Edmund Clarence Stedman, ed. (1833–1908). A Victorian Anthology, 1837–1895. 1895.
Frederic William Henry Myers 18431901A Letter from Newport
Myers-FrT
The pil’d hydrangeas blazing glow;
How blue the vault of breezy dawn
Illumes the Atlantic’s crested snow!
’Twixt sea and sands how fair to ride
Through whispering airs a starlit way,
And watch those flashing towers divide
Heaven’s darkness from the darkling bay!
Their hurrying toils how idly spent,
How have they wrong’d the gentler heart
Which thrills the awakening continent,
Who have not learnt on this bright shore
What sweetness issues from the strong,
Where flowerless forest, cataract roar,
Have found a blossom and a song!
Links our one race in high emprize!
Nor aught henceforth can separate
Those glories mingling as they rise;
For one in heart, as one in speech,
At last have Child and Mother grown,—
Fair Figures! honoring each in each
A beauty kindred with her own.
Looks from gray deeps the appealing charm;
Reddens on English cheeks more oft
The rose of innocent alarm;—
Our old-world heart more gravely feels,
Has learnt more force, more self-control;
For us through sterner music peals
The full accord of soul and soul.
The floating presence feathery air!
The eyes and aspect that have caught
The brilliance of Columbian air!
No oriole through the forest flits
More sheenyplum’d, more gay and free;
On no nymph’s marble forehead sits
Proudlier a glad virginity.
Wander’d the Ionian folk among.
Heard from their high Letôon roll’d
That song the Delian maidens sung;
Danced in his eyes the dazzling gold,
For with his voice the tears had sprung,—
“They die not, these! they wax not old,
They are ever-living, ever-young!”
Thy golden harvest westward roll;
Banner with banner, star with star,
Ally the tropics and the pole;—
There glows no gem than these more bright
From ice to fire, from sea to sea;
Blossoms no fairer flower to light
Through all thine endless empery.
Their kingdom enter as a boy;
Fed with their glorious youth renew
Thy dimm’d prerogative of joy:—
Come with small question, little thought,
Through thy worn veins what pulse shall flow,
With what regrets, what fancies fraught,
Shall silver-footed summer go:—
Those many dreams of many fair,
And wandering homage seek the feet
Of one sweet queen, and linger there;
Or if strange winds betwixt be driven,
Unvoyageable oceans foam,
Nor this new earth, this airy heaven,
For thy sad heart can find a home.