Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine, Volume 66, No. 410, December 1849Various
History
Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine, Volume 66, No. 410, December 1849
Various
England -- Periodicals; Scotland -- Periodicals
Lo, it is summer, almighty summer! The everlasting gates of life and
summer are thrown open wide; and on the ocean, tranquil and verdant as
a savannah, the unknown lady from the dreadful vision and I myself are
floating: she upon a fairy pinnace, and I upon an English three-decker.
But both of us are wooing gales of festal happiness within the domain
of our common country--within that ancient watery park--within that
pathless chase where England takes her pleasure as a huntress through
winter and summer, and which stretches from the rising to the setting
sun. Ah! what a wilderness of floral beauty was hidden, or was suddenly
revealed, upon the tropic islands through which the pinnace moved. And
upon her deck what a bevy of human flowers--young women how lovely,
young men how noble, that were dancing together, and slowly drifting
towards _us_ amidst music and incense, amidst blossoms from forests
and gorgeous corymbi from vintages, amidst natural caroling and the
echoes of sweet girlish laughter. Slowly the pinnace nears us, gaily
she hails us, and slowly she disappears beneath the shadow of our
mighty bows. But then, as at some signal from heaven, the music and the
carols, and the sweet echoing of girlish laughter--all are hushed. What
evil has smitten the pinnace, meeting or overtaking her? Did ruin to
our friends couch within our own dreadful shadow? Was our shadow the
shadow of death? I looked over the bow for an answer; and, behold! the
pinnace was dismantled; the revel and the revellers were found no more;
the glory of the vintage was dust; and the forest was left without a
witness to its beauty upon the seas. "But where," and I turned to our
own crew--"where are the lovely women that danced beneath the awning
of flowers and clustering corymbi? Whither have fled the noble young
men that danced with _them_?" Answer there was none. But suddenly the
man at the mast-head, whose countenance darkened with alarm, cried
aloud--"Sail on the weather-beam! Down she comes upon us; in seventy
seconds she will founder!"
2.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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