Madmoments: or First Verseattempts :: :: University of Virginia Library

Nature ne'er toils in vain—there's not a ray,
A dewdrop, raindrop, nor a breath of Air
But mingles to one mighty end: her care
For coming Ages and the passing Day
Provides with equal ease; she ne'er doth stray
From her high Aim, like Man, but everfair,
As at Creation's dawn, she still doth bear
Th' Eternal's blessing, and her destined way
Pursues unerringly: with sovereign Might
Creating from the relics of the Past
Present and future Worlds; her everbright
And selfrenewëd Elements outlast
Man's puny monuments, and as the Blast
Beareth away the Chaff, so in the Night
Of dark Oblivion she wraps his pride,
Giving his thoughts of Glory to the Wind:
Crumbling to Dust the towering domes, whence blind
And Idoladorations in old times
Rayed forth their Darkness over half Mankind,
Leaving a heritage of Woes and Crimes.
The hundredgated Cities too must find
A ready Grave, while Weeds and Wildflowers hide
The sculptured Arch, in whose brief Mockery
False Glory thought to live, thus all save Worth
Remingles with the Dust from whence't had birth.
Nature reclaims her own, mysteriously
Reshaping what has withered from the Earth;
Form varies still, but Matter cannot Die.

2.

Ringing her mighty Changes she moves on
From age to age, in vain Time waves his wing,

From Past she draws the Future, from the Spring
Summers and Winters endless, still the sun
Shines on the grave and cradle: one by one
Earth's boasted realms arise and sink, and fling
Their shadows o'er the Future, like a thing
Whose memory may not die, tho' all be gone
That witnesses its Might and Glory to
More recent Generations! still the Day
Rises and sets in Beauty, their Cloudway
The Storms still follow, and the starlit Dew
Its sinless Tears as brightly weeps away
As on the primal Eve when Earth was new!

3.

And still th' eternal Ocean from his Brow
Bepels the Injuries of Time, still rings
The knell of Empires: on their untamed Wings
Still o'er the foammaned Wave the fresh Winds blow
Lifting it like a Warsteed's, 'till its snow-
White crest streams on the Air: still, still Night flings
Her starry Mantle o'er the Sky, still sings
The Vesperbird without a Note of woe!
Oh holy Nature, thou art everbright
With an énduring Youth, still in thine Eye
Undying beauty glows, and from thy Might
Time turns, to seek some easier Victory!
Still on the Storm the Rainbow sheds its Light,
A sign to Man's dim Eyes unfadingly—

4.

And tho' the Earthquake from his slumber break,
'Tis but to fecundate the Soil: thou ne'er
Sowest in vain, nor shedd'st the bitter Tear
O'er idle and repented hopes! the ache
Of misspent Years and Means can never shake
Thy quiet Breast—th' alternate Throb of Fear
And feverish Joy has left no quick pulse there.
Not so frail Man! for every vain Thought's sake

He barters his high Heritage, and bows
Brutelike to Idolgods, and flings away
The present Moments, on whose wings Time sows
The Seeds of future bliss. Alas! Faith's Ray
Is wanting, and those seeds the chilling Snows
Of profitless Oldage shall kill for aye.

5.

Betwixt repentings and repinings are
His Days divided: and as we by Night
Stumble on Shadows, which the dubious Light
Transforms to Substance, so with Truth at war,
And fancyslaved, Man shuns the Real and Near
For the remote and braincoined Joys whose bright
And hopegilt shapes dance on before his sight,
Like Motes amid the Sunbeams, ever there,
Yet everdistant, cheating to the Grave,
O'er which they fade into their native hue,
And naught remains to witness for them, save
A little Dust which Time and Wind shall strew!
Alas that Centuries should fleet in vain,
Like the Birdstrack, and Man no Wisdom gain!

6.

Oft too Earth's great ones toil, yet leave behind
No heritage of holy Lore, no trace
Save that of a Shotstar, no Dwellingplace
In the Heart's gratitude: th' ambitious Mind
Stoops not to sow the Earth, but sows the wind,
Thence reaping folly's whirlwinds which efface
Sower and seed in Wrath, and strew the race
Of his frail hopes in barrenness: for blind
And selfish counsels call down vengeance on
The Head that plots them, in the meshes caught
Of Fate's wide net: yet tho' so often taught,
The Moral points some idle tale alone:
Truth speaks from out the Dust of Worlds gone by,
A gathering tone of ages: on the ear

Of heedless Time it strikes for aye, yet ne'er,
Till on the brink of dread Eternity
He stays his feeble flight, tho' strong and clear,
Shall rouse him from his stupid Lethargy.