Sunset, after Rain
David Macbeth
Moir
Moir, David Macbeth (pseudonym Delta,
∆)
△
Metadata research and editing
DVPP Project Team
Fralick
Kaitlyn
University of Victoria Digital Victorian Periodical Poetry Project
Victoria, BC, Canada
In the public domain
Blackwood’s volume 28, number 169 is dated August, part I.
(KF)
Blackwood’s Edinburgh Magazine
28
169
219–220
The shower hath drifted o’er ; the blue
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Sunset, after Rain
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The shower hath drifted o’er ; the blue
Of cloudless heaven shines softly through ;
Still is the air, the sea is calm,
The bright-bloom’d flowers outbreathing balm :
And from the west, with orange ray,
Serenely clear and calmly gay,
The sun looks forth o’er ocean’s isles,
O’er earth and-heaven, and, setting, smiles.
What though the day in clouds hath pass’d,
Though dripp’d the rain, and roar’d the blast,
Though morning’s orient flag unfurl’d
Scarce awed the shades that dimm’d the world,
And fire-eyed noon’s resplendent car
Plough’d vainly through deep mists afar—
This scene of beauty and delights,
And evening radiance, well requites
For dreary doubts and boding gloom,
And dreams whose dwelling was the tomb.
The murmuring bee from flower to flower
Is roaming round the bloss’my bower,—
The clustering bower, where jasmine wreath
Is mix’d with odorous flowers ; beneath
The creeping honeysuckle weaves
Its yellow horns with ivy leaves ;
And round about, in many a row,
The lilies of the valley blow,
Upshooting snowy bells between
Luxuriant stems of darkest green.
How bright, how beautiful, the day
In its calm lustre dies away,
As if the clouds that wept the while
Now dried their tears, and turn’d to smile
Down on the verdant vales of earth,
Whose looks have changed from gloom to mirth !
On every blade, and leaf, and stem,
Of diamond drops a diadem
Around is sprinkled, bright and clear
As beauty’s sympathizing tear
When sinless sorrows cause its flow ;
The fruits depend from every bough,
Mellow and ripe ; the downy peach,
The purpled plum, and nectarine, each
Half-shaded by its leaves, in hue
Diversified, and varying too.—
With note melodious, clear, and free,
Upon the moss-brown’d apple-tree,
Within the ancient orchard’s pale,
The blackbird, Scotland’s nightingale,
Sits singing, and responses sound
From every grove and garden round.
When worldly strife is hush’d, and all
With Music’s murmuring, dying fall,
The air is stirr’d, how sweet, to rest,
Remote from men, with easy breast,
While scenes awake to Memory’s eye—
Scenes, whose bright hues can never die—
As round the pictures of the past
Her more than sunlight glow is cast,—
Scenes ’mid Time’s landscape far, but seen,
By distance hallow’d, calm, serene,
And bearing in their mellow dyes
As ’twere the mark of Paradise ;—
So, over ocean’s billows curl’d
Blue coasts, the confines of a world—
A world of hope, and love, and truth,
And beauty to the eyes of youth ;
Some realm of fancy, which how fain
The feet would traverse—but in vain.
Yes ! all of calm, and grand, and fair,
In iris hues are pictured there ;
There, from terrestrial dross refined,
We see the shadows of mankind,
Beyond the clouds of grief and fear,
Bright wandering in a fairy sphere ;
All low-born cares dispersed and gone,
Misfortune fled, and Pain unknown.
We look on valorous deeds, which raise
To ecstasy the voice of praise,
As youthful Wolfe sinks down to die
Within the arms of victory ;
Or Moore, without a murmur, yields
His spirit on the last of fields,
And, by his mourning comrades brave,
Is laid, at midnight, in the grave,—
The wailing of the restless surge,
And cannon of the foe, his dirge :—
We listen to the words, whose glow
Makes nations like a river flow,
As Chatham’s kindled lips dispense
The lava tide of eloquence,
Unmanacle the friendless slave,
Stir up the nerveless to be brave,
And bid his country’s armies be
Unmatch’d on shore, supreme at sea ;—
We marvel at the thoughts which climb
Above our nature, bright, sublime,
As of the immortal Milton sings,
His muse on angel-pinion’d wings,
Aspiring high, till Heaven above
Seems link’d to Earth with chains of love.
Δ
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