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At Belvoir

by James Thomson - (Bysshe Vanolis)

My thoughts go back to last July,

Sweet happy thoughts and tender;

'The bridal of the earth and sky,'

A day of noble splendour;

A day to make the saddest heart

In joy a true believer;

When two good friends we roamed apart

The shady walks of Belvoir.

A maiden like a budding rose,

Unconscious of the golden

And fragrant bliss of love that glows

Deep in her heart infolden;

A Poet old in years and thought,

Yet not too old for pleasance,

Made young again and fancy-fraught

By such a sweet friend's presence.

The other two beyond our ken

Most shamefully deserted,

And far from all the ways of men

Their stealthy steps averted:

Of course our Jack would go astray,

Erotic and erratic;

But Mary! well, I own the day

Was really too ecstatic.

We roamed with many a merry jest

And many a ringing laughter;

The slow calm hours too rich in zest

To heed before and after:

Yet lingering down the lovely walks

Soft strains anon came stealing,

A finer music through our talks

Of sweeter, deeper feeling:

Yes, now and then a quiet word

Of seriousness dissembling

In smiles would touch some hidden chord

And set it all a-trembling:

I trembled too, and felt it strange;

Could I be in possession

Of music richer in its range

Than yet had found expression?

The cattle standing in the mere,

The swans upon it gliding,

The sunlight on the waters clear,

The radiant clouds dividing;

The solemn sapphire sky above,

The foliage lightly waving,

The soft air's Sabbath peace and love

To satisfy all craving.

We mapped the whole fair region out

As Country of the Tender,

From first pursuit in fear and doubt

To final glad surrender:

Each knoll and arbour got its name,

Each vista, covert, dingle;

No young pair now may track the same

And long continue single!

And in the spot most thrilling-sweet

Of all this Love-Realm rosy

Our truant pair had found retreat,

Unblushing, calm and cosy:

Where seats too wide for one are placed,

And yet for two but narrow,

It's 'Let my arm steal round your waist,

And be my winsome marrow!'

Reclining on a pleasant lea

Such tender scenes rehearsing,

A freakish fit seized him and me

For wildly foolish versing:

We versed of this, we versed of that,

A pair of mocking sinners,

While our lost couple strayed or sat

Oblivious of their dinners.

But what was strange, our maddest rhymes

In all their divagations

Were charged and over-charged at times

With deep vaticinations:

I yearn with wonder at the power

Of Poetry prophetic

Which in my soul made that blithe hour

With this hour sympathetic.

For though we are in winter now,

My heart is full of summer:

Old Year, old Wish, have made their bow;

I welcome each new-comer.

'The King is dead, long live the King!

The throne is vacant never!'

Is true, I read, of everything,

So of my heart forever!

My thoughts go on to next July,

More happy thoughts, more tender;

'The bridal of the earth and sky,'

A day of perfect splendour;

A day to make the saddest heart

In bliss a firm believer;

When two True Loves may roam apart

The shadiest walks of Belvoir.

There may be less of merry jest

And less of ringing laughter,

Yet life be much more rich in zest

And richer still thereafter;

The love-scenes of that region fair

Have very real rehearsing,

And tremulous kisses thrill the air

Far sweetlier than sweet versing;

The bud full blown at length reveal

Its deepest golden burning;

The heart inspired with love unseal

Its inmost passionate yearning:

The music of the hidden chord

At length find full expression;

The Seraph of the Flaming Sword

Assume divine possession.