The Desolation of Eyam The Emigrant, a Tale of the American Woods: and other poems. By William and Mary Howitt |
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TO A SCEPTIC. |
 | The Desolation of Eyam |  |
278
TO A SCEPTIC.
Away!—I hate thy grovelling creed,
Thou caviller at a creed sublime,
Which gives us an immortal meed,
While thou would'st crush the joys of time.
Away! there is no need of thee,
Thy desperate venom to instil;
To rob us of the hopes that be;
And add thy darkness to our ill.
Thou caviller at a creed sublime,
Which gives us an immortal meed,
While thou would'st crush the joys of time.
Away! there is no need of thee,
Thy desperate venom to instil;
To rob us of the hopes that be;
And add thy darkness to our ill.
279
Talk not to me, in sophist's phrase,
Of emblems of our life and close;
Of fires, which perish as they blaze;
Of wind, which wasteth as it blows;
Of bursting bubbles, flitting shades;
Of flowers that fade, and leaves that fall;
I see but beauty which pervades;
A fitness to their end in all.
Of emblems of our life and close;
Of fires, which perish as they blaze;
Of wind, which wasteth as it blows;
Of bursting bubbles, flitting shades;
Of flowers that fade, and leaves that fall;
I see but beauty which pervades;
A fitness to their end in all.
Talk not to me of myriad shapes
Of life, endowed with wondrous powers;
The sense of elephants and apes,
Which, mocking, thou would'st match with ours
When man's immortal yearnings fail;
When our proud hopes to these are given;
Then shall thy deadly doubts prevail,
And wake us from our dream of heaven.
Of life, endowed with wondrous powers;
The sense of elephants and apes,
Which, mocking, thou would'st match with ours
When man's immortal yearnings fail;
When our proud hopes to these are given;
Then shall thy deadly doubts prevail,
And wake us from our dream of heaven.
280
Think'st thou, in truth, because our lot
Is lowly, fleeting, thronged with woes,
That God beholds, but heeds us not;
And our dark life has darker close?
Think'st thou, because the son of crime
Treads down the feeble at his will,
And vengeance cometh not in Time,
That God but laugheth at our ill?
Is lowly, fleeting, thronged with woes,
That God beholds, but heeds us not;
And our dark life has darker close?
Think'st thou, because the son of crime
Treads down the feeble at his will,
And vengeance cometh not in Time,
That God but laugheth at our ill?
Thy thoughts and mine are like two streams,
Both issuing from one mountain height;
But mine flows towards a land of beams,
Thine towards the frosty realms of night.
These, these are things which come with power,
With light and eloquence to me!
And shew, beyond life's closing hour,
The home of man's nativity.
Both issuing from one mountain height;
But mine flows towards a land of beams,
Thine towards the frosty realms of night.
These, these are things which come with power,
With light and eloquence to me!
And shew, beyond life's closing hour,
The home of man's nativity.
281
Lift up those eyes which God has given!
Look on the sea—look on the earth;
Look on the sky, when clouds are driven
Athwart the sun's unquenched mirth.
What seest thou? Are not hope and love
There written, in letters bright and boon?
Comes there no spirit from above,—
From the clear stars, and wandering moon?
Look on the sea—look on the earth;
Look on the sky, when clouds are driven
Athwart the sun's unquenched mirth.
What seest thou? Are not hope and love
There written, in letters bright and boon?
Comes there no spirit from above,—
From the clear stars, and wandering moon?
Is all this plenitude of power—
This vast magnificence of scene—
Wasted on creatures that an hour
Will make as they had never been?
Does love—does wisdom thus condemn
Our splendid pathway to be trod,
While fears torment, while miseries hem?
Thus are we taught the love of God?
This vast magnificence of scene—
Wasted on creatures that an hour
Will make as they had never been?
Does love—does wisdom thus condemn
Our splendid pathway to be trod,
While fears torment, while miseries hem?
Thus are we taught the love of God?
282
No!—if our only life were here,
We surely then should feel at rest;
With nought beyond to hope or fear,
This world had been a world more blest.
Nature's omnipotent decree
Our spirit to our fate would bow;
And brighter, longer then would be
Our only life than life is now.
We surely then should feel at rest;
With nought beyond to hope or fear,
This world had been a world more blest.
Nature's omnipotent decree
Our spirit to our fate would bow;
And brighter, longer then would be
Our only life than life is now.
But 'tis not thus:—stern glooms involve
Our souls, as clouds the bright sky blot;
They darken—but, they soon dissolve—
The immortal sky hath altered not.
From its unruffled depths of blue
The stars their living splendours roll;
And thus, if Nature's voice be true,
Glows, even in death, the unscathed soul.
Our souls, as clouds the bright sky blot;
They darken—but, they soon dissolve—
The immortal sky hath altered not.
From its unruffled depths of blue
The stars their living splendours roll;
And thus, if Nature's voice be true,
Glows, even in death, the unscathed soul.
| The Desolation of Eyam | |