Poems (E. L. F.)/On visiting staffa
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LINES ON VISITING STAFFA.
August 1858.
Go visit Stafta: to the wondering soul
There is no spot on earth or sea can claim
One-half its magic power; o'er the mute mind—
Struck dumb in deep amazement—beauty, grandeur, power,
Meet and commingle in stupendous whole.
Oh! the dark beauty of the ocean wave,
Bounding and bursting through the sea-girt cave;
Foaming and breaking onward evermore,
O'er the rude island and its pillared shore.
There is no human life on that bare rock—
Too bleak, too lone and desolate for man—
Yet beasts and birds do congregate thereon,
And wake wild music on that rugged strand.
A columned monument of power divine!
Nature's own hand-craft, all untouched by time,
It stands in beauty, majesty, and power,
A rock of ages, present, and to come.
Long will the memory of that sea-bound cave
Glide in its beauty o'er the awe-struck mind;
And the deep music of the rushing wave,
Leave the sad echo of its lull behind.
Yet one thing lacked this worshipped scene to me,
And that was solitude, save me and thee.
I would not have the gay and garish crowd,
In stage-struck mimicry and voices loud,
Proclaiming each and every deep emotion
Of that wild scene, amid the wilder ocean.
Oh, no! 1n silent wonder worship there,
And, if an echo, but the voice of prayer.
Go visit Stafta: to the wondering soul
There is no spot on earth or sea can claim
One-half its magic power; o'er the mute mind—
Struck dumb in deep amazement—beauty, grandeur, power,
Meet and commingle in stupendous whole.
Oh! the dark beauty of the ocean wave,
Bounding and bursting through the sea-girt cave;
Foaming and breaking onward evermore,
O'er the rude island and its pillared shore.
There is no human life on that bare rock—
Too bleak, too lone and desolate for man—
Yet beasts and birds do congregate thereon,
And wake wild music on that rugged strand.
A columned monument of power divine!
Nature's own hand-craft, all untouched by time,
It stands in beauty, majesty, and power,
A rock of ages, present, and to come.
Long will the memory of that sea-bound cave
Glide in its beauty o'er the awe-struck mind;
And the deep music of the rushing wave,
Leave the sad echo of its lull behind.
Yet one thing lacked this worshipped scene to me,
And that was solitude, save me and thee.
I would not have the gay and garish crowd,
In stage-struck mimicry and voices loud,
Proclaiming each and every deep emotion
Of that wild scene, amid the wilder ocean.
Oh, no! 1n silent wonder worship there,
And, if an echo, but the voice of prayer.