 | Gathered leaves : or miscellaneous papers |  |
128
THE CEMETERY OF THE EAST.
All here engraves most solemnly,
In lines that naught disputes,
The pride and nothingness of man,
His two great attributes.
In lines that naught disputes,
The pride and nothingness of man,
His two great attributes.
Alas! of all his splendor, power,
And talents, this their term
Has nothing now to offer us
But ashes and the worm—
And talents, this their term
Has nothing now to offer us
But ashes and the worm—
A little ashes, which the winds,
That wander wild in space,
Contending for it as they meet,
Shall with their breath efface.
That wander wild in space,
Contending for it as they meet,
Shall with their breath efface.
And such is man—insensate man!
Why, then, is he so proud?
The coffin, as his palace, waits
His coming in the shroud;
Why, then, is he so proud?
The coffin, as his palace, waits
His coming in the shroud;
In this deep lodge lugubrious,
All solitary laid,
To moulder silently, concealed
In mortuary shade.
All solitary laid,
To moulder silently, concealed
In mortuary shade.
If this be human destiny,
Why doth you lordling eye
My poverty but with contempt,
And hold his honors high?
Why doth you lordling eye
My poverty but with contempt,
And hold his honors high?
And why should his base opulence
Give him a haughty head,
Thus daily on my penury
With insolence to tread?
Give him a haughty head,
Thus daily on my penury
With insolence to tread?
129
Is gold the god men so adore,
And to it incense burn;
While they to honor lift the vile,
And virtuous merit spurn?
And to it incense burn;
While they to honor lift the vile,
And virtuous merit spurn?
Can this bright idol give a shield,
Of death to turn the blow—
That they may stand, and hold their ground,
When his dread scythe shall mow?
Of death to turn the blow—
That they may stand, and hold their ground,
When his dread scythe shall mow?
Yet let us wait. That foe, perhaps,
May bow the lofty head
Ere midnight, by the cutting stroke
That parts the vital thread.
May bow the lofty head
Ere midnight, by the cutting stroke
That parts the vital thread.
And they, who contumelious now
Our humbler presence meet,
May be, when sinks but one more sun,
The dust beneath our feet.
Our humbler presence meet,
May be, when sinks but one more sun,
The dust beneath our feet.
We'll therefore leave these mighty ones
To shake their glittering chain;
Their souls to dazzle and inflate
With splendor poor and vain.
To shake their glittering chain;
Their souls to dazzle and inflate
With splendor poor and vain.
And let them in idea raise
Their monuments of state,
Whose marble proud shall stand to say,
‘Beneath me rests the great!’
Their monuments of state,
Whose marble proud shall stand to say,
‘Beneath me rests the great!’
For what imports their empty show—
Their grandeur frivolous;
This idol of the ignorant
And vulgar, worshipped thus?
Their grandeur frivolous;
This idol of the ignorant
And vulgar, worshipped thus?
130
And what are their distinctive ranks
(Of no true good the friends,)
To me, who touch the hour and place
Where all in nothing ends?
(Of no true good the friends,)
To me, who touch the hour and place
Where all in nothing ends?
| Gathered leaves : or miscellaneous papers | |