Page:Felicia Hemans in The New Monthly Magazine Volume 40 1834.pdf/27



on that rock where the storms have their dwelling, The birthplace of phantoms, the home of the cloud; Around it for ever deep music is swelling, The voice of the Mountain-wind, solemn and loud. 'Twas a midnight of shadows, all fitfully streaming, Of wild gusts and torrents that mingled their moan, Of dim-shrouded stars, as thro' gulphs faintly gleaming, And my strife with stern nature was darksome and lone.

I lay there in silence:—a spirit came o'er me; Man's tongue hath no language to speak what I saw! Things glorious, unearthly, pass'd floating before me, And my heart almost fainted with rapture and awe! I viewed the dread Beings around us that hover, Tho' veiled by the mists of Mortality's breath; And I called upon Darkness the vision to cover, For within me was battling of madness and death!

I saw them—the Powers of the Wind and the Ocean, The rush of whose pinion bears onward the storm; Like the sweep of the white-rolling wave was their motion, I felt their dread presence, but knew not their form. I saw them—the mighty of ages departed— The dead were around me that night on the hill; From their eyes, as they pass'd, a cold radiance they darted; There was light on my soul, but my heart's blood was chill.

I saw what man looks on, and dies!—but my spirit Was strong, and triumphantly lived thro' that hour, And as from the grave I awoke, to inherit A flame all immortal, a voice and a pow'r! Day burst on that Rock with the purple cloud crested, And high Cader-ldris rejoiced in the sun; But oh! what new glory all nature invested, When the sense which gives soul to her beauty was won!