Pleasant Memories of Pleasant Lands 1842/Clifton
CLIFTON.
Spot where the sick recover, and the well
Delighted roam, I bear thee on my heart,
With all thy portraiture of cliff and shade,
And the wild-footed Avon rushing in,
With Ocean's kingly message.
Here we stand,
To take our last farewell of England's shore,
And mid the graceful domes that smile serene
Through their embowering shades, recognise one,
Where she, who gave to Barley Wood its fame,
Breathed her last breath. 'T is meet that she should be
Remembered by that sex, whom long she strove
In their own sheltered sphere to elevate,
And rouse to higher aims than Fashion gives.
Methinks I see her in yon parlor-nook,
In arm-chair seated, calm in reverend age,
While that benevolence, which prompted toils
For high and low, precepts for royal ears,
And horn-book teachings for the cottage child
And shepherd boy, still brightens in her eye;
Auspicious image for this parting hour.
I give thee thanks, Old England! full of years,
Yet passing fair. Thy castles ivy-crowned,
Thy vast cathedrals, where old Time doth pause,
Like an o'er-spent destroyer, and lie down,
Feigning to sleep, and let their glory pass,
Thy mist-encircled hills, thy peaceful lakes,
Opening their bosoms mid the velvet meads,
Thy verdant hedges, with their tufted bloom,
Thy cottage children, ruddy as the flowers
That make their thatch-roofed homes so beautiful;
But more than all, those mighty minds that leave
A lasting foot- print on the sands of time;
These well repay me to have dared the deep,
That I might look upon them.
So, farewell!
I give thee thanks for all thy kindly words,
And deeds of hospitality to me,
A simple stranger. Thou art wonderful,
With thy few leagues of billow-beaten rock,
Lifting thy trident o'er the farthest seas,
And making to thyself in every zone
Some tributary. Thou, whose power has struck
The rusted links from drooping Afric's neck,
And bade thy winged ships in utmost seas
Be strong to rescue all her kidnapped race,
Bend the same eagle-eye and lion-heart
To mercy's work beneath thine Indian skies,
And in the bowels of thine own dark mines,
And where the thunder of the loom is fed
By childhood's misery, and where the moan
Of him, who fain would labor if he might,
Swells into madness for his famished babes;
Bow down thy coronet and search for them,
Healing their ailments with an angel's zeal,
Till all, who own thy sceptre's sway, be known
By the free smile upon their open brow,
And on their fervent lip a Christian's praise.
And now, farewell, Old England.
I should grieve
Much at the thought to see thy face no more,
But that my beckoning home doth seem so near
In vista o'er the wave, that its warm breath
Quickeneth my spirit to a dream of joy.
Peace be within thy walls, Ancestral Clime!
And in thy palaces, and on thy towers,
Prosperity. And may no war-cloud rise
'Tween thee and the young country of my birth,
That Saxon vine thou plantedst in the wild
Where red men roamed. Oh! lift no sword again,
Mother and Daughter!
Shed no more the blood
That from one kindred fountain fills your veins.
Show the poor heathen, in earth's darkest place,
The excellence of faith by its sweet deeds
Of peace and charity. So may ye stand,
Each on her pedestal that breasts the surge,
Until the strong archangel, with his foot
On sea and land, shall toll the knell of time.
Thursday, April 8, 1841.
The bold, rocky scenery of Clifton is after my own heart. There, at the base of beetling cliffs, and through overhanging defiles, the Avon, which in so many other places glides with a serene, classic flow, rushes in with tides of thirty-five feet. We saw many elegant mansions in commanding situations, and a suspension bridge in progress, where workmen were crossing by rope and basket at a tremendously dizzy height.
The house, where Mrs. Hannah More passed the last years of her venerable and useful life, was to us an interesting object. Almost as a pioneer for her sex, she entered the field of intellectual labor, warning them to forsake frivolity of pursuit, and exert in their own proper sphere their latent power to improve and elevate society. With a versatility equalled only by her persevering industry, she adapted the rudiments of moral truth to the comprehension of the collier, the farmer's boy, and the orange-girl; marked out the map of life for a princess; or followed in the heights of his sublime piety, the "very chiefest of the apostles." An "upright and clarified common sense" guided her through daily and difficult duties, and in the words of her biographer, "having wings upon her shoulders, wherewith she might have soared, had it pleased her, she yet chose to combat on the same ground with ignorance, and prejudice, and folly." Her writings, at their earliest issue from the press, were welcomed and circulated in America, and she testified for its inhabitants a kindness which increased with her advancing years. Indeed, friendly feelings towards our country seemed prevalent among all with whom we associated in Great Britain. Symptoms of disaffection or hostility between the nations were deprecated by the wisest and best, as unnatural, inexpedient, and unchristian. It was freely acknowledged that whatever promoted amity between two nations, united by the ties of an active commerce, common language, and kindred origin, was highly desirable. And to us, while strangers and sojourners in that foreign land, it was cheering to find such numbers ready to respond to the words of that remarkable writer, Carlyle, and "rejoice greatly in the bridging of oceans, and in the near and nearer approach, which effectuates itself in these years, between the Englands, Old and New,―the strapping daughter, and the honest old parent, glad and proud to see such off-spring."
The Mother and Daughter! Ought they not to dwell together in unity, believing as they do, in "one Lord, one faith, one baptism?" Let every traveller labor to that end; and though the lines that he traces may be as slight and soon forgotten as the spider's web, let him throw them forth for good, and not for evil.