Days and Hours :: :: University of Virginia Library

Upon the icy mountain-top alone
I only hear the beatings of my heart,
Sunburst, and shower, and shadow, earthward thrown
Like mortal fortunes, for a moment shown,
Go by me, and depart.

II

There is no voice to talk with me so high;
The secret spirit of the desert place
Answers not to me; and beneath me lie
The World, and all its wonders; Death and I
Are standing face to face.

III

And from the torrents, and the caves ascend
Temple of cloud, dim king, and sun-lit God,
Angels, with aspects changing without end,
Visions of power and glory earthward bend,
And sceptered Giants nod.

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IV

A sunbeam cleaves the misty gulph, and lo!
As thro' great gates unfolding in the sky,
Valleys, and plains, and rivers past me flow,
And silent cities glittering from below
Like phantoms, hover by.

V

So from the far-off mount of Poesy
The World's great shows, like the hush'd champaign, seem;
The Actual, Insubstantiality;
Real, what is shaped in Fancy's eager eye;
Fear, Love, a hope, a dream.

VI

Glorious is he, who on that sovranty
Makes a far beacon of his soul sublime;
Blessed is he, who from the illumined sky
Can reach the murmurs of Humanity,
And hear the voice of Time.

227

PART II.

I

The spirit of the Poet, like the form
Of the high mountains, cleaves the heavens asunder,
And flies into far realms of fear and wonder,
And howling wildernesses where the storm
Goes darkly with its thunder;

II

Or soars with quiet pinions where the light
Of sun, and stars, eternal and the same,
Awake upon the unapproached height,
Looks down serenely on the stormy night
Of whirlwind, cloud, and flame.

III

Within the lone high places of his soul
Love, and Ambition, like the frost and sun,
Pile up great towers, or drive the earthquakes on,
Let loose the winds, or bid the torrents roll,
Or make the rivers run.

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IV

And when the proud world, tyrannous and strong,
Tramples frail hearts into the dust of scorn,
Rathe flowers of Spring within his breast are born,
Fresh streams of pity murmur in his song,
Fresh breezes of the morn.

V

The unborn Future lightens on his brow,
As on the topmost cliffs the dawning East,
Memories, like glory pour'd back from the West,
Live in his heart, and in his music glow,
When summer-days have ceased.

VI

In his own land his ever-wakeful eye
Stands sentinel, like an unsetting star;
The glory of his Immortality
Like the great peaks that glitter in the sky,
Burns, and is shown afar.

229

VII

And when vast cycles, rolling wars and woes,
Have laid in darkness lesser lights between,
Far as the utmost age, or friends or foes,
His mighty spectre, like the eternal snows,
Shall soar up, and be seen.