 | Three hours ; or, the vigil of love : and other poems |  |
106
NOTHING NEW.
“There is nothing new under the sun.”—
Solomon.
Solomon.
God! thou hast fixed the date of man,
And who would lengthen out the span?
Enough of pain, of toils and tears
Meet in the round of seventy years;
And earth must like a desert spread,
When all life's flowers are plucked and dead
And who would lengthen out the span?
Enough of pain, of toils and tears
Meet in the round of seventy years;
And earth must like a desert spread,
When all life's flowers are plucked and dead
One year—the seasons' changes o'er—
What would a thousand teach us more?
Each hath its garland and its gloom,
Its joyous festival and doom,—
And ancient lyre and modern lay
Chant the same strain to welcome May.
What would a thousand teach us more?
Each hath its garland and its gloom,
Its joyous festival and doom,—
And ancient lyre and modern lay
Chant the same strain to welcome May.
107
The dawn has kissed yon eastern hills,
But eve's dark shade the valley fills;—
And thus, let centuries pass, arrayed
In robe of mist, half light, half shade,
Will Morning come, and wake the throng
That plod life's beaten path along.
But eve's dark shade the valley fills;—
And thus, let centuries pass, arrayed
In robe of mist, half light, half shade,
Will Morning come, and wake the throng
That plod life's beaten path along.
And see, old Night her crown puts on,
Undimmed as when o'er Babylon
She wooed the Magi's thoughtful eye
To trace her starry page on high,—
And so the sky has ever shone,
Blue, bright, and boundless—and unknown!
Undimmed as when o'er Babylon
She wooed the Magi's thoughtful eye
To trace her starry page on high,—
And so the sky has ever shone,
Blue, bright, and boundless—and unknown!
And Man is weak and wayward still,
As proud to plan, as prone to ill,—
The boasted knowledge he acquires
Is but the wisdom of his sires;
And still, from age to age, the same
The chase of pleasure, wealth and fame.
As proud to plan, as prone to ill,—
The boasted knowledge he acquires
Is but the wisdom of his sires;
And still, from age to age, the same
The chase of pleasure, wealth and fame.
108
Then who would be a slave, and dwell
For ever in a dungeon cell,
Counting the links that form his chain?
—Such is the Soul that would retain
The fetters forged by Time, to bind
To this poor world th' immortal Mind!
For ever in a dungeon cell,
Counting the links that form his chain?
—Such is the Soul that would retain
The fetters forged by Time, to bind
To this poor world th' immortal Mind!
| Three hours ; or, the vigil of love : and other poems | |