Days and Hours :: :: University of Virginia Library

When pale Ambition was a dark-hair'd boy,
He said—‘My green and quiet native vale
Is the dear cradle of my heart's best joy;
But oh! methinks what bliss it were to scale
Yon peak that seems as soft as Hope afar,
Crown'd with the sunrise, or the morning star!

II

What joy to climb the adamantine stair
That soars above the World—to feel the gale
Ruffle my breast, and scatter back my hair;
To rush into the rains, and lightnings pale,
And from amid the whirlwinds to arise
Into the azure calm, and golden skies.

III

The Angel of the Tempest heard his prayer,
And with a sudden darkness fill'd the day,
And snatch'd him up into the flaming air
Out of the Summer bower wherein he lay,
Thro' terrors, and thro' tumult, and the sound
Of thunders, and of winds that roll'd around.

IV

He rested not—all day he mounted higher—
The lightnings smote him, and his eyes grew dim;
He saw the everlasting peaks aspire
Skyward, and vast—but still no rest for him!
The morning pass'd—the midday follow'd soon—
Still the high peaks rose up into the sun!

V

Earthward he look'd, and thro' a chasm of cloud
He saw his valley, and its homes beneath
Shrunk to a span—and then his heart grew proud,
Swifter he flew, and reach'd the realms of Death;

The mid-day sank into the afternoon,
Still the high peaks rose up into the sun!

VI

The evening came—and when the heavens grew fair,
From far they saw him wearily and slow
With scared eyes, sad aspect, and torn hair,
Descend—the thunders branded on his brow;
But to his ancient ones he spoke no more;
He could not hear the tongues he loved before.

VII

Women went forth to meet him with a song,
And brought him simple fruits, fresh-gather'd flowers;
And children led him, as he came along,
Into the shelter of his own sweet bowers:
Alas! that valley with its homesteads kind
He could behold no more—for he was blind!

AMBITION.—No. II.

I

Like one who meets affliction with disdain,
The Sun from underneath the Thunder's wing
Look'd angry red, and past imagining
Threw glory o'er the mountains and the main,
A dying Conqueror in battle slain!

II

An aged Fisher sat upon the shore,
And gazed toward the sunset, and the moan
Of gathering tempest mingled with the roar
Of the waste seas, and in his eyes there shone
The dying ardors that he gazed upon.

III

He cast his gray locks back, he raised his head,
And when he saw the lightning flashes break,
And heard the first note of the thunder speak,
‘I come to strive with ye alone,’ he said,
‘My eyes are dim, my spirit is not dead.’

IV

For I remember the triumphant morn,
When first I ventured on the stormy realm
Of the great Deep; alone I took the helm,
And spread the sail despite of warning scorn,
And far upon the dark seas was I borne.

V

By many a Siren islet free and bold,
O'er rock, and shoal, and surge I safely rode,
And found new lands, and shores by giants trod,
Led by the star that only I behold,
And shall I yield because my limbs are old?

VI

Let others praise young deeds that were their own,
And sit with dames beneath the evening sun;
My heart is strong altho' my strength be done,
So I will lift the anchor, and be gone,
And on my own wild waves I will go down!

VII

He rose still mighty, and they heard him say—
‘Let the winds tear me, and the storm infold,
What care I, so that Men and Gods behold;’
He spread his sail against the dying day,
And in the frowning twilight sail'd away.