POETRY.
WORLEBURY.
FROM the rock-crown of a long woodland hill, We watched the grandeur of the sunset blaze Along the deep horizon measureless, Where channel surges meet the Atlantic tide ; And all the hollow of the boundless air, And all the ranges of engirdling heights, And restless face of the broad-sweeping flood
Were clothed with flame as with a garment vast—
A lucid veil of splendour and of joy : It made the rolling Mendips laugh in light, It turned brown waters into billowy gold, It kissed with kindling lips the coast of Wales,.
It lit the Brecon Beacon from afar, And touched with lustre opaline the peak Of giant Dunkery as sheer he soared To reach the floating pearl of phantom cloud That sends "the eternal softness of the west."
Low down the western verge of that long hill, Hard by the beach, bidden 'mid ancient elms, Stands the gray church of that green country-side, And there we lingered as we sauntered back, Heard the sweet litanies of even-song Blent with the rippling psalm of the bright wave, And so the golden and majestic hour Brought with its fading beam the solemn thought Of a dim personality divine That thro' the witching voices of the world, And all the winsome images of light, The freshness of the lonely moorland's calm, The nightly watch of unforgetful stars, The flowing of the amber founts of dawn, The haunting of the murmur of the sea, Into the raised imagination breathes Grave exaltation, and immortal fire, Infinite comfort, peace unspeakable, The dream of hope which quivers like new Day Above the clouded and mysterious ridge That ends the vision of the vale of life.
JOSEPH TRUMAN.
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