 | Poems of Nathaniel Parker Willis . |  |
235
II.
[OMITTED] It was the morning watch once more,
The clouds were drifting rapidly above,
And dim and fast the glimmering stars flew through;
And as the fitful gust sough'd mournfully,
The shutters shook, and on the sloping roof
Plash'd, heavily, large, single drops of rain—
And all was still again. Ben Khorat sat
By the dim lamp, and, while his scholar slept,
Pored on the Chaldee wisdom. At his feet,
Stretch'd on a pallet, lay the Arab boy,
Muttering fast in his unquiet sleep,
And working his dark fingers in his palms
Convulsively. His sallow lips were pale,
And, as they moved, his teeth show'd ghastly through,
White as a charnel bone, and—closely drawn
Upon his sunken eyes, as if to press
Some frightful image from the bloodshot balls—
His lids a moment quiver'd, and again
Relax'd, half open, in a calmer sleep.
Ben Khorat gazed upon the drooping sands
Of the departing hour. The last white grain
Fell through, and with the tremulous hand of age
The old astrologer reversed the glass;
And, as the voiceless monitor went on,
Wasting and wasting with the precious hour,
He look'd upon it with a moving lip,
And, starting, turn'd his gaze upon the heavens,
Cursing the clouds impatiently.
The clouds were drifting rapidly above,
And dim and fast the glimmering stars flew through;
And as the fitful gust sough'd mournfully,
The shutters shook, and on the sloping roof
Plash'd, heavily, large, single drops of rain—
And all was still again. Ben Khorat sat
By the dim lamp, and, while his scholar slept,
Pored on the Chaldee wisdom. At his feet,
Stretch'd on a pallet, lay the Arab boy,
Muttering fast in his unquiet sleep,
And working his dark fingers in his palms
Convulsively. His sallow lips were pale,
And, as they moved, his teeth show'd ghastly through,
White as a charnel bone, and—closely drawn
Upon his sunken eyes, as if to press
Some frightful image from the bloodshot balls—
His lids a moment quiver'd, and again
Relax'd, half open, in a calmer sleep.
Ben Khorat gazed upon the drooping sands
Of the departing hour. The last white grain
Fell through, and with the tremulous hand of age
The old astrologer reversed the glass;
And, as the voiceless monitor went on,
Wasting and wasting with the precious hour,
He look'd upon it with a moving lip,
236
Cursing the clouds impatiently.
“'Tis time!”
Mutter'd the dying scholar, and he dash'd
The tangled hair from his black eyes away,
And, seizing on Ben Khorat's mantle-folds,
He struggled to his feet, and falling prone
Upon the window-ledge, gazed steadfastly
Into the East:—
Mutter'd the dying scholar, and he dash'd
The tangled hair from his black eyes away,
And, seizing on Ben Khorat's mantle-folds,
He struggled to his feet, and falling prone
Upon the window-ledge, gazed steadfastly
Into the East:—
“There is a cloud between—
She sits this instant on the mountain's brow,
And that dusk veil hides all her glory now—
Yet floats she as serene
Into the heavens!—Oh God! that even so
I could o'ermount my spirit-cloud, and go!
She sits this instant on the mountain's brow,
And that dusk veil hides all her glory now—
Yet floats she as serene
Into the heavens!—Oh God! that even so
I could o'ermount my spirit-cloud, and go!
“The cloud begins to drift!
Aha! fling open! 'tis the star—the sky!
Touch me, immortal mother! and I fly!
Wider! thou cloudy rift!
Let through!—such glory should have radiant room!
Let through!—a star-child on its light goes home!
Aha! fling open! 'tis the star—the sky!
Touch me, immortal mother! and I fly!
Wider! thou cloudy rift!
Let through!—such glory should have radiant room!
Let through!—a star-child on its light goes home!
“Speak to me, brethren bright!
Ye who are floating in these living beams!
Ye who have come to me in starry dreams!
Ye who have wing'd the light
Of our bright mother with its thoughts of flame—
—(I knew it pass'd through spirits as it came)—
Ye who are floating in these living beams!
Ye who have come to me in starry dreams!
Ye who have wing'd the light
Of our bright mother with its thoughts of flame—
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“Tell me! what power have ye?
What are the heights ye reach upon your wings?
What know ye of the myriad wondrous things
I perish but to see?
Are ye thought-rapid?—Can ye fly as far—
As instant as a thought, from star to star?
What are the heights ye reach upon your wings?
What know ye of the myriad wondrous things
I perish but to see?
Are ye thought-rapid?—Can ye fly as far—
As instant as a thought, from star to star?
“Where has the Pleiad gone?
Where have all missing stars found light and home?
Who bids the Stella Mira go and come?
Why sits the Pole-star lone?
And why, like banded sisters, through the air
Go in bright troops the constellations fair?
Where have all missing stars found light and home?
Who bids the Stella Mira go and come?
Why sits the Pole-star lone?
And why, like banded sisters, through the air
Go in bright troops the constellations fair?
“Ben Khorat! dost thou mark?
The star! the star? By heaven! the cloud drifts o'er!
Gone—and I live! nay—will my heart beat more?
Look! master! 'tis all dark!
Not a clear speck in heaven?—my eyeballs smother!
Break through the clouds once more! oh starry mother!
The star! the star? By heaven! the cloud drifts o'er!
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Look! master! 'tis all dark!
Not a clear speck in heaven?—my eyeballs smother!
Break through the clouds once more! oh starry mother!
“I will lie down! Yet stay,
The rain beats out the odor from the gums,
And strangely soft to-night the spice-wind comes!
I am a child alway
When it is on my forehead! Abra sweet!
Would I were in the desert at thy feet!
The rain beats out the odor from the gums,
And strangely soft to-night the spice-wind comes!
I am a child alway
When it is on my forehead! Abra sweet!
Would I were in the desert at thy feet!
“My barb! my glorious steed!
Methinks my soul would mount upon its track
More fleetly, could I die upon thy back!
How would thy thrilling speed
Quicken my pulse!—Oh Allah! I get wild!
Would that I were once more a desert-child!
Methinks my soul would mount upon its track
More fleetly, could I die upon thy back!
How would thy thrilling speed
Quicken my pulse!—Oh Allah! I get wild!
Would that I were once more a desert-child!
“Nay—nay—I had forgot!
My mother! my starry mother!—Ha! my breath
Stifles—more air!—Ben Khorat! this is—death!
Touch me!—I feel you not!
Dying!—Farewell! good master!—room! more room!
Abra! I loved thee! star! bright star! I—come!”
My mother! my starry mother!—Ha! my breath
Stifles—more air!—Ben Khorat! this is—death!
Touch me!—I feel you not!
Dying!—Farewell! good master!—room! more room!
Abra! I loved thee! star! bright star! I—come!”
How idly of the human heart we speak,
Giving it gods of clay! How worse than vain
Is the school homily, that Eden's fruit
Cannot be pluck'd too freely from “the tree
Of good and evil.” Wisdom sits alone,
Topmost in heaven;—she is its light—its God!
And in the heart of man she sits as high—
Though grovelling eyes forget her oftentimes,
Seeing but this world's idols. The pure mind
Sees her forever: and in youth we come
Fill'd with her sainted ravishment, and kneel,
Worshipping God through her sweet altar-fires,
And then is knowledge “good.” We come too oft—
The heart grows proud with fulness, and we soon
Look with licentious freedom on the maid
Throned in celestial beauty. There she sits,
Robed in her soft and seraph loveliness,
Instructing and forgiving, and we gaze
Until desire grows wild, and, with our hands
Upon her very garments, are struck down
Blasted with a consuming fire from heaven!
Yet, oh! how full of music from her lips
Breathe the calm tones of wisdom! Human praise
Is sweet—till envy mars it, and the touch
Of new-won gold stirs up the pulses well;
And woman's love, if in a beggar's lamp
'Twould burn, might light us clearly through the world;
But Knowledge hath a far more 'wildering tongue,
And she will stoop and lead you to the stars,
And witch you with her mysteries—till gold
Is a forgotten dross, and power and fame
Toys of an hour, and woman's careless love,
Light as the breath that breaks it. He who binds
His soul to knowledge steals the key of heaven—
But 'tis a bitter mockery that the fruit
May hang within his reach, and when, with thirst
Wrought to a maddening frenzy, he would taste—
It burns his lips to ashes!
Giving it gods of clay! How worse than vain
Is the school homily, that Eden's fruit
Cannot be pluck'd too freely from “the tree
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Topmost in heaven;—she is its light—its God!
And in the heart of man she sits as high—
Though grovelling eyes forget her oftentimes,
Seeing but this world's idols. The pure mind
Sees her forever: and in youth we come
Fill'd with her sainted ravishment, and kneel,
Worshipping God through her sweet altar-fires,
And then is knowledge “good.” We come too oft—
The heart grows proud with fulness, and we soon
Look with licentious freedom on the maid
Throned in celestial beauty. There she sits,
Robed in her soft and seraph loveliness,
Instructing and forgiving, and we gaze
Until desire grows wild, and, with our hands
Upon her very garments, are struck down
Blasted with a consuming fire from heaven!
Yet, oh! how full of music from her lips
Breathe the calm tones of wisdom! Human praise
Is sweet—till envy mars it, and the touch
Of new-won gold stirs up the pulses well;
And woman's love, if in a beggar's lamp
'Twould burn, might light us clearly through the world;
But Knowledge hath a far more 'wildering tongue,
And she will stoop and lead you to the stars,
And witch you with her mysteries—till gold
Is a forgotten dross, and power and fame
Toys of an hour, and woman's careless love,
Light as the breath that breaks it. He who binds
His soul to knowledge steals the key of heaven—
240
May hang within his reach, and when, with thirst
Wrought to a maddening frenzy, he would taste—
It burns his lips to ashes!
‘Missing stars’ are often spoken of in the old books of astronomy. Hipparchus mentions one that appeared and vanished very suddenly; and in the beginning of the sixteenth century Kepler discovered a new star near the heel of the right foot of Serpentarius, “so bright and sparkling that it exceeded any thing he had ever seen before.” He “took notice that it was every moment changing into some of the colors of the rainbow, except when it was near the horizon, when it was generally white.” It disappeared in the following year, and has not been seen since.
| Poems of Nathaniel Parker Willis . | |