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

Those starry Wonders, everlasting Worlds
Of light and loveliness, I saw them all,
As on the magic wings of mystery borne
Methought my unembodied spirit swept
Immensity. Vast multitudes there shone
Of beauteous Orbs, whose brightness was intense,
Beyond the noon in its most sunny reign.
Majestic, o'er a measureless extent
Of azure, moved those high immortal spheres,
Less terrible in beauty, but more shaped
To mortal vision; as they onward roll'd,
Each sounded as instinct with melody.

'Twas but an eye-glance that such pomp reveal'd;
And yet, before it pass'd a heaven-like host
Of Forms, and Phantoms which can never die
While memory lives. Who hath not charm'd the air
To rapturous delusion? Who hath lived
And yet not loved? and loved, and hath not shaped
His angel? Who a paradise not dream'd,
When from within a glorious longing woke
For that which earth and earthliness to none
Supply? Let Nature answer; she will tell
What shapes of beauty throng'd a dream of Worlds.

The Midnight!—how we gaze upon its pomp
Of orbs, and waft ourselves among their host,
As though they were bright Palaces for Souls
When clay doth not corrupt them. Who shall prove,
That such are not bright Eden's of pure bliss
Where myriads reap eternity? On high
The Seer of old mysteriously was rapt

608

To blessedness; aloft Elijah soar'd,
Rapt in dread thunder through the riven skies
'Mid fiery chariots and emblazon'd clouds!
And He, the sanctifying Lord of Life,
Through air ascended to His throne eterne ...
Ever have awe and glory, love and hope
Divine, the gaze of rapture skyward turn'd.
And oh! the cold may laugh, the worldly jeer,
Mocking whate'er their miserable clay
Partakes not of the mind's celestial dream—
Yet are there spells of beautifying power
And passion, which a stern Reality
Can never reach. Go, ask the widow'd heart
Of young Affection, when she walks the night
As in a vision of departed hours,
If all which day-charms yield, her love transforms
To such a blissful heaven of memory,
As that sweet lonely Star, whose angel-gaze
Like Mercy looks upon her lifted eye!
Or, ask a friend, of some bright Soul bereaved,
When stars expressively the sky adorn,
What radiant solace from their beam is caught,
While Fancy sighing thinks, “My friend is there!”

Ye holy Watchers! who this earth have view'd
In darkness rolling on to destiny
Through countless ages, and are glorious still,
With no feign'd worship sing I your romance.
My boyhood was Chaldean; and your beams
Like rays of feeling quiver'd round my heart:
Yes, I remember, when becalm'd and still
My school-companions on their couches slept,
With moonlight on their beautiful young brows
Like holiness arraying them for heaven,—
Unhinder'd, to my casement I would steal,
And muse; and gaze upon the midnight-orbs
Until my spirit seem'd the skies to float.

Such homage for the heavens is not extinct:
For now, when weary of the heartless stir
Around me, and sad nothings which o'erwhelm
The daylight, and our nobler mind disease;
When darken'd by unkindness, or deceived
By finding clouds where sunshine should prevail:
In such dark mood, upon those peaceful worlds
That shame us with their bright sublimity,
I gaze, and woo unheavenly fancy off
By visioning eternity.—Mere time
Too great a burden on our spirit lays;
We bow before our idols, and adore
The glittering falsehood of some fading scene;
Forgetful of yon glorious Sky, where, day
And night, Divinity is marching forth,
In sun or darkness, thunder or in worlds!

We know not what these heaven-illuming orbs
May be; to us—but Mysteries, that roll
And shine. Yet, none upon them ever gazed,
Whose eye could gather beauty which the soul
Can image, nor within him felt a spell
Of admiration, spreading o'er the mind
Till it became a mirror of delight
Reflecting back the glory that it hail'd.
And oft have I some heaven-born influence caught,
When sick of human Festival, where smiles
Are tutor'd till the heart forget to reign,
And eyes are beaming with hypocrisy;
While that soft tongue, whose angel-accents fall
In honey'd accents on the flatter'd ear
Can play the dagger, when the moment comes!—
How often, tired with such delightless pomp,
I've hail'd the homeward solitary way:
Here, once again, the immeasurable sky
Around me, and a starry wilderness
Open and free, for spirit to expand,
With what a worship hath my soul return'd
To night and nature, to itself and heaven!