[Poems by Clark in] The religious souvenir a Christmas, New Year's and Birth Day Present for MDCCCXXXIII |
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 | [Poems by Clark in] The religious souvenir |  |
106
TYRE.
Ages have died since the seers of old,
Oh Tyrus, the fall of thy pride foretold;
Ages have passed, and we muse on thee
As a broken waste 'neath the desert sea;
Thy temples have sunk in the waters down,
Oblivion rests on thine old renown:
Thou art crushed—thou art faded—thy strength is o'er,
Thy glory and beauty will gleam no more.
Oh Tyrus, the fall of thy pride foretold;
Ages have passed, and we muse on thee
As a broken waste 'neath the desert sea;
Thy temples have sunk in the waters down,
Oblivion rests on thine old renown:
Thou art crushed—thou art faded—thy strength is o'er,
Thy glory and beauty will gleam no more.
Where are the piles which, in days gone by,
From thy streets aspir'd in the lofty sky?
Where is thy broidered Egyptian sail,
Which shone of yore in the summer gale?
Where are the spices, the pearl, the gold,
Which once in thy marts did their wealth unfold?
There diamonds flashed to the gazer's eye,
And the air was sweet as it wandered by;
There, coral and agate in masses lay,
And were bathed in the sun's unclouded ray;
The merchants of Sheba were gathered there—
Where are their treasures, Oh Tyrus, where?
From thy streets aspir'd in the lofty sky?
Where is thy broidered Egyptian sail,
Which shone of yore in the summer gale?
Where are the spices, the pearl, the gold,
Which once in thy marts did their wealth unfold?
107
And the air was sweet as it wandered by;
There, coral and agate in masses lay,
And were bathed in the sun's unclouded ray;
The merchants of Sheba were gathered there—
Where are their treasures, Oh Tyrus, where?
Thou answerest not—for the solemn wave
A requiem pours o'er thy hidden grave;
Over prostrate pillar and crumbling dome
The stormy billows arise and foam;
Where thy swelling temples were wont to stand,
The sea-bird screams by the lonely strand;
No sound of joy is upon the air—
Where are thy revels, Oh Tyrus, where?
A requiem pours o'er thy hidden grave;
Over prostrate pillar and crumbling dome
The stormy billows arise and foam;
Where thy swelling temples were wont to stand,
The sea-bird screams by the lonely strand;
No sound of joy is upon the air—
Where are thy revels, Oh Tyrus, where?
The time hath been, when a mighty throng
Of people fill'd thee;—when dance and song,
And harpers, with rapture the time beguiled,
And the sun of joy on thy splendours smil'd.
Then in robes of beauty thy daughters dressed,
And pride was high in each sinful breast;
Then glittering shields 'gainst thy walls were hung,
While palace and garden with music rung;
The dance voluptuous at eve went round,
And hearts beat lightly at pleasure's sound.
Now thou art laid in the solemn tomb
Of ages vanished 'mid storm and gloom;
Thy warriors, thy princes, thy flashing gems,
Thy kings with the wealth of their diadems,
Are gone like the light on an April stream,
As a voice which speaks in an evening dream,
As a cloud which fades in the summer air—
Where are thy glories, Oh Tyrus, where?
Of people fill'd thee;—when dance and song,
And harpers, with rapture the time beguiled,
And the sun of joy on thy splendours smil'd.
Then in robes of beauty thy daughters dressed,
And pride was high in each sinful breast;
Then glittering shields 'gainst thy walls were hung,
While palace and garden with music rung;
The dance voluptuous at eve went round,
And hearts beat lightly at pleasure's sound.
108
Of ages vanished 'mid storm and gloom;
Thy warriors, thy princes, thy flashing gems,
Thy kings with the wealth of their diadems,
Are gone like the light on an April stream,
As a voice which speaks in an evening dream,
As a cloud which fades in the summer air—
Where are thy glories, Oh Tyrus, where?
W. G. C.
Philadelphia.
134
THE PROPHET ELIJAH.
Amidst the wilderness, alone,
The sad foe-hunted prophet lay,
And darkening shadows, round him thrown,
Shut out the cheerful smile of day;
The winds were laden with his sighs,
As, resting 'neath a lonely tree,
His spirit, torn with agonies,
In prayer was struggling to be free.
The sad foe-hunted prophet lay,
And darkening shadows, round him thrown,
Shut out the cheerful smile of day;
The winds were laden with his sighs,
As, resting 'neath a lonely tree,
His spirit, torn with agonies,
In prayer was struggling to be free.
For on its prison'd essence, hung
The cumbrous bonds of earth and care;
And, while the branches o'er him flung
Their murmurs to the desert air,
Unbidden longings to depart
Swelled in his pained and wearied breast,
Till, with a supplicating heart,
He prayed to die and be at rest.
The cumbrous bonds of earth and care;
And, while the branches o'er him flung
Their murmurs to the desert air,
Unbidden longings to depart
Swelled in his pained and wearied breast,
Till, with a supplicating heart,
He prayed to die and be at rest.
135
He long'd in heaven's unclouded light
To wave his spirit's ransomed wings,
To bathe them in the effulgence bright
Which from the fount of glory springs;
There were no ties to bind him then,
Beneath the mysteries of the sky,
An outcast from the haunts of men,
Hid, save from God's unslumbering eye.
To wave his spirit's ransomed wings,
To bathe them in the effulgence bright
Which from the fount of glory springs;
There were no ties to bind him then,
Beneath the mysteries of the sky,
An outcast from the haunts of men,
Hid, save from God's unslumbering eye.
He turned from shadows, and the cloud
Which earthly hate had round him spread,
And to a faithful friend he bowed
In humble hope and solemn dread.
He paused—and o'er his senses worn
Sleep's dewy cloud in silence stole,
And radiance, like the gush of morn,
Was poured upon his dreaming soul.
Which earthly hate had round him spread,
And to a faithful friend he bowed
In humble hope and solemn dread.
He paused—and o'er his senses worn
Sleep's dewy cloud in silence stole,
And radiance, like the gush of morn,
Was poured upon his dreaming soul.
And lo! the wide untrodden waste
Around in beauteous splendour glowed;
And, with transcendent beauty graced,
An angel form before him stood;
His voice, like music, charmed the air;
His eyes were kind with light benign;
And in transcendent beauty there
He stood—a messenger divine!
Around in beauteous splendour glowed;
And, with transcendent beauty graced,
An angel form before him stood;
His voice, like music, charmed the air;
His eyes were kind with light benign;
And in transcendent beauty there
He stood—a messenger divine!
136
He spoke of blessings,—and his word,
Which fell upon the dreamer's ear,
Aroused each fainting hope deferred,
While fragrance filled the atmosphere:
Then, like some gorgeous cloud of light,
Dipt in the sunset's golden ray,
The angel took his upward flight,
And melted in the skies away.
Which fell upon the dreamer's ear,
Aroused each fainting hope deferred,
While fragrance filled the atmosphere:
Then, like some gorgeous cloud of light,
Dipt in the sunset's golden ray,
The angel took his upward flight,
And melted in the skies away.
Then, with sweet sleep refreshed and food,
Through many a long, long night and day,
Till Horeb's mount before him stood,
The unwavering prophet went his way;
Then climb'd its summits wild and high,
And linger'd in his lonely cave,
Till, like rich music floating by,
The voice of God its question gave.
Through many a long, long night and day,
Till Horeb's mount before him stood,
The unwavering prophet went his way;
Then climb'd its summits wild and high,
And linger'd in his lonely cave,
Till, like rich music floating by,
The voice of God its question gave.
Then, as he trod the mountain height,
The winds their solemn anthems played,
The earthquake thundered in its might,
And clouds tumultuous o'er him strayed.
What then befel?—a flush of fire—
And then, that father's soothing voice,
Which bids each faithful hope aspire,
And makes the ransomed soul rejoice.
The winds their solemn anthems played,
The earthquake thundered in its might,
And clouds tumultuous o'er him strayed.
What then befel?—a flush of fire—
And then, that father's soothing voice,
Which bids each faithful hope aspire,
And makes the ransomed soul rejoice.
W. G. C.
Philadelphia.
191
PASSAGES.
I have seen all the works that are done under the sun; and behold, all is vanity and vexation of spirit.
Eccl. I. 17.
Ask of the dreams which come to bless
Life's early and unsullied hours;
Which scatter o'er its wilderness
Their golden sunshine and their flowers:—
Ask why their magic whispering
Of hope and promise to the heart,
Breathing in balm, like winds of spring—
Why do they all so soon depart?
Life's early and unsullied hours;
Which scatter o'er its wilderness
Their golden sunshine and their flowers:—
Ask why their magic whispering
Of hope and promise to the heart,
Breathing in balm, like winds of spring—
Why do they all so soon depart?
Earth has no light which lingers on,
When time's triumphant surge goes by;
How soon the magic hues are gone
That flush in childhood's cloudless sky.
The hues of joy! their spring-like glow
Is like a sunbeam on the wave:
Ere grief comes forth her pall to throw
On pleasure's chill and lonely grave.
When time's triumphant surge goes by;
How soon the magic hues are gone
That flush in childhood's cloudless sky.
The hues of joy! their spring-like glow
Is like a sunbeam on the wave:
192
On pleasure's chill and lonely grave.
Fame, youth, and hope of earthly bliss,
How quickly are their visions fled!
And the heart broods in loneliness,
Above the slumbers of the dead:
Friends, kindred sink in that lone sleep
Which must to all in darkness come,
When death's cold pinions oversweep
The voiceless chambers of the tomb.
How quickly are their visions fled!
And the heart broods in loneliness,
Above the slumbers of the dead:
Friends, kindred sink in that lone sleep
Which must to all in darkness come,
When death's cold pinions oversweep
The voiceless chambers of the tomb.
Ask, of that blest and blessing king
Who reigned in proud Jerusalem,
Why o'er the joys that earth could bring
He poured the mournful requiem?
All hopes were his;—all that the earth
Could bring to bless his longing soul:
The hours of love—the songs of mirth—
The race that led to honour's goal.
Who reigned in proud Jerusalem,
Why o'er the joys that earth could bring
He poured the mournful requiem?
All hopes were his;—all that the earth
Could bring to bless his longing soul:
The hours of love—the songs of mirth—
The race that led to honour's goal.
He basked in the luxuriant light
Which beams from woman's kindly eye,
And health and peace and visions bright
Came to his spirit, wild and high;
There was no blessing not his own,
No pleasure which he left untried;
Justice and wisdom marked his throne,
And each decision sanctified.
Which beams from woman's kindly eye,
And health and peace and visions bright
Came to his spirit, wild and high;
193
No pleasure which he left untried;
Justice and wisdom marked his throne,
And each decision sanctified.
The voice of fame was in his ear,
His name to distant lands was borne;
How are its clarion-breathings dear
In being's bland and early morn!
And queenly heads low at his feet,
In orient beauty came and bowed,
His honour and his reign to greet,
His temple, swelling high and proud!
His name to distant lands was borne;
How are its clarion-breathings dear
In being's bland and early morn!
And queenly heads low at his feet,
In orient beauty came and bowed,
His honour and his reign to greet,
His temple, swelling high and proud!
Gold, pearls and treasure were his dower,
Gardens of beauty and perfume;
He worshipped love in summer bower,
In forms of loveliness and bloom;
Around him lay one joyous scene
Of unalloyed and calm delight;
The earth laughed out in robes of green,
And heaven's blue arch was bathed in light!
Gardens of beauty and perfume;
He worshipped love in summer bower,
In forms of loveliness and bloom;
Around him lay one joyous scene
Of unalloyed and calm delight;
The earth laughed out in robes of green,
And heaven's blue arch was bathed in light!
And on the rich and silver air,
Voluptuous music poured its strain,
And in his path the young and fair
Scattered their roses in his train;
All that could bless the ardent soul
From earth was in his chalice blent,—
His pleasures were without control
And boundless as the firmament.
Voluptuous music poured its strain,
194
Scattered their roses in his train;
All that could bless the ardent soul
From earth was in his chalice blent,—
His pleasures were without control
And boundless as the firmament.
Yet it was vain! upon his eye
The bowers of earthly joy grew dim;
The fountain lost its melody,
It had no gladsome voice for him;
Woman with smiles—the teeming earth,
The winds with fragrance on their wings,
Burdened with sweet and blended mirth,
And dallying with Æolian strings:
The bowers of earthly joy grew dim;
The fountain lost its melody,
It had no gladsome voice for him;
Woman with smiles—the teeming earth,
The winds with fragrance on their wings,
Burdened with sweet and blended mirth,
And dallying with Æolian strings:
These had no charm; the song, the glee,
The praises of the multitude;
The wild bird's warbled melody,
Stealing o'er flowers with gems bedewed:
All, all were vanity: the glow,
The sunlight of the wide world's smile,
With all the phantoms they bestow,
Had naught which could the heart beguile.
The praises of the multitude;
The wild bird's warbled melody,
Stealing o'er flowers with gems bedewed:
All, all were vanity: the glow,
The sunlight of the wide world's smile,
With all the phantoms they bestow,
Had naught which could the heart beguile.
195
And shall man worship with the crowd
At the cold earth's illusive shrine,
When monarchs, born to pleasure, bowed
And turned in sadness to repine?
Oh, let us seek the better part,
The fields and crystal waters given;
And bind that promise to the heart,
Which breathes the enduring joys of heaven.
At the cold earth's illusive shrine,
When monarchs, born to pleasure, bowed
And turned in sadness to repine?
Oh, let us seek the better part,
The fields and crystal waters given;
And bind that promise to the heart,
Which breathes the enduring joys of heaven.
W. G. C.
Philadelphia.
262
SAMSON.
There stands a pile in Gaza. Crowd on crowd
Have gathered 'neath its arches; and the hum
Of voiceful merriment re-echoes round.
With gorgeous pomp, lit by the golden sun,
In state luxurious and imposing, rest
The lords of the Philistines. Dagon's form
Swells, like some vast-proportioned statue, near,
And, blending earth's with ocean's wonders, ends
In folds voluminous along the ground.
O'er fretted shaft and architrave, are seen
Groups above groups, down-gazing, far beneath,
Where, like the surges of a stormy sea,
Gay multitudes are moving. Music sounds;
And laugh, and jeer, and shout, alternate rise.
Have gathered 'neath its arches; and the hum
Of voiceful merriment re-echoes round.
With gorgeous pomp, lit by the golden sun,
In state luxurious and imposing, rest
The lords of the Philistines. Dagon's form
Swells, like some vast-proportioned statue, near,
And, blending earth's with ocean's wonders, ends
In folds voluminous along the ground.
O'er fretted shaft and architrave, are seen
Groups above groups, down-gazing, far beneath,
Where, like the surges of a stormy sea,
Gay multitudes are moving. Music sounds;
And laugh, and jeer, and shout, alternate rise.
Who stands before the assemblage, still and sad,
With wrists all scarred, and arms in solemn guise
Folded, in listless sorrow, on his breast,
While sinks his head, as if awearied, there?
It is the Hebrew, Samson; girt by foes,
Worn with the fever of a prisoner's heart,
And by his griefs enfeebled. Late he stood,
Unshorn and full of strength, on Hebron's hill,
While bars and ponderous gates his shoulders bore,
Wrenched from proud Gaza's wall, when midnight clouds
Toiled with the moon for mastery in the sky.
Now, robbed of sight, he groped his way, and stood
Between the pillars of that mighty pile,
And heard, with troubled ear, the murmuring tones
That swelled, tumultuous, round him. Then, perchance,
His wandering thoughts the mazy days recalled,
When, through voluptuous hours, his eyes, ensnared,
Were bent upon the syren, by whose arts
He late had mourned in prison. Now, no more,
Her witching dalliance charmed: her form, no more,
Moved like a spell before him. He had woke,
From a poor vision of ephemeral joy,
To brazen fetters and a dungeon's gloom.
263
Folded, in listless sorrow, on his breast,
While sinks his head, as if awearied, there?
It is the Hebrew, Samson; girt by foes,
Worn with the fever of a prisoner's heart,
And by his griefs enfeebled. Late he stood,
Unshorn and full of strength, on Hebron's hill,
While bars and ponderous gates his shoulders bore,
Wrenched from proud Gaza's wall, when midnight clouds
Toiled with the moon for mastery in the sky.
Now, robbed of sight, he groped his way, and stood
Between the pillars of that mighty pile,
And heard, with troubled ear, the murmuring tones
That swelled, tumultuous, round him. Then, perchance,
His wandering thoughts the mazy days recalled,
When, through voluptuous hours, his eyes, ensnared,
Were bent upon the syren, by whose arts
He late had mourned in prison. Now, no more,
Her witching dalliance charmed: her form, no more,
Moved like a spell before him. He had woke,
From a poor vision of ephemeral joy,
To brazen fetters and a dungeon's gloom.
A pause amidst the mirth—as comes a calm
Before some sweeping storm—hath touched the crowd.
The sightless prisoner's lips in prayer are moved,
As 'midst the pillars of the pile he stands.
A pause,—and then a murmur, like the stir
Of subterranean winds and gathering waves
Which bodes the coming earthquake! Now hath dawned
The shorn one's hour of triumph!—for, above,
Around and underneath, like meeting seas,
A sound, which checks th' assembly's indrawn breath,
Peals on each listener's bent and earnest ear!
Mark, where the pillars tremble, as the man,
Whose arms embrace them, clothed in godlike strength,
Bends, in his ponderous effort, to and fro!
Now, look above:—and 'gainst ‘the wounded air,’
Transpierced with many a shriek and bitter groan,
See countless hands, in frenzied gesture raised
And supplication vain;—and mark, below,
The multitudes down-crouching, pale with dread
And shuddering, in the ague-chill of fear!
Now, yawn the yielding arches; and wild throngs
Spring from the breaking roof, delirious, down.
One stern, unbroken and resistless cry—
One crash of living thunder,—all is still.
264
The sightless prisoner's lips in prayer are moved,
As 'midst the pillars of the pile he stands.
A pause,—and then a murmur, like the stir
Of subterranean winds and gathering waves
Which bodes the coming earthquake! Now hath dawned
The shorn one's hour of triumph!—for, above,
Around and underneath, like meeting seas,
A sound, which checks th' assembly's indrawn breath,
Peals on each listener's bent and earnest ear!
Mark, where the pillars tremble, as the man,
Whose arms embrace them, clothed in godlike strength,
Bends, in his ponderous effort, to and fro!
Now, look above:—and 'gainst ‘the wounded air,’
Transpierced with many a shriek and bitter groan,
See countless hands, in frenzied gesture raised
And supplication vain;—and mark, below,
The multitudes down-crouching, pale with dread
And shuddering, in the ague-chill of fear!
Now, yawn the yielding arches; and wild throngs
Spring from the breaking roof, delirious, down.
One stern, unbroken and resistless cry—
One crash of living thunder,—all is still.
265
The sun hath set on Gaza: yet the west
Burns, with a vivid crimson, where the clouds,
In gold and purple, stretch their winglike folds
Up toward the sapphire ether. Night is near:
And from the ruins of the broken pile,
Where late the captive Hebrew strove and prayed,
There rise the echoes of some sufferer's groan
Yet numbered 'midst the living: faint and low,
They melt, at last, to silence.
Burns, with a vivid crimson, where the clouds,
In gold and purple, stretch their winglike folds
Up toward the sapphire ether. Night is near:
And from the ruins of the broken pile,
Where late the captive Hebrew strove and prayed,
There rise the echoes of some sufferer's groan
Yet numbered 'midst the living: faint and low,
They melt, at last, to silence.
Death is there!
And, as a shadow, broods above the scene,
While winds, like funeral anthems, wail around.
Look, once again! the clouds, but late so bright,
To shadowy forms have turned, and pall the sky;
O'er joy's sad wreck a saddening spell is shed,
And darkness shrouds old Gaza's lordly dead.
And, as a shadow, broods above the scene,
While winds, like funeral anthems, wail around.
Look, once again! the clouds, but late so bright,
To shadowy forms have turned, and pall the sky;
O'er joy's sad wreck a saddening spell is shed,
And darkness shrouds old Gaza's lordly dead.
W. G. C.
Philadelphia.
| [Poems by Clark in] The religious souvenir | |