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!