 | Poems by John B. Tabb |  |
79
THE RHYME OF THE ROCK.
Creation's morning broke upon my brow;
The joyous sea,
Baptized of light, as I behold it now,
Encompassed me
With all its breathing tides of voiceful majesty.
The joyous sea,
Baptized of light, as I behold it now,
Encompassed me
With all its breathing tides of voiceful majesty.
The tender dawn, a virgin, blushed before
The rising sun,
And wrought of mist a folding mantle pure
Her charms upon,
When, lo! the quickening glance she fondly strove to shun.
The rising sun,
And wrought of mist a folding mantle pure
Her charms upon,
When, lo! the quickening glance she fondly strove to shun.
Swift rolled to noon the unaccustomed wheel,
Then westward sped,
Where, fain the kindling radiance to feel,
Rich vapors spread
Beneath their monarch's feet, and o'er his regal head.
Then westward sped,
Where, fain the kindling radiance to feel,
Rich vapors spread
Beneath their monarch's feet, and o'er his regal head.
Then soft the budding crescent silvered through
The twilight dim,
And darkling to its full-blown splendor grew
The burnished rim,
While sang the choral waves a hoarse triumphal hymn.
The twilight dim,
And darkling to its full-blown splendor grew
The burnished rim,
While sang the choral waves a hoarse triumphal hymn.
80
The circling years to centuries untold,
As moments passed;
Nor Time nor Death one dismal shadow cold
Upon me cast:
All earth and heaven reposed in calm communion vast.
As moments passed;
Nor Time nor Death one dismal shadow cold
Upon me cast:
All earth and heaven reposed in calm communion vast.
But Change, alas! on sudden pinions borne,
With darkness fell;
And blind Confusion, from the womb uptorn
Of haggard Hell,
Spun o'er the dizzy world that shrunk their alien spell.
With darkness fell;
And blind Confusion, from the womb uptorn
Of haggard Hell,
Spun o'er the dizzy world that shrunk their alien spell.
Then drifted, prone upon the devious main,
Whose billows warm
Plunged headlong with the wayward hurricane,
A fragile form
Untented to the elements that swayed the storm.
Whose billows warm
Plunged headlong with the wayward hurricane,
A fragile form
Untented to the elements that swayed the storm.
The shudder of the thunder-bolt amazed
The welkin wide;
And, as in dumb bewilderment I gazed,
The cloven tide
Upheaved its burthen, motionless, upon my side.
The welkin wide;
And, as in dumb bewilderment I gazed,
The cloven tide
Upheaved its burthen, motionless, upon my side.
Ah! well-a-day! It was a maiden face,
A brow that shone
With the divine mortality and grace
That Death alone—
Pale sculptor!—graves, in mockery, on human stone!
A brow that shone
With the divine mortality and grace
That Death alone—
Pale sculptor!—graves, in mockery, on human stone!
81
“Art thou a child, sweet wanderer, of the sea,
Or earth, or air?
Whence comest thou,” I marveled, “unto me?
What winged care
Pursues a pathless voyager, so heavenly fair?”
Or earth, or air?
Whence comest thou,” I marveled, “unto me?
What winged care
Pursues a pathless voyager, so heavenly fair?”
No voice—no motion—for the sea had done
Its deed of death:
The first pale victim to its vengeance won
With briny breath
The foam had stifled and the waves that writhe beneath!
Its deed of death:
The first pale victim to its vengeance won
With briny breath
The foam had stifled and the waves that writhe beneath!
Had I but tears! Alas! my bosom cold,
How rough to be
Her resting place! No throb convulsive told
Its agony—
The dull imprisoned pain, unslaked, that wasted me!
How rough to be
Her resting place! No throb convulsive told
Its agony—
The dull imprisoned pain, unslaked, that wasted me!
And here she lay. The dewy twilight wept
Her woeful doom,
While the perpetual breezes fragrant kept
Her roofless tomb,
Whence meteors of the night dispelled sepulchral gloom.
Her woeful doom,
While the perpetual breezes fragrant kept
Her roofless tomb,
Whence meteors of the night dispelled sepulchral gloom.
And yonder light upon my summit set—
A beacon star—
Is tended of her watchful spirit yet,
That, from afar,
Warns the benighted sail that nears the harbor bar.
A beacon star—
Is tended of her watchful spirit yet,
That, from afar,
Warns the benighted sail that nears the harbor bar.
| Poems by John B. Tabb | |