The poems and prose writings of Sumner Lincoln Fairfield In two volumes |
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THE DREAM OF THE SEPULCHRE.
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 | The poems and prose writings of Sumner Lincoln Fairfield |  |
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THE DREAM OF THE SEPULCHRE.
In solemn commune of the lone still night,
When, throned in heaven, the stars beam brightly clear,
Shedding on earth dim shadowings of that light,
Whose radiance gleams o'er glory's brightest sphere,
I oft have dwelt on that recoiling fear,
That shuddering awe which bows the human mind,
When beckoning shadows in the gloom appear,
Or sheeted phantoms wail in midnight wind,
Dread visitants, uncalled, unto their shuddering kind.
When, throned in heaven, the stars beam brightly clear,
Shedding on earth dim shadowings of that light,
Whose radiance gleams o'er glory's brightest sphere,
I oft have dwelt on that recoiling fear,
That shuddering awe which bows the human mind,
When beckoning shadows in the gloom appear,
Or sheeted phantoms wail in midnight wind,
Dread visitants, uncalled, unto their shuddering kind.
And it hath seemed an awful thing and strange
That unblest spirits o'er the earth should roam,
Unbanned, tho' feared—for ever bringing change,
Sorrow and death—prophetic shades of doom!
Mystery of mysteries! not e'en the tomb
Vouchsafeth slumber unto souls unblest,
But from sepulchral darkness they will come,
From their dark prison and their chill unrest,
And with mute horror freeze the fountains of the breast.
That unblest spirits o'er the earth should roam,
Unbanned, tho' feared—for ever bringing change,
Sorrow and death—prophetic shades of doom!
Mystery of mysteries! not e'en the tomb
Vouchsafeth slumber unto souls unblest,
But from sepulchral darkness they will come,
From their dark prison and their chill unrest,
And with mute horror freeze the fountains of the breast.
In every age, in every clime, vain man
Hath sought what, found, could give him only woe;
Since the long eras of despair began
He hath desired that knowledge which doth grow
In the dark vale of death alone—and so
His spirit hath no rest—he pants to drink
The waters that will poison ages!—Go!
Turn not! away from horror's dizzy brink,
For vain are all the thoughts thy burning brain can think!
Hath sought what, found, could give him only woe;
Since the long eras of despair began
He hath desired that knowledge which doth grow
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His spirit hath no rest—he pants to drink
The waters that will poison ages!—Go!
Turn not! away from horror's dizzy brink,
For vain are all the thoughts thy burning brain can think!
Dreams, omens, apparitions—tales of eld—
Vague oracles and auspices and charms,
And spells of hoary magi—holy held—
All that electrifies, enchants, alarms,
And lays, as 't were, within our living arms
The secrets of Eternity; all these,
While life's quick spirit every bosom warms,
Will be, as they have been, the sounding seas,
O'er which man's soul goes forth, a barque before the breeze.
Vague oracles and auspices and charms,
And spells of hoary magi—holy held—
All that electrifies, enchants, alarms,
And lays, as 't were, within our living arms
The secrets of Eternity; all these,
While life's quick spirit every bosom warms,
Will be, as they have been, the sounding seas,
O'er which man's soul goes forth, a barque before the breeze.
And these will warp the spirit in their power,
And crush the green buds of the heart, and throw
The gloom of destined grief o'er every hour;
Thus tribulations and hard trials grow
To utter agony—despairing woe—
Low wailing discontent and blasphemy;
Thus hope forsakes us in the rosy glow
Of young desire—and o'er our morning sky
The tempest gathers dark on youth's rejoicing eye.
And crush the green buds of the heart, and throw
The gloom of destined grief o'er every hour;
Thus tribulations and hard trials grow
To utter agony—despairing woe—
Low wailing discontent and blasphemy;
Thus hope forsakes us in the rosy glow
Of young desire—and o'er our morning sky
The tempest gathers dark on youth's rejoicing eye.
Yet gray-hair'd sages, skilled in secret lore,
Against the fearful creed have vainly striven;
Shadows uncouth have gloomed on dusky shore
And dark bleak heath amid the gathering even;
Strange forms have glimmered o'er the twilight heaven,
E'en to the eyes of wisdom, unlike earth's,
And howling shrieks, upon the tempest driven,
Blanched rosy cheeks round merry crackling hearths,
And frantic mothers mourned o'er diabolic births.
Against the fearful creed have vainly striven;
Shadows uncouth have gloomed on dusky shore
And dark bleak heath amid the gathering even;
Strange forms have glimmered o'er the twilight heaven,
E'en to the eyes of wisdom, unlike earth's,
And howling shrieks, upon the tempest driven,
Blanched rosy cheeks round merry crackling hearths,
And frantic mothers mourned o'er diabolic births.
The lamp's red light hath suddenly turned dim;
Wild hollow gusts moaned o'er the midnight sky;
From halls of banquet wailed the funeral hymn,
While terror clouded the inquiring eye,
And shook the shuddering heart in mastery,
When faltering voices awful knowledge sought,
And pale lips quivered, breathless for reply
To daring question of mysterious Nought,
Whose gibbering accents fell—annihilating thought.
Wild hollow gusts moaned o'er the midnight sky;
From halls of banquet wailed the funeral hymn,
While terror clouded the inquiring eye,
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When faltering voices awful knowledge sought,
And pale lips quivered, breathless for reply
To daring question of mysterious Nought,
Whose gibbering accents fell—annihilating thought.
Mail'd knights, their helms and gorgets streaming blood,
And their torn banners spotted with dark gore,
Have blown their warhorns in the mountain wood
Till every cavern echoed to the roar;
And coal-black steeds, mid arrowy lightnings, o'er
The precipice have leapt and clattered on
Through rock-barr'd glens, by ocean's sounding shore,
While their dead riders, from their eyes of stone,
Flashed forth a demon light and raised an awful moan.
And their torn banners spotted with dark gore,
Have blown their warhorns in the mountain wood
Till every cavern echoed to the roar;
And coal-black steeds, mid arrowy lightnings, o'er
The precipice have leapt and clattered on
Through rock-barr'd glens, by ocean's sounding shore,
While their dead riders, from their eyes of stone,
Flashed forth a demon light and raised an awful moan.
Mid the deep passes of the Odenwold
Or Hartz—meet haunt for fiends that tempt and kill,
The traveller's heart in terror hath grown cold,
As, like a whirlwind, up the haunted hill,
Where all was vast and dark and ghostly still,
He hurried on—nor dared to turn his head—
While yet the night obeyed the demon's will,
And round him flocked an army of the dead,
With juggling giant fiends, who mocked him as he fled.
Or Hartz—meet haunt for fiends that tempt and kill,
The traveller's heart in terror hath grown cold,
As, like a whirlwind, up the haunted hill,
Where all was vast and dark and ghostly still,
He hurried on—nor dared to turn his head—
While yet the night obeyed the demon's will,
And round him flocked an army of the dead,
With juggling giant fiends, who mocked him as he fled.
Where old St Gothard, from his alpine height,
O'erlooks the avalanche and glacier steep,
The monk hath wakened, in a wild affright,
From troubled trances that do murder sleep,
And leave the wearied eye in vain to weep,
While the Wild Huntsman and his train went by,—
Hounds baying, bugles wailing—one wide sweep
Of woodland warfare, that portended nigh
The viewless woes of all called forth to do or die.
O'erlooks the avalanche and glacier steep,
The monk hath wakened, in a wild affright,
From troubled trances that do murder sleep,
And leave the wearied eye in vain to weep,
While the Wild Huntsman and his train went by,—
Hounds baying, bugles wailing—one wide sweep
Of woodland warfare, that portended nigh
The viewless woes of all called forth to do or die.
The assassin host hath started from his feast,
When the loud summons shook his castle-gate,
And on his tongue died merry tale and jest
At the dread warning of triumphant Fate!
Through mossgrown towers and vast halls desolate
Till morn rëechoes the slow armed tread,
And, where the ancient chieftain whilome sate,
Fixed eyes unearthly gleam, as if the dead
Were throned in judgment o'er dark deeds of years long fled.
When the loud summons shook his castle-gate,
And on his tongue died merry tale and jest
At the dread warning of triumphant Fate!
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Till morn rëechoes the slow armed tread,
And, where the ancient chieftain whilome sate,
Fixed eyes unearthly gleam, as if the dead
Were throned in judgment o'er dark deeds of years long fled.
Barons have trembled like their vassals when
Death shook his cerements off, and came among
The living, like a victor;—priests have then
Clung to their shrines e'en as the voiceless tongue
Grew to the quivering palate;—vaults have rung
With vigil prayers and groans of agony,
And moans of penance and low dirges sung,
Till the scared worshippers made haste to flee,
And hurried, baffled in their power, in dark crowds franticly.
Death shook his cerements off, and came among
The living, like a victor;—priests have then
Clung to their shrines e'en as the voiceless tongue
Grew to the quivering palate;—vaults have rung
With vigil prayers and groans of agony,
And moans of penance and low dirges sung,
Till the scared worshippers made haste to flee,
And hurried, baffled in their power, in dark crowds franticly.
Mid the deep silence of her sacred cell,
The vestal hath forgot to tell her beads,
And listened to the agonizing yell,
That fearfully revealed most fearful deeds!
Vain, then, were crucifix and prayers and creeds,
Vain the dim vigil and the patient fast—
Still, like the moaning of sepulchral weeds,
Sighs, as of suffering spirits, by her passed,
And shrieks thro' cloisters rung—the wildest and the last.
The vestal hath forgot to tell her beads,
And listened to the agonizing yell,
That fearfully revealed most fearful deeds!
Vain, then, were crucifix and prayers and creeds,
Vain the dim vigil and the patient fast—
Still, like the moaning of sepulchral weeds,
Sighs, as of suffering spirits, by her passed,
And shrieks thro' cloisters rung—the wildest and the last.
Why come these bodements of approaching ill
O'er Thought, the silent language heaven doth hear?
Why quails the heart, with a pervading thrill,
At the dim shades of what it should not fear?
—All we should know is known and felt;—draw near!
Read the fair volume of the earth and skies!
Rest thou on Hope, without a sigh or tear!
And joy on earth shall be thy glorious prize,
While He, thy Helper, reads the fearful mysteries.
O'er Thought, the silent language heaven doth hear?
Why quails the heart, with a pervading thrill,
At the dim shades of what it should not fear?
—All we should know is known and felt;—draw near!
Read the fair volume of the earth and skies!
Rest thou on Hope, without a sigh or tear!
And joy on earth shall be thy glorious prize,
While He, thy Helper, reads the fearful mysteries.
And when thy pathway is beset, and grief
Waits on thee like a shadow, and thou art
An alien from thy kind—a pilgrim-chief
On life's wild desert, yet thy yearning heart
Will cling to its youth's heaven and impart
The tender beauty of its blest repose
To all that lives; so thou dost ne'er depart
From truth revealed, nor crown thy many woes
By dark distrust and doubt that round thy spirit close.
Waits on thee like a shadow, and thou art
An alien from thy kind—a pilgrim-chief
On life's wild desert, yet thy yearning heart
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The tender beauty of its blest repose
To all that lives; so thou dost ne'er depart
From truth revealed, nor crown thy many woes
By dark distrust and doubt that round thy spirit close.
Strange things have been, if there be truth in oath,
And mighty men have been o'ercome with dread,
And holy priests of bell and book—though loth
To quail before the inessential dead;
The wisest, purest, bravest, best have fled
From midnight wailings and mysterious forms,
Nor dared to watch the slow unsounding tread,
Nor hear the shrieks, mid wildly bickering storms,
Of souls unblest that howled o'er their cold bed of worms.
And mighty men have been o'ercome with dread,
And holy priests of bell and book—though loth
To quail before the inessential dead;
The wisest, purest, bravest, best have fled
From midnight wailings and mysterious forms,
Nor dared to watch the slow unsounding tread,
Nor hear the shrieks, mid wildly bickering storms,
Of souls unblest that howled o'er their cold bed of worms.
And mind hath quailed to phantasies, and signs
Upon the heart have fallen like a hell;
Life hath been measured by the palmer's lines,
Whose hours allotted God alone can tell;
And seasons have been sanctities, whose spell
Was bane to beauty and a blight to love;
And men have drunken at the merlin's well
Till demons peopled every idol grove,
And shut from human eyes the glory from above.
Upon the heart have fallen like a hell;
Life hath been measured by the palmer's lines,
Whose hours allotted God alone can tell;
And seasons have been sanctities, whose spell
Was bane to beauty and a blight to love;
And men have drunken at the merlin's well
Till demons peopled every idol grove,
And shut from human eyes the glory from above.
“We meet at Philippi!” the Phantom said,
And Rome was lost when her last hero fell—
Fell where the ghost of vanquished Cæsar led,
While Freedom vanished and the funeral knell
Toll'd for her country!—To the wizzard's cell
Crowds throng to perish 'neath inflicted fears
Deeper and deadlier than their dreaded hell,
While ghastly spectres of predestined years
Gasp hideous smiles and mock at unavailing tears.
And Rome was lost when her last hero fell—
Fell where the ghost of vanquished Cæsar led,
While Freedom vanished and the funeral knell
Toll'd for her country!—To the wizzard's cell
Crowds throng to perish 'neath inflicted fears
Deeper and deadlier than their dreaded hell,
While ghastly spectres of predestined years
Gasp hideous smiles and mock at unavailing tears.
There is a voice in every leaf that stirs.
Amid the greenwood, when the twilight air
Sighs through the oaken boughs or close thick firs,
Revealing future glory or despair;
And melancholy Thought from things that are
Catches dim glimpses of the days to come,
And thus sky, earth and sounding ocean wear
The ghastly glimmer of a quivering gloom,
The hue of voiceless Fear—the terror of the Tomb.
Amid the greenwood, when the twilight air
Sighs through the oaken boughs or close thick firs,
Revealing future glory or despair;
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Catches dim glimpses of the days to come,
And thus sky, earth and sounding ocean wear
The ghastly glimmer of a quivering gloom,
The hue of voiceless Fear—the terror of the Tomb.
The mind of Man! a strange and awful Power!
Seraphic brightness shadowed o'er by dust!
A god that left its paradise an hour,
And clothed itself in clay—its hope and trust
Still yearning for the mansions of the just.
Dimmed, not polluted, by the body's ills,
(Like virgin gold most precious 'neath its rust)
The spirit here its pilgrimage fulfils,
And heaven receives its thoughts, as ocean, countless rills.
Seraphic brightness shadowed o'er by dust!
A god that left its paradise an hour,
And clothed itself in clay—its hope and trust
Still yearning for the mansions of the just.
Dimmed, not polluted, by the body's ills,
(Like virgin gold most precious 'neath its rust)
The spirit here its pilgrimage fulfils,
And heaven receives its thoughts, as ocean, countless rills.
To die is doom and Life enacts our Death—
That should not daunt us nor the manner how;
So we escape the villenage of breath,
And all the sorrows that beset us now;
But in the deep guilt of a broken vow,
And sin unpardoned, to behold the ban
And fear yet shun it not—oh! this is woe
Which quenches mind, that cannot choose but scan
The endless errors and the destiny of man.
That should not daunt us nor the manner how;
So we escape the villenage of breath,
And all the sorrows that beset us now;
But in the deep guilt of a broken vow,
And sin unpardoned, to behold the ban
And fear yet shun it not—oh! this is woe
Which quenches mind, that cannot choose but scan
The endless errors and the destiny of man.
Mid the vast pomp of Judah's sacred fane
The holy man in glistening ephod passed,
And marked the Chosen; while, like April rain,
Guilt's blood poured forth; and thus, until the last,
Crime unredeemed will stain the boundless waste
Of life,—and he that sinneth can but die;
Yet for the few who shun the desert blast
Of Evil, joy still dwells beneath the sky,
And Hope that mounteth up—whose Eden is on high.
The holy man in glistening ephod passed,
And marked the Chosen; while, like April rain,
Guilt's blood poured forth; and thus, until the last,
Crime unredeemed will stain the boundless waste
Of life,—and he that sinneth can but die;
Yet for the few who shun the desert blast
Of Evil, joy still dwells beneath the sky,
And Hope that mounteth up—whose Eden is on high.
To thoughtful wisdom every spot of earth
Is full of beauty, every sound, of joy,
And the soul revels in its deathless birth,
And feels in age the genius of the boy.
So He ordains who dwelleth in the sky,
Though billowy clouds float round about His throne,
And darkness His pavilion is on high,
For justly He beholdeth all that 's done,
And chooseth from the earth the souls that are His own.
Is full of beauty, every sound, of joy,
And the soul revels in its deathless birth,
And feels in age the genius of the boy.
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Though billowy clouds float round about His throne,
And darkness His pavilion is on high,
For justly He beholdeth all that 's done,
And chooseth from the earth the souls that are His own.
The world is full of terror—terror born
Of what we know not; like the sacred gold
That Brennus stole from Delphi, left forlorn,
Life is a fatal treasure! we grow old
In early youth and human joy is sold
For fear that bringeth woe; bound down, girt round
With woes we never can on earth unfold,
We still must bear, while every sight and sound
Chills the wild breaking heart in sorcery's fetters bound.
Of what we know not; like the sacred gold
That Brennus stole from Delphi, left forlorn,
Life is a fatal treasure! we grow old
In early youth and human joy is sold
For fear that bringeth woe; bound down, girt round
With woes we never can on earth unfold,
We still must bear, while every sight and sound
Chills the wild breaking heart in sorcery's fetters bound.
We are not of the things we seem; there lies
A boundlessness we search not—cannot know—
Around, and, like the starry fields and skies,
Thoughts distant mingle in a maze of woe
And break the spirit down and o'er us throw
The robe of Nessus; knowledge skills not here;
In the dark commune of a dream, we grow
Unto the things we fashion and the tear,
Unshed, doth turn to ice and this the heart must bear.
A boundlessness we search not—cannot know—
Around, and, like the starry fields and skies,
Thoughts distant mingle in a maze of woe
And break the spirit down and o'er us throw
The robe of Nessus; knowledge skills not here;
In the dark commune of a dream, we grow
Unto the things we fashion and the tear,
Unshed, doth turn to ice and this the heart must bear.
The spirit cannot grasp what it defines;
All must believe what none can comprehend;
Our Fate must trace the long, the fatal lines
That bind our hearts and with their being end!
We are but shadows here; strange things that blend
Oft with the earth—sometimes, with heaven; like snow,
Pure in the dayspring of our birth, we wend
After in the world's wide pathway and soon grow
Familiar with Earth's guilt and all the sinner's woe.
All must believe what none can comprehend;
Our Fate must trace the long, the fatal lines
That bind our hearts and with their being end!
We are but shadows here; strange things that blend
Oft with the earth—sometimes, with heaven; like snow,
Pure in the dayspring of our birth, we wend
After in the world's wide pathway and soon grow
Familiar with Earth's guilt and all the sinner's woe.
Dark visions of the Sceptic! where ye lead
Thousands will follow; what ye teach, believe!
Tremble! dim reason is the failing reed
Ye lean upon in mystery! Oh, deceive
The widowed heart no more, or it must grieve
O'er the cold ruin of its darkened shrine,
And, as it wanders, still behind it leave
Its godlike powers, high thoughts and hopes benign—
And the immortal Light that proved its birth divine!
Thousands will follow; what ye teach, believe!
Tremble! dim reason is the failing reed
Ye lean upon in mystery! Oh, deceive
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O'er the cold ruin of its darkened shrine,
And, as it wanders, still behind it leave
Its godlike powers, high thoughts and hopes benign—
And the immortal Light that proved its birth divine!
False as responses from Dodona's cave,
Or rude Telmessus, are the unearthly fears
That haunt the heart thro' being to the grave,
And change to agony outgushing tears;
Yet every changeful leaf and shadow bears
Some dim similitude of woes to come,
And lone reflection, like dark waters, wears
Life's life away—in peril of its doom—
Till the grieved spirit parts and wanders to its home.
Or rude Telmessus, are the unearthly fears
That haunt the heart thro' being to the grave,
And change to agony outgushing tears;
Yet every changeful leaf and shadow bears
Some dim similitude of woes to come,
And lone reflection, like dark waters, wears
Life's life away—in peril of its doom—
Till the grieved spirit parts and wanders to its home.
The midnight churchyard and the lonely heath,
The o'erarched forest and the ruined tower,
Where stilly roam the images of death,
Where goblins gibber at the voiceless hour,
And strange appearances, like giants, lour
Thro' the dead darkness of the creaking wood—
Oh! these are seasons when the fiend hath power,
And places where he tempteth men to blood,
While madness springs from fear and stunning solitude.
The o'erarched forest and the ruined tower,
Where stilly roam the images of death,
Where goblins gibber at the voiceless hour,
And strange appearances, like giants, lour
Thro' the dead darkness of the creaking wood—
Oh! these are seasons when the fiend hath power,
And places where he tempteth men to blood,
While madness springs from fear and stunning solitude.
And these things, awful in their mystery, fill
The o'ercharged heart with horror past all speech,
And shoot thro' every vein a quivering thrill,
An awe that petrifies, beyond the reach
Of human healing; wisdom cannot teach
Knowledge, nor tame the terrors that will bear
The spirit into frenzy! Preach, oh, preach,
In zealot dooming to the empty air,
Ye ministers of men! then tremble in despair!
The o'ercharged heart with horror past all speech,
And shoot thro' every vein a quivering thrill,
An awe that petrifies, beyond the reach
Of human healing; wisdom cannot teach
Knowledge, nor tame the terrors that will bear
The spirit into frenzy! Preach, oh, preach,
In zealot dooming to the empty air,
Ye ministers of men! then tremble in despair!
Reveal your mission! rend away the veil!
Tell us what 't is we dread and what we are!
Cloud not the heart whose thickening pulses fail!
Doubt o'er us hangs, like a cold distant star,
That shows but darkness—truth abides afar,
None knoweth where; but are ye of the skies,
Yet cannot tear away the obstructing bar,
That shuts out knowledge? Light our groping eyes,
Or never more o'ercloud the eternal mysteries?
Tell us what 't is we dread and what we are!
Cloud not the heart whose thickening pulses fail!
Doubt o'er us hangs, like a cold distant star,
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None knoweth where; but are ye of the skies,
Yet cannot tear away the obstructing bar,
That shuts out knowledge? Light our groping eyes,
Or never more o'ercloud the eternal mysteries?
Where are we? Earth doth seem a hell afar
From the bright dwellings of the pure and high;
The darkened mockery of a cold dim star,
That, ages since, dropped from the glorious sky!
—What are we? Angels vouchsafe no reply,
And our own thoughts are but a maze of dreams,
That wrap us in delusion; the soul's eye
Is dimmed by doubt and dazzled by the gleams,
That flash from heaven o'er earth, like lightning o'er dark streams
From the bright dwellings of the pure and high;
The darkened mockery of a cold dim star,
That, ages since, dropped from the glorious sky!
—What are we? Angels vouchsafe no reply,
And our own thoughts are but a maze of dreams,
That wrap us in delusion; the soul's eye
Is dimmed by doubt and dazzled by the gleams,
That flash from heaven o'er earth, like lightning o'er dark streams
Why should we live to be the thrall of fears,
That sear the bleeding bosom? Why abide
Where Hope's frail flowers are watered by our tears,
Where passion riots on the wreck of pride,
And every joy is hurried down the tide
Of Time to dim oblivion?—All is pain,
Our birth, life, death—and, onward as we glide,
We leave behind the things we love, full fain
To linger near past joys we shall not see again.
That sear the bleeding bosom? Why abide
Where Hope's frail flowers are watered by our tears,
Where passion riots on the wreck of pride,
And every joy is hurried down the tide
Of Time to dim oblivion?—All is pain,
Our birth, life, death—and, onward as we glide,
We leave behind the things we love, full fain
To linger near past joys we shall not see again.
Why such things are, earth never can reveal!
The canon of our doom hath found its close!
The dread Dispensers of our woe or weal
O'er earth and heaven—its angels or its foes—
Wander where'er the tide of being flows;
We know not, none know, where our path began
Nor where 't will end! but while the blue sky glows,
And seasons bless our bosoms, still the ban
Of Evil doth not blight the moral heart of man.
The canon of our doom hath found its close!
The dread Dispensers of our woe or weal
O'er earth and heaven—its angels or its foes—
Wander where'er the tide of being flows;
We know not, none know, where our path began
Nor where 't will end! but while the blue sky glows,
And seasons bless our bosoms, still the ban
Of Evil doth not blight the moral heart of man.
Though branded by the taint of sin, and blurr'd
By the dire passions of our earthly lot;
Though upas envy in the soul hath stirr'd,
And dark revenge that cannot be forgot;
Though murder leaves its hecatombs to rot,
And bandit kings are Earth's Liege Lords of woe;
Yet there 's redeeming beauty for the blot,
And blessedness, that, with a mellow glow,
Lights up the deepest stains that steep our hearts below.
By the dire passions of our earthly lot;
Though upas envy in the soul hath stirr'd,
And dark revenge that cannot be forgot;
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And bandit kings are Earth's Liege Lords of woe;
Yet there 's redeeming beauty for the blot,
And blessedness, that, with a mellow glow,
Lights up the deepest stains that steep our hearts below.
E'en as I write, old ocean's billows swell
And rush and roar around me, and the sun
Gleams o'er the Atlantic waters as they well
From the deep fountains of the depths; near done,
The summer eve sinks on the sea, and on
The gallant ship careers like hope to Heaven!
But all is mystery around; we run
A race with fate in darkness, and 't is given
Our weary, fainting hearts to be asunder riven;
And rush and roar around me, and the sun
Gleams o'er the Atlantic waters as they well
From the deep fountains of the depths; near done,
The summer eve sinks on the sea, and on
The gallant ship careers like hope to Heaven!
But all is mystery around; we run
A race with fate in darkness, and 't is given
Our weary, fainting hearts to be asunder riven;
Or worn, like rocky channels, till our life
Becomes an agony—a burning thirst,
A gasping fever—a Prometheus strife
With Destiny almighty from the first!
Vain is the song that from the heart hath burst,
Vain is the incense of the poet's soul,
Vain, deeds of glory blessed or accursed,
And vain the fruits of seasons as they roll,
If human hearts bow not to Him who guides the whole.
Becomes an agony—a burning thirst,
A gasping fever—a Prometheus strife
With Destiny almighty from the first!
Vain is the song that from the heart hath burst,
Vain is the incense of the poet's soul,
Vain, deeds of glory blessed or accursed,
And vain the fruits of seasons as they roll,
If human hearts bow not to Him who guides the whole.
Dark the palazzo of the sunny south
To him whose spirit broods o'er wrong and ill;
Dark the fresh bloom of innocence and youth
To the chained victim of his own wild will!
Love's first warm gush and Joy's electric thrill
Stern passion changeth into bitter grief,
But meek contentedness abideth still,
And humble trust that is its own relief,—
The blossomed seed in spring—the golden autumn sheaf
To him whose spirit broods o'er wrong and ill;
Dark the fresh bloom of innocence and youth
To the chained victim of his own wild will!
Love's first warm gush and Joy's electric thrill
Stern passion changeth into bitter grief,
But meek contentedness abideth still,
And humble trust that is its own relief,—
The blossomed seed in spring—the golden autumn sheaf
Like twilight shed from treetops on blue streams,
The future shadoweth o'er the yearning mind,
That is a dim and dusky heaven of dreams,
Where high events are uttered by the wind;
Yet to a bosom humbled and resigned
Still there is Hope—high; holy hope, that soars
To realms the dervise never yet divined,
Where seraphs wander by elysian shores,
And thronging World on World the Eternal One adores.
The future shadoweth o'er the yearning mind,
That is a dim and dusky heaven of dreams,
Where high events are uttered by the wind;
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Still there is Hope—high; holy hope, that soars
To realms the dervise never yet divined,
Where seraphs wander by elysian shores,
And thronging World on World the Eternal One adores.
The lone heart looks and lingers and still yearns
To drink the bann'd cup of that awful lore,
Which dwells among the ashes of death's urns,
And is poured forth on that untravelled shore,
Whence parted spirits can return no more!
But, oh, the quest is vain; the burning thirst
Of knowledge never can be quenched before
The chains that bind the struggling spirit burst,
And the free soul departs to realize the worst.
To drink the bann'd cup of that awful lore,
Which dwells among the ashes of death's urns,
And is poured forth on that untravelled shore,
Whence parted spirits can return no more!
But, oh, the quest is vain; the burning thirst
Of knowledge never can be quenched before
The chains that bind the struggling spirit burst,
And the free soul departs to realize the worst.
But well our searching thought these shapes may deem,
These sheeted shadows and mysterious forms,
No strange creations of a feverish dream,
That come and vanish on the wings of storms,
But Spirits whom the fire of glory warms,
Who from the sepulchre of darkness come,
From the cold mansion of corroding worms,
To soothe the sadness of despairing doom,
And with a gentle love lead Earth's beloved home!
These sheeted shadows and mysterious forms,
No strange creations of a feverish dream,
That come and vanish on the wings of storms,
But Spirits whom the fire of glory warms,
Who from the sepulchre of darkness come,
From the cold mansion of corroding worms,
To soothe the sadness of despairing doom,
And with a gentle love lead Earth's beloved home!
Sweet messages of mercy may invite
Blest ones to wander mid their own loved kin,
That they may minister to their delight,
And shield their hearts from error and from sin;
So, by this hallowed commune, they may win
Offenders from the path that leads to woe,
And guide them where the holy enter in
The heaven of heavens—the home that cannot know
That sorrow, sin and death which visit all below.
Blest ones to wander mid their own loved kin,
That they may minister to their delight,
And shield their hearts from error and from sin;
So, by this hallowed commune, they may win
Offenders from the path that leads to woe,
And guide them where the holy enter in
The heaven of heavens—the home that cannot know
That sorrow, sin and death which visit all below.
O Thou! the beautiful, the loved, the lost,
For whom unwonted tears are shed alone!
Hear, thou of all on earth beloved the most,
O hear my song beneath the eternal throne!
To what far realm, fair sister, art thou gone?
Where is thy dwelling with the purified?
Hear'st thou thy brother's deep and bitter moan?
Cleanse thou his heart and check his human pride—
The seraph be thou wert! that with thee I had died!
For whom unwonted tears are shed alone!
Hear, thou of all on earth beloved the most,
O hear my song beneath the eternal throne!
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Where is thy dwelling with the purified?
Hear'st thou thy brother's deep and bitter moan?
Cleanse thou his heart and check his human pride—
The seraph be thou wert! that with thee I had died!
In the fresh bud of being thou wert swept
From the glad earth and the rejoicing sky,
And stranger hearts, o'ergushing, deeply wept,
That one so blest and beautiful could die!
Oh! many a bosom heaved its first low sigh
O'er beauty's blight and genius' early doom,
And, well do I remember, every eye
Looked from the shadow of its mournful gloom,
While Mary's lovely brow was darkened by the tomb.
From the glad earth and the rejoicing sky,
And stranger hearts, o'ergushing, deeply wept,
That one so blest and beautiful could die!
Oh! many a bosom heaved its first low sigh
O'er beauty's blight and genius' early doom,
And, well do I remember, every eye
Looked from the shadow of its mournful gloom,
While Mary's lovely brow was darkened by the tomb.
I would not thou wert here; earth is a cold,
A cuel sojourn to the pure and mild,
And none can long the sweet affections hold
Of such as thou, blest sister, undefiled!
But when in memory thine eye hath smiled,
And thy voice came like songs from glory's sphere,
While I roamed sadly o'er earth's desert wild,
I oft have sighed to meet thee, sister dear!
Where thou art still the same as when our blessing here.
A cuel sojourn to the pure and mild,
And none can long the sweet affections hold
Of such as thou, blest sister, undefiled!
But when in memory thine eye hath smiled,
And thy voice came like songs from glory's sphere,
While I roamed sadly o'er earth's desert wild,
I oft have sighed to meet thee, sister dear!
Where thou art still the same as when our blessing here.
Thou, too, my father! ere thy son could catch
And paint thine image on his glowing breast,
Wert taken from thy skill'd and patient watch
O'er men by ills afflicted and distrest,
To the lone chamber of thy silent rest!
I cannot well remember thee; there floats
A proud veiled image by me—half expressed;
An eye that bears the spirit it devotes,
A brow, a face, a form, but faint as sunbeam motes.
And paint thine image on his glowing breast,
Wert taken from thy skill'd and patient watch
O'er men by ills afflicted and distrest,
To the lone chamber of thy silent rest!
I cannot well remember thee; there floats
A proud veiled image by me—half expressed;
An eye that bears the spirit it devotes,
A brow, a face, a form, but faint as sunbeam motes.
It is not oft thy name is uttered now,
For men are false to fame, and thou wert proud,
But some have told me that I bear thy brow,
And like thee move among the huddled crowd;
If thus it be, my father! though the shroud
Is dust upon thy heart, thy spirit still
Lives in thy firstborn boy, who hath avowed,
And will uphold the grandeur of thy will,
And, till the death decreed, thy great designs fulfil.
For men are false to fame, and thou wert proud,
But some have told me that I bear thy brow,
And like thee move among the huddled crowd;
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Is dust upon thy heart, thy spirit still
Lives in thy firstborn boy, who hath avowed,
And will uphold the grandeur of thy will,
And, till the death decreed, thy great designs fulfil.
It is a pleasant thought that thou mayst know
From all that live the person of thy son;
Yet I would not thou shouldst behold his woe,
But mark his ordeals passed—his trophies won—
Teach him to bear his trials, yet begun,
And follow Virtue—though a banished queen,
And Honour, where high deeds in youth are done,
Reckless of all that may be or hath been,
If it exalt us not above this grovelling scene.
From all that live the person of thy son;
Yet I would not thou shouldst behold his woe,
But mark his ordeals passed—his trophies won—
Teach him to bear his trials, yet begun,
And follow Virtue—though a banished queen,
And Honour, where high deeds in youth are done,
Reckless of all that may be or hath been,
If it exalt us not above this grovelling scene.
Among the ancient hills of Warwick sleeps
A lake that mirrors the blue bending skies,
And round its waters lone the Mountain sweeps,
Whose pinnacles are thrones of destinies:
And by that sunny lake's green margin lies
A garden-plot choked up with poison weeds,
And in the midst a Ruin; there these eyes
First drank the beauty of a world that bleeds,
Amid its thousand charms, o'er Passion's evil deeds.
A lake that mirrors the blue bending skies,
And round its waters lone the Mountain sweeps,
Whose pinnacles are thrones of destinies:
And by that sunny lake's green margin lies
A garden-plot choked up with poison weeds,
And in the midst a Ruin; there these eyes
First drank the beauty of a world that bleeds,
Amid its thousand charms, o'er Passion's evil deeds.
And o'er a beetling crag a palmer bent
At that young hour—a wild and brainsick man—
And through the clouds of future being sent
His spirit: coalblack was his hair, but wan
His lips that seemed to mutter o'er a ban.
He spake of sorrow and an orphan boy,
And widowhood in summer years began,
And guardian guilt and toil without a joy,
And yet a gifted Mind no trial could destroy.
At that young hour—a wild and brainsick man—
And through the clouds of future being sent
His spirit: coalblack was his hair, but wan
His lips that seemed to mutter o'er a ban.
He spake of sorrow and an orphan boy,
And widowhood in summer years began,
And guardian guilt and toil without a joy,
And yet a gifted Mind no trial could destroy.
That palmer's footstep prints no more the earth,
But his dim oracles were words of truth:
My sire—my sister—many a friend of worth
No more watch o'er my melancholy youth,
And kindred friends are few, and foes, in sooth,
Amid the mazes of earth's withering gloom,
Like scorpions crawl and pierce, with barbed tooth,
My heart, that dares the worst of evil doom,
And will not cower nor quail till shrouded in the tomb.
But his dim oracles were words of truth:
My sire—my sister—many a friend of worth
No more watch o'er my melancholy youth,
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Amid the mazes of earth's withering gloom,
Like scorpions crawl and pierce, with barbed tooth,
My heart, that dares the worst of evil doom,
And will not cower nor quail till shrouded in the tomb.
But happier thoughts and holier feelings wake,
And man may learn to seek his trust above,
Unawed by all the world can give or take,
Confiding in the fountain of all love!
Resigned and holy faith will ever prove
The highest hope, the purest bliss—the best
And only gift that nothing can remove!
Lean thy sick heart on heaven and be at rest!
Who early seek such strength will be forever blest.
And man may learn to seek his trust above,
Unawed by all the world can give or take,
Confiding in the fountain of all love!
Resigned and holy faith will ever prove
The highest hope, the purest bliss—the best
And only gift that nothing can remove!
Lean thy sick heart on heaven and be at rest!
Who early seek such strength will be forever blest.
Hold sweet communion with loved ones who sleep,
Yet not unconscious of thy love and woe,
In Death's cold arms, yet in their bosoms keep
Such high affection thou for them dost show!
For thee their spirits still with young love glow,
For thee they whisper in the evening wind
Soft soothing words, that like blue waters flow;—
“Though dead, our love yet lingers all behind—
“For thee in heaven we dwell—be thou to heaven resigned!”
Yet not unconscious of thy love and woe,
In Death's cold arms, yet in their bosoms keep
Such high affection thou for them dost show!
For thee their spirits still with young love glow,
For thee they whisper in the evening wind
Soft soothing words, that like blue waters flow;—
“Though dead, our love yet lingers all behind—
“For thee in heaven we dwell—be thou to heaven resigned!”
Reason is blind in mysteries revealed,
And thought is folly o'er our destiny;
The tree of knowledge unto all is sealed,
Alike to worshipper and Sadducee,
Alike to Muterin and Osmanlee;
And faint and finite is the brightest gleam
Of our chained spirits o'er Eternity;
Wisdom must wait on fevered passion's dream,
And solemn awe direct the thoughts we dare to deem.
And thought is folly o'er our destiny;
The tree of knowledge unto all is sealed,
Alike to worshipper and Sadducee,
Alike to Muterin and Osmanlee;
And faint and finite is the brightest gleam
Of our chained spirits o'er Eternity;
Wisdom must wait on fevered passion's dream,
And solemn awe direct the thoughts we dare to deem.
We die with every friend that parts from earth,
But live again with every soul whose home
Is the blue ether. From our hour of birth
Lost loved ones are around us, and they come
Into our thoughts, like moonlight, when we roam
In silvery silence 'neath the starlight sky;
They charm in grief, irradiate in gloom,
Impart meek gladness to the brow and eye,
And teach our weary hearts that spirits never die.
But live again with every soul whose home
Is the blue ether. From our hour of birth
Lost loved ones are around us, and they come
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In silvery silence 'neath the starlight sky;
They charm in grief, irradiate in gloom,
Impart meek gladness to the brow and eye,
And teach our weary hearts that spirits never die.
In this Poem it is the purpose of the author to suggest and illustrate those unceasing though unprofitable wanderings of the mind, which, discontented with the common allotment, searches after an Arcadian Utopia among the shadows of futurity. The subject has been deemed one of high poetical capability; how far the writer has done justice to his theme is a question that awaits the reply of the courteous reader.
| The poems and prose writings of Sumner Lincoln Fairfield | |