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A NYMPH'S SONG; OF THE TRUE HAPPINESS, by             Poem Explanation     Poet Analysis     Poet's Biography
First Line: Amidst the azure clear
Last Line: "and echoes rang, ""this was true happiness."
Alternate Author Name(s): Drummond, William
Subject(s): Happiness; Joy; Delight


Amidst the azure clear
Of Jordan's sacred streams,
Jordan, of Lebanon the offspring dear,
When zephyrs flow'rs unclose,
And sun shines with new beams,
With grave and stately grace a Nymph arose.
Upon her head she ware
Of amaranths a crown;
Her left hand palms, her right a torch did bear;
Unveiled skin's whiteness lay;
Gold hairs in curls hung down;
Eyes sparkled joy, more bright than star of day.
The flood a throne her reared
Of waves, most like that heaven
Where beaming stars in glory turn ensphered.
The air stood calm and clear,
No sigh by winds was given,
Birds left to sing, herds feed, -- her voice to hear:

"World-wand'ring sorry wights,
Whom nothing can content
Within these varying lists of days and nights;
Whose life, ere known amiss,
In glitt'ring griefs is spent;
Come learn," said she, "what is your choicest bliss:
From toil and pressing cares
How ye may respite find,
A sanctuary from soul-thralling snares;
A port to harbour sure,
In spite of waves and wind,
Which shall, when time's swift glass is run, endure.

"Not happy is that life
Which you as happy hold;
No, but a sea of fears, a field of strife;
Charg'd on a throne to sit
With diadems of gold,
Preserv'd by force, and still observ'd by wit;
Huge treasures to enjoy,
Of all her gems spoil Ind,
All Seres' silk in garments to employ,
Deliciously to feed,
The phoenix' plumes to find
To rest upon, or deck your purple bed;
Frail beauty to abuse,
And, wanton Sybarites,
On past or present touch of sense to muse;
Never to hear of noise
But what the ear delights,
Sweet music's charms, or charming flatterer's voice.
Nor can it bliss you bring,
Hid Nature's depths to know,
Why matter changeth, whence each form doth spring;
Nor that your fame should range,
And after-worlds it blow
From Tanais to Nile, from Nile to Gange.
All these have not the power
To free the mind from fears,
Nor hideous horror can allay one hour,
When death in stealth doth glance,
In sickness lurks or years,
And wakes the soul from out her mortal trance.

"No, but blest life is this:
With chaste and pure desire
To turn unto the load-star of all bliss,
On God the mind to rest,
Burnt up with sacred fire,
Possessing Him to be by Him possest;
When to the balmy east
Sun doth his light impart,
Or when he diveth in the lowly west
And ravisheth the day,
With spotless hand and heart
Him cheerfully to praise, and to Him pray;
To heed each action so
As ever in his sight,
More fearing doing ill than passive woe;
Not to seem other thing
Than what ye are aright;
Never to do what may repentance bring;
Not to be blown with pride,
Nor mov'd at glory's breath,
Which shadow-like on wings of time doth glide;
So malice to disarm
And conquer hasty wrath,
As to do good to those that work your harm;
To hatch no base desires
Or gold or land to gain,
Well pleas'd with that which virtue fair acquires;
To have the wit and will
Consorting in one strain,
Than what is good to have no higher skill;
Never on neighbour's goods
With cockatrice's eye
To look, nor make another's heaven your hell;
Nor to be beauty's thrall,
All fruitless love to fly,
Yet loving still a Love transcendent all,
A Love which, while it burns
The soul with fairest beams,
To that increate sun the soul it turns,
And makes such beauty prove,
That, if sense saw her gleams
All lookers on would pine and die for Love.
"Who such a life doth live
You happy even may call
Ere ruthless Death a wished end him give;
And after then when given,
More happy by his fall,
For humanes' earth, enjoying angels' heaven.

"Swift is your mortal race,
And glassy is the field;
Vast are desires not limited by grace:
Life a weak taper is;
Then while it light doth yield,
Leave flying joys, embrace this lasting bliss."

This when the nymph had said,
She dived within the flood,
Whose face with smiling curls long after staid;
Then sighs did zephyrs press,
Birds sang from every wood,
And echoes rang, "This was true Happiness."





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