The Poetical Works of Robert Montgomery :: :: University of Virginia Library

But, like an eagle from his chain unloosed
Darting aloft to his blue home of skies
And sunshine, soon his panting soul escaped
From this dread bondage into purer life.
He pray'd, and open'd Heaven itself by prayer!
Attracting downward some responsive grace,
Or balm, which heal'd him like the hand of God.
Or haply music, as the lyre of old
Tuned into magic by the sweeping touch
Of David, when he charm'd the fiend from Saul,
Besoothed the spirit; till o'er all his frame
A lulling softness exquisitely crept,
And soul was cradled in the charm of sound.

225

His exile, now, no barren rock became
Where thought must wither into wintry blight;
But rather, grew a bower of mental peace,
An isle of calm amid the sea of life,
A Patmos, where the harbour'd soul retired
From earth's loud shock, to feel the hush of heaven.
Soon, like a giant from his sleep refresh'd,
Up rose the great Reformer! and awoke
The drooping thousands, whose dejected hearts
Pined for one accent of his cheering lips.
But, how he wrought, and with what noble bursts
And outbreaks high of eloquence, and truth,
He pour'd his spirit over man, and mind,
Omniscience only can on high explain;
For, souls like Luther's multiply and make
More change within, and character without,
Than mere chronology to men unfolds.
Down to the roots of conscience dived his words
With daring energy, and drew to light
Those hidden workings, and that dark unrest
Which haunt our being: or, on guilt and gloom
The thunderbolt of just rebuke he hurl'd,
And through the provinces of mind career'd
On bold excursion's theologic wing,
And wafted light, where'er his wisdom came.

But, in thy castle, Wartburg! chief o'er all
The monuments which mind up-builded there,
Let gratéful Rev'rence long that work admire,
O'er which a Seraph's wings might shake with joy,
By Luther, with colossal power achieved.
There, was the Word Almighty, from the grave
Of buried language, into breathing life
Summon'd, in sainted glory to arise,
And speak to souls, what souls could understand!
Oh! to have seen him, in that toil august,
Lifting to heaven his meditative eyes
Radiant with wonder, as the words of Truth
Eternal gave their hoary secrets up,
While God's own language into Luther's pass'd
With prompt transition; till, behold, the Voice
Of Jesus out of classic fetters came
And, like its Author, to the poor man preach'd.
Noble, beyond nobility to match,
Hero of heaven! was thine achievement here.
To free the Bible, was thy God to throne
Firm on the conscience of adoring man;
And hence, by this supremacy divine
To limit tyrants, should they dare profane
That seat of awe, where none but Godhead rules.

But, intervals there came of lovely calm,
Mild as the languish of a summer-even
Around the poet, by some dream entranced,
When Nature, like a conscious Meaning, acts,
And through cold matter preaches grace to mind.
Then, student of the Spirit! walk with fear
The halls of nature; nor, with pagan eye,
The meanest of Her solitudes and shrines
Inspect thou: ministries of mind are there,
And more than mere philosophy forebodes
Fills the fine atom which a step destroys.
Angels and Spirits may unseen preside,
And nature's beauty be a Seraph's work;
Behind the Veil which meets our sensual view
Myriads of Powers may ply their noiseless hands,
And each live function of this breathing Earth,
Serve but to type a Ministry unknown.

And not ungenial to that high-toned mood
When feeling soars, and poetry is born,
In sun and silence Luther wander'd forth;
Perusing earth, or reading air and sky
As one great manuscript, where God had penn'd
Some letter'd outlines of His secret Name.
For, though creation felt the curse's fang,
And beauty from the beautiful hath fled,
And glory from the glorious,—still, the wreck
Is haunted with magnificence and might,
Making the universe a Temple seem,
Whose priestess is the God-revealing Soul
Of man, and worships Him in earth and sky,
Or in the stars, whose bright pulsations throb
Like thrills of glory trembling through the skies.

And, deep the hour, delicious was the calm
When Luther, in some dream, would oft accost
The speaking loveliness of fruits and flowers
Around him scatter'd, o'er the castled hill.
To him they were with more than beauty touch'd,
And seem'd like orphans of dead Paradise
Which smiled upon him, with a mournful grace.
Thus, hues and harmonies of Eden throng'd,
In sweetest union, round his loneliness,
While faith, by rapt imagination raised,
In prayer for those millennial glories pined,
Which God hath promised, and His poets sung,
When spousal Earth her bridegroom-Lord shall greet
Returning, on Creation's throne to reign,
Till every atom of this world redeem'd
Blooms in His breath, and sparkles by His smile.

226

But, Nature hath her sad and silent moods,
Her solemn counterparts to serious man.
And oft at sunset, when pale Autumn sigh'd
Like a lone Spirit, wailing through the woods
Of Wartburg, Luther mourn'd 'mid falling leaves,
And flowers dejected, till the dew-fall 'gan
To glisten round him; and his boding mind
Took from the season types of man within.
And thus, at midnight, when the Moon commenced
The inspiration of her pallid beam
O'er plain and mountain, from his harrow'd sleep
The exile rose; and, through the window-grate
Of his high turret, o'er yon dew-white fields
And cold earth, slumb'ring in the glassy air,
Gazed mournfully, through many a sleepless hour;
Or wander'd o'er the skies in prayer and praise,
Till to his dream-wrapt eye those heavens appeared
A scripture bright, whose oracles are stars
Of promise, beaming with prophetic truth,
And high intelligence for holy man.