 | Three hours ; or, the vigil of love : and other poems |  |
76
PRIZE POEM.
Spirit of Memory,
Thou that hast garnered up the joys and tears,
And all the human spoil of buried years,
We bow to thee!
O, lift thy veil, and bid the Past appear!
'T is gathering, slowly gathering on my sight:
Those dark old woods, where Death and Night
Held their companionship, were here;
Here, where the Muses' temple stands,
Rung the fierce yell of savage bands;
And, save that withering cry,
Or glimpse of savage warrior's flight,
Like the red meteor's flashing light,
That meets, yet mocks the eye—
Save these, the waters and the wood
Stretched in unbroken solitude;—
Lone, fearful, desolate and sad the scene,
For here the Dove of Peace had never been,
Brooding o'er human hearts, till hope was given,
And the rude child of earth became the glorious heir of heaven!
Thou that hast garnered up the joys and tears,
And all the human spoil of buried years,
We bow to thee!
O, lift thy veil, and bid the Past appear!
'T is gathering, slowly gathering on my sight:
Those dark old woods, where Death and Night
Held their companionship, were here;
Here, where the Muses' temple stands,
Rung the fierce yell of savage bands;
And, save that withering cry,
Or glimpse of savage warrior's flight,
Like the red meteor's flashing light,
That meets, yet mocks the eye—
77
Stretched in unbroken solitude;—
Lone, fearful, desolate and sad the scene,
For here the Dove of Peace had never been,
Brooding o'er human hearts, till hope was given,
And the rude child of earth became the glorious heir of heaven!
A sail! a sail! o'er yonder wave
A freighted bark is sweeping on!
Land of the learned, the proud, the brave,
Mourn'st thou no treasure gone?
Thou Island-Empire—forth from thee,
Like Wisdom from the Thunderer's brow,
Sprung the bright form of Liberty;
And high-souled men have joined her train,
Nor fagot's blaze, nor dungeon's chain,
Can their firm purpose bow;—
They would have held the guarded pass,
Or shared thy doom, Leonidas,
Had faith and duty cheered them on:
They come! that Pilgrim Band—they come!
This lone land is their chosen home,
And this broad world is won!
These were our Fathers—men of souls sublime,
Whose deeds are graven on the scroll of Time,
And there, while mind shall struggle to be free,
Or truth teach wisdom, will the record be.
A freighted bark is sweeping on!
Land of the learned, the proud, the brave,
Mourn'st thou no treasure gone?
Thou Island-Empire—forth from thee,
Like Wisdom from the Thunderer's brow,
Sprung the bright form of Liberty;
And high-souled men have joined her train,
Nor fagot's blaze, nor dungeon's chain,
Can their firm purpose bow;—
They would have held the guarded pass,
Or shared thy doom, Leonidas,
78
They come! that Pilgrim Band—they come!
This lone land is their chosen home,
And this broad world is won!
These were our Fathers—men of souls sublime,
Whose deeds are graven on the scroll of Time,
And there, while mind shall struggle to be free,
Or truth teach wisdom, will the record be.
Slowly, as spreads the green of earth
O'er the receding ocean's bed—
Dim as the distant stars come forth—
Uncertain as a vision fled
Has been the Old World's toiling race,
Ere she could give a nation place.
O'er the receding ocean's bed—
Dim as the distant stars come forth—
Uncertain as a vision fled
Has been the Old World's toiling race,
Ere she could give a nation place.
Come hither ye who countless ages scan,
Searching the doubtful course of social man,
Come, learn that Freedom mocks Time's slow career,
Seizes his hoard and showers his treasures here;
But spurns his errors, hallowed e'er so long
By seer or sage, in sermon or in song:
And ye who would the deathless spirit bind,
Come hither, and its unshorn strength be taught;
Nor, till ye calm the wave and curb the wind,
Prescribe a limit to the realm of thought!
Searching the doubtful course of social man,
Come, learn that Freedom mocks Time's slow career,
Seizes his hoard and showers his treasures here;
79
By seer or sage, in sermon or in song:
And ye who would the deathless spirit bind,
Come hither, and its unshorn strength be taught;
Nor, till ye calm the wave and curb the wind,
Prescribe a limit to the realm of thought!
| Three hours ; or, the vigil of love : and other poems | |