Metrical essays :: :: University of Virginia Library

“'Tis Evening.—On Abruzzo's hill
The summer sun is lingering still,—
As though unwilling to bereave
The landscape of its softest beam,—
So fair,—one can but look and grieve
To think, that, like a lovely dream,
A few brief fleeting moments more
Must see its reign of beauty o'er.”
Alaric A. Watts.

I

Sunset! the eve smiles like a regal bride,
Whose jewell'd garb magnificently beams;
Sunset! beneath the heavens far and wide,
The quiet universe of waters gleams.
Sunset upon the shore, like slumber still,
Sunset upon the cliff—the vale—the hill!

II

I saw the morn look from the sombre sky—
A morn like midnight—heavy, chill, and drear;
Convulsed it seem'd with some strange agony,
Which but to look upon spread woe and fear:
The mighty deep howled 'neath the deadly storm,
And shook, as if in rage, his giant form!—

III

I saw a ship upon her difficult path,
Cleaving with desperate power the boisterous wind;—
Vainly she strove 'gainst th' overwhelming wrath,
She sank!—nor left a single trace behind!—
One solitary scream swept by the shore,
And the warm pulse of hundreds—beat no more!

IV

The rock which seemed eternal as the heaven,
An archetype of strength with earth to last,
Even to its base was shiver'd, crush'd, and driven
Like feathers onward with the conquering blast!—
O! what is earthly pride—and earthly power,
Before the destined arm!—the destined hour!

V

Such was the morn!—how changed—how beautiful,
How tranquil—how magnificent the night—
No warring winds the golden vault may dull,
No heavy clouds veil its rejoicing light—
Beauty enwreaths the shore—the placid seas—
Joys in each sound—and freshness in each breeze.

VI

'Twas thus my mind the day's events reviewed,
Whispering the precepts of that noble one,
Who last amid this stately solitude,
On such a night—so lovely, calm, and lone—
Poured out his spirit on the silent air,
The genius of a mind—made dark by care.

VII

He had endured that bitterness of grief
Which knows no hope—no refuge—but the grave,
To which time may not minister relief,
Nor prayers from the wild rack of memory save;
He looked a glorious structure in decay—
Majestic still—although to fate a prey!

VIII

Fortune might change—it could not bend his soul—
Friends might prove false—he pitied and forgave—
The tongue of folly could not him controul—
The pomp of affluence he did not crave—
Climbing ambition he saw downward hurled—
Futile the states—the glories of this world!—

IX

What, cried he, is life's reign?—a transient hour—
The sovereignty of rank?—a meteor-beam—
The boasted strength of earth?—a summer flower—
Our dearly cherish'd hopes?—a passing dream—
Seek we not joys which perish with the morn,
Build monuments to Fame—which Time will scorn!—

X

For fame—the monarch turns to fields of fire—
For fame—the statesman vends his happiness—
For fame—the poet woos the grief-fraught lyre—
For fame—the seaman leaves his bride's caress—
For fame—how many million lives have paid!—
For fame—how many kingdoms lie decay'd!—

XI

O power of man—destruction waits thy tread—
O pride of man—despair attends thy call—
O hope of man—look to the silent dead—
O love of man—tears thy brief life inthral—
O hope and love what are ye at the best,
But beauteous roses—dying whilst carest!

XII

Grief rules the world—but there's a world above!—
Here all is change—there power eternal lives—
Here sorrow breathes—there every breath is love—
Here death consumes—there man o'er time survives!
Mortal, this very hour may speak thy doom;
Where is thy might to overcome the tomb!—