University of Virginia Library

Steeped in fresh dews and rosy light,
A land was opened to my sight
In the sweet hour 'twixt day and night.
A light, not of the sun, was there;
A breeze, but not of common air;
A joy that circled everywhere.
The land had hills, not bare and rent,
But each imparadised ascent
Rose green up to heaven's firmament;
And trees that cast impervious shade:
Yet all was fresh and undecayed,
As they could neither die nor fade.
The waters of that land were clear
As its serenest atmosphere;
Their flow was music to the ear:
And all around the air was stirred
With the sweet song of many a bird
Whose voice I ne'er before had heard.
And in the mountain's golden sheen,
And in the distant valleys green,
Fair, shining companies were seen.
I saw each separate face from far,
A beauty which no time could mar,
Beaming serenely, like a star.
They neared me, and my heart beat high
As those strange, lovely forms drew nigh:
They saw me not, and passed me by.
Some passed on with deliberate feet,
Together, rapt in converse sweet,
As friends who from long partings meet.
Some bounded on in joyful madness,
So full of youth and life and gladness:
What could they know of pain or sadness?
Some slowly wandered through the wood,
As they some pleasant quest pursued,
And these were nearest where I stood.

Concealed from them within that place,
I gazed upon them face to face;
I marvelled at their wondrous grace.
Their faces beamed with love and ruth;
Their speech was full of earnest truth,
Of wisdom with the warmth of youth.
And while I gazed my soul was wrought
Into the urgency of thought;
I spoke the words my feelings brought.

“Oh beings pure and blest and bright!”
Exclaimed my spirit in delight,
“How have I panted for your sight!
Ye are my kindred; well I know
The bonds of soul that make us so;
Let me go with you where ye go.
The toil of earth is hard and vain;
There strive we heights and depths to gain,
And are withheld as by a chain.
There man is mean, suspicious, cold;
There crafty villany is bold;
There nothing is esteemed but gold.
Oh! I am weary of the strife,
The selfish, sordid ways of life,
Where only evil schemes are rife.
My strift hath ever been for good;
I have pressed onward unsubdued,
Though disappointment hath ensued.
But this is hard: and weak and low
The ever-striving heart must grow,
Which no requited hope doth know;
And mine is faint: but now I see
My kindred in your spirits free,
In your pure natures. Let me be
One of your joyful company!”
My spirit-words were all too faint,
Or bore too much the earthly taint
Of fear and petulant complaint.
I was unheard; no voice replied,
The woodland sounds on every side
Filled all the air with concord wide.
None turned on me his ardent gaze,
None looked in sorrow or amaze,
But threaded still the wooded ways.
I turned me round and wept for pain,
To think no audience I could gain,
To think that I had pled in vain.
Again, with tear-half-blinded eyes,
I turned to that bright paradise,
And saw two forms of beauteous guise.
The sight at once my woe dispelled;
The one was old whom I beheld,
His strength was crowned by age, not quelled.
The beauty of a life well-spent,
A nobler boast than long descent,
Was his majestic ornament.
By him a woman sate, benign;
A creature of such grace divine
As man alone describes by sign;
Of perfect form, angelic face,
The visible type of inward grace
Which nothing outward can efface.
No sculptor's art or poet's dream
Made their divinest woman seem
So worthy of the soul's esteem,
As was the woman whom I viewed
Beside the old man in the wood,
Tender and pure and nobly good,
A vision fair of womanhood.
They spake: like balm their words were sent
Into my heart; my soul intent
Listened their lofty argument.
Their converse was on themes sublime,
Themes worthy of immortal rhyme,
Solving the mysteries of time.
Light dawned within my soul, as still
They spoke of life, of good and ill,
Of man and the Eternal Will.

I heard them tell why guilt so long
Goes unrebuked: why crime is strong;
And right yields trembling to the wrong:
Why still the weak and poor must bear
Through life an unrequited share
Of toil and hardship and despair:
Why wealth begetteth wealth: why they
Who have from others take away:
Why power goes forth to crush and slay.
And then I heard the old man cast
His memory backward through the past,
Which was to him a treasury vast.
I heard him tell how he had borne
For seventy years the rich man's scorn,
Fresh toil beginning every morn.
His toil had won him daily bread,
And ofttimes he was scantly fed,
And had not where to lay his head.
A bruised heart was his, a mind
That as a pinioned eagle pined,
Seeking for what it could not find.
His life it was a trial stern;
A school wherein he had to learn
'Mid evil what to good should turn.

By this I knew those creatures bright
Were the redeemëd heirs of light.
My soul rose into day from night:
For these I saw so greatly blest
Had been on earth the poor oppressed.
I saw that toil shall yet have rest;
I saw that tears have joy in store:
I said, I will repine no more,
But trust as never heretofore.