 | Three hours ; or, the vigil of love : and other poems |  |
193
TO THE COMET.
Lone traveller through the fields of air,
What may thy presence here portend?
Art come to greet the planets fair,
As friend greets friend?
What may thy presence here portend?
Art come to greet the planets fair,
As friend greets friend?
And dost thou, to the listening spheres,
The wonders of thy path unfold?
A story that to mortal ears
Was never told?
The wonders of thy path unfold?
A story that to mortal ears
Was never told?
Beyond the palest gleaming star,
Beyond cold Herschel's slow career,
Thy mystic orbit reaches far,
And yet thou 'rt here!
Beyond cold Herschel's slow career,
Thy mystic orbit reaches far,
And yet thou 'rt here!
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And why? Art sent, by Chaos dread,
To gather from our glorious Sun
Some wealth of light and life, to shed
O'er worlds begun?
To gather from our glorious Sun
Some wealth of light and life, to shed
O'er worlds begun?
Dost come the messenger of Fear,
To warn of fates and foes at hand?
A prophet for the dawning year,
To doom our land?
To warn of fates and foes at hand?
A prophet for the dawning year,
To doom our land?
Or, 'mid the radiant orbs of light,
As borne on eagle's wings, to prove
There dwells, beyond our feeble sight,
Creative love?
As borne on eagle's wings, to prove
There dwells, beyond our feeble sight,
Creative love?
And wilt thou, while old Time endures,
Thus ceaselessly thy circuit run?
Or, as the flame the moth allures,
Drawn to the sun,—
Thus ceaselessly thy circuit run?
Or, as the flame the moth allures,
Drawn to the sun,—
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Nearer, and nearer, till like stream
To ocean's bosom speeding on,
Thou'lt vanish as a restless dream,
At morning gone?
To ocean's bosom speeding on,
Thou'lt vanish as a restless dream,
At morning gone?
Whate'er thy purpose, thou dost teach
Some lessons to the humble soul;
Though far and dim thy pathway reach,
Yet still thy goal
Some lessons to the humble soul;
Though far and dim thy pathway reach,
Yet still thy goal
Tends to the fountain of that light
From whence thy golden beams are won;
So should we turn from earth's dark night
To God our Sun.
From whence thy golden beams are won;
So should we turn from earth's dark night
To God our Sun.
| Three hours ; or, the vigil of love : and other poems | |