John Bradford: Verses about Thunderstorm

I love to ream a calm, secluded dell,
Where all the softest charms of nature dwell.
When from the hills around, wood-crown'd and high.
Fair Spring-time's tuneful rills go glancing by.
And fleets of clouds, as white as ocean's foam.
Serenely sail the sky's expanded dome ;
While in the oak the joyous mavis sings.
And every wood and grove with music rings.

I love to stand upon a high hill's crest,
And watch the sun sink in the glowing west,
Casting his beams, in floods of gorgeous light,
O'er forest, valley, rock, and river bright;
While fields of golden com, on every plain,
Proclaim full-handed Harvest near again ;
For, while the eye roves o'er a scene so fair.
The gladden'd heart throws off its load of care.

I love to pace a forest wild and lone.
When evening's sombre shades are o'er it thrown,
And through the tall trees' tops, with moanings drear.
The ruthless wind pursues its wild career.
Bearing from many a bending bough and spray
Its robes of soft autumnal hues away ;
While hosts of dying leaves around me cast.
Are types of those whose earthly hopes are past.

I love to ride upon the foaming ocean,
When the huge billows toss in wild commotion,
While overhead the thunder peals aloud,
And the bright lightning darts from cloud to cloud,—
When through the cordage strong the wild wind raves.
As the ship reels amid the seething waves.
And every mind is rapt in holy awe
Of Him who gives the raging storm its law.

But most of all I love a mournful lay.
Whose sad and plaintive notes the feelings sway,
As from a gentle maiden's tongue they fall,
In streams of sound that hold the ear in thrall,
Till Pity's pure, celestial tear is found
Gemming the moisten'd eyes of all around ;
And young hearts learn to sympathise with those
O'er whom a stormy sea of sorrow flows.

For such enthralling lays my sister sung,
When greedy Death's dark shades around her hung;—
When she in vain essay'd the tears to hide
That fill'd her eyes with their unwelcome tide,
As with a sad and grief-o'erladen heart
She saw all girlhood's golden dreams depart,
And her pale, wasting cheek's bright hectic glow
Proclaim'd the advent near of my first woe.

THE QUESTION.

DEAR to the bright cerulean sky
Unstirr'd the silvery cloudlets lie ;
O'er yonder wide, unruffl'd bay
The white-sail'd ships can make no way;
No rustling from the sedges near
Falls on the loitering listener's ear ;
From the old cottage in the croft
Straightly ascends the smoke aloft ;
The spreading oak, the silver birch.
The yew beside the village church,
And the tall pine upon the hill.
Are all at rest—serenely still ;
No zephyrs o'er the meadows pass
With balmy breath to fan the grass,
Or raise a ripple on the river ;
Why, aspen, then, dost thou still quiver?

THE ANSWER.

O'er eighteen hundred years ago,
Where Jordan's amber waters flow,
Green, graceful, calm, and fair to view,
My ruthless old forefathers grew ;
But, on a morn of spring-tide bright.
When, from the blue unclouded sky,
The sun shone down with dazzling light.
Inviting flowers of varied dye
Their fragile petals to unfold.
And glad the bees that rov'd the plains,
Filling the birds with joy untold,
The air with their melodious strains ;
Wiling the adder from its lair,
And making all Creation's face,
From high hill's top to rough rock's base,
Bright, peaceful, smiling, calm, and fair ;
Up Jordan's vale an angel flew,
Array'd in robes of lily hue,
Exclaiming, as she wing'd her way.
In accents fraught with dire dismay :—
' Weep, flocks and herds ;
Weep, beasts and birds ;
Weep, flowers and trees ;
Weep, adders and bees ;
Weep, insects small ;
Weep, creatures all ;
And let the joys you hold most dear
Give place to wonder, woe, and fear ;
For now, with insult, blow, and curse,
The God of all the Universe
By ruthless men, with impious zest,
Is being led
His blood to shed
On Calvary's gore-encrimson'd crest.'
Soon as these words of woe were said,
The flocks and herds no longer fed ;
The coney sought the loneliest dell ;
The bee forsook the floret's bell ;
The adder sought its lair again ;
No wild bird's song swept o'er the plain ;
No insect hummed its tiny strain ;
The flowers, rich in scent and hue,
Their beauties from the gaze withdrew ;
And every shrub and tree that grew,
Excepting my forefathers proud,
In fear and awe their branches bow'd ;
But they, on selfish joys intent,
With every breeze that through them went.
Still sported on without a pause ;
And in the waves that by them passed
With guilty pride their beauty glass'd.
As if of grief they had no cause.
But soon the sun its beams withdrew,
And such a gloom o'er earth was thrown,
As until then had ne'er been known—
Veiling all things around from view.
And while the lightning lit the air
With lurid and appalling glare ;
While the loud thunder, peal on peal,
Made the old hills' foundations reel ;
While the strong earthquake's mighty shocks
Asunder rent the hoary rocks ;
And those who in their graves had lain
Were seen to tread the earth again ;
In sap and fibre, bough and spray.
They felt a thrill of fear and pain ;
And when the darkness cleared away,
And Nature's face grew fair again.
The victims of remorse and grief
They trembling stood in every leaf ;
And since that day of anguish deep,
Not for the space of one brief hour
Have their descendants had the power
A single leaf at rest to keep ;
And thus, until the end of time,
They'll mourn for their forefathers' crime.