,

Of all solaces bereft,

Each to hold, companionless,

Through a watery wilderness,

Unaccompanied our way,

As we can—this I may say,

Whatsoever else betide,

With thee sitting at my side,

And this happy cherub sweet,

Playing, laughing at my feet.

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