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

A Tragedy of twice three thousand years
Hath almost ended; soon perchance, may fall
A Curtain, whose unfolding darkness brings
Oblivion o'er the universe decay'd.
Already looks Earth's final scene begun:
The elements, like human limbs unnerved,
Forego their function; seasons out of tune
Creation's harmony of change destroy;
And in their wildness of unwonted act
Reflective eyes an awful omen read,
By Nature given to prophetic man
Of Time's conclusion. Sea and Air confess
A strange excitement; through the trackless heaven's
Immensity the unheard Comet rolls;
No vision'd eye his path may comprehend,
Nor dread imagination dream, what orbs
May crumble, or what blighted planets shrink
As on the burning Desolator sweeps
And blazes o'er annihilated worlds!

Spoiler of hearts and empires! vanish'd Year,
Ere for eternity thy wings were spread
Alone I listen'd to thy dark farewell.—
The moon was center'd in the cloudless heaven
Pallid as beauty on the brow of death;
And round about her, with attracted beams,
Group'd the mild stars; the anarchy of day
Was hush'd, the turbulence of life becalm'd.
From where I stood, a vast and voiceless plain,
A City garmented with mellow light
Lay visible; and, like romance in stone,
Shone gloriously serene. All sounds were dead:
The dew-drop, stirless as a frozen tear
Gleam'd on the verdure; not an air-tone rang;
The leaves hung trancéd as the lids of Sleep;
Around me Nature in devotion seem'd,
The Elements in adoration knelt,
Till all grew worship,—from the heart of Things
Material, to the conscious soul of man!
'Twas then, sepulchral, hollow, deep, and loud,
The bell of Midnight on the stillness burst
And made the air one atmosphere of awe.

Sublime of hours! I thought on all the grave
Had buried, since the infant Year began:
What dreams, what agonies untold
Dead as the hearts whose depth they once turmoil'd,
Lay motionless, and mute! Of pomp in dust,
Of wither'd pride, of wealth from glory hurl'd,
Of lull'd ambition and appeased despair,—
Of each I dreamt: and then, in sad array,
Pale visions of the Kings of thought arose,
The wise, the wondrous, the adored, whose deaths
Enrich'd eternity with added mind,
Sleep with the Patriarchs now! and one how great!
For whom the costly tears of genius fell;—
The wand is broken, and the Wizard gone!

Many and mighty are the stars of Fame;
But his deep splendour has outdazzled all
Since Shakspeare, that unrivall'd planet! rose,
Whose radiance clad the intellectual heaven.
Yes, he hath vanish'd; but his country wears
A veil of glory that shall garb her clime
For ever. How we hung upon his parting hour!
And when it summon'd the transcendant Mind
From earth to heaven, the souls of myriads felt
O'ershadow'd; Europe bow'd in dim eclipse,
And Kingdoms mourn'd round his imagined tomb.

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Monarchs of time, and ministers of thought,
Felt in the frame of intellectual life
As rolls the blood-tide through our breathing form,
Where is the palace of your spirits now?
In what immensity are ye enshrined,
Imperishably pure? Was quiet earth
In beauty, but an archetype of heaven?
Your dreams, your towering aspirations high,
The far-off shadows of each Truth divine,—
Are all absorb'd in beatific light,
And this world like a rain-drop in the deep
Of time, for ever from the soul dissolved?
Our craving passion for the Unreveal'd
Fain would it know, to what vast height removed,
To what perfection of sublimest powers
Ye are ascended: but, the baffled Wish
Is driven earthward, and cold Nature cries
In tones as thrilling as the touch of Death,
“Back to thy clay, Mortality! and bend
Like Faith, before the infinite Unknown.”