 | Poems and Translations |  |
20
THE HOLY OF HOLIES.
Once I knew a little chapel,
And it held a sacred altar,
And before it e'er I trembled,
While my footsteps e'er did falter.
Still before that shrine I worshiped
In the dark night and the day,
Little thinking that my idol
Was but wrought of fragile clay.
O'er the shrine there burned a taper
Of a small, but dazzling light,
And I called the slender taper
Hope, because it burned so bright.
And that altar I had builded
To a maiden young and fair,
To a form of wondrous beauty,
With a halo of gold hair;
Like a pure Madonna, smiling
Down upon me from above,
While I ever offered incense
At the altar of my love.
And I deemed that form of beauty
From my soul would ne'er depart,
For the maiden was my idol,
And the altar was my heart.
And it held a sacred altar,
And before it e'er I trembled,
While my footsteps e'er did falter.
Still before that shrine I worshiped
In the dark night and the day,
Little thinking that my idol
Was but wrought of fragile clay.
O'er the shrine there burned a taper
Of a small, but dazzling light,
And I called the slender taper
Hope, because it burned so bright.
And that altar I had builded
To a maiden young and fair,
To a form of wondrous beauty,
With a halo of gold hair;
Like a pure Madonna, smiling
Down upon me from above,
While I ever offered incense
At the altar of my love.
And I deemed that form of beauty
From my soul would ne'er depart,
21
And the altar was my heart.
Now I know a little chapel,
And it holds a shattered altar,
And before it e'er I tremble,
While my weary footsteps falter.
O'er the shrine there burns a taper
Of a dim and fading light,
And I call the taper Mem'ry,
For it gleams athwart the night
With a pallid, faint reflection
Of the ray that once was there,
O'er the altar, rudely shattered,
By the one I thought so fair.
And I weep before my altar
Now, with prayerless lips apart,
For my idol now is broken,
Like my mocked and ruined heart.
And it holds a shattered altar,
And before it e'er I tremble,
While my weary footsteps falter.
O'er the shrine there burns a taper
Of a dim and fading light,
And I call the taper Mem'ry,
For it gleams athwart the night
With a pallid, faint reflection
Of the ray that once was there,
O'er the altar, rudely shattered,
By the one I thought so fair.
And I weep before my altar
Now, with prayerless lips apart,
For my idol now is broken,
Like my mocked and ruined heart.
New Brighton, August, 1864.
| Poems and Translations | |