The Desolation of Eyam The Emigrant, a Tale of the American Woods: and other poems. By William and Mary Howitt |
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THE PEN.
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 | The Desolation of Eyam |  |
154
THE PEN.
ADDRESSED TO L. B.
Arrow of my most secret will!
Thy little point can cleave
Earth's distance, and unerring still,
Its wonderous aim achieve.
Whether to far-off friend or foe
I bid thee speed my thought;
Who know me—or shall never know—
My genie, thou away wilt go—
'Tis done! my wish is wrought.
Howe'er concealed—however strange
Be they with whom I would exchange
Ideas—it matters not—by thee
As present, they commune with me.
Thy little point can cleave
Earth's distance, and unerring still,
Its wonderous aim achieve.
Whether to far-off friend or foe
I bid thee speed my thought;
Who know me—or shall never know—
My genie, thou away wilt go—
'Tis done! my wish is wrought.
Howe'er concealed—however strange
Be they with whom I would exchange
Ideas—it matters not—by thee
As present, they commune with me.
155
Oh! could'st thou travel, travel on
To other worlds sublime,
How long ago should'st thou have gone
Beyond the sphere of time!
Right through its stern, impervious bound;
Through this mysterious veil
Which still is felt, and felt around,
But never can be seen, or found,
Except by those who sail
Into that gulf whose tide of fear
Bears no returning voyager here;
Suffers no syllable to tell
Whate'er on that dark flood befel.
To other worlds sublime,
How long ago should'st thou have gone
Beyond the sphere of time!
Right through its stern, impervious bound;
Through this mysterious veil
Which still is felt, and felt around,
But never can be seen, or found,
Except by those who sail
Into that gulf whose tide of fear
Bears no returning voyager here;
Suffers no syllable to tell
Whate'er on that dark flood befel.
Oh! could'st thou speed but o'er that sea,
What questions thou should'st bear!
What marvels might be told by thee,
Of what is passing there!
What yearnings of the anxious soul;—
What fears might be allayed.
Then should man know the awful whole
Of mystery, on the eternal scroll,
In instant light displayed.
But no!—it cannot—need not be!
A voice has risen from that sea;
A word of gladness high and sure,
Telling that bliss awaits the pure.
What questions thou should'st bear!
What marvels might be told by thee,
Of what is passing there!
What yearnings of the anxious soul;—
What fears might be allayed.
Then should man know the awful whole
Of mystery, on the eternal scroll,
In instant light displayed.
156
A voice has risen from that sea;
A word of gladness high and sure,
Telling that bliss awaits the pure.
It is enough!—to bear—to wait—
Must be our lot awhile.
Yet, as we linger in this state,
Thy power can make it smile.
Turn then in gladness to thy task;—
Speed knowledge through the earth:
Shed beauty on life's frolic masque;
And, where domestic spirits bask,
Watch o'er affection's birth.
Be thou a talisman of life
Where woe is sure, and death is rife;
And fly thee now, and say to one
Through thee, we shall be friends anon.
Must be our lot awhile.
Yet, as we linger in this state,
Thy power can make it smile.
Turn then in gladness to thy task;—
Speed knowledge through the earth:
Shed beauty on life's frolic masque;
And, where domestic spirits bask,
Watch o'er affection's birth.
Be thou a talisman of life
Where woe is sure, and death is rife;
And fly thee now, and say to one
Through thee, we shall be friends anon.
| The Desolation of Eyam | |