 | The poetical works of Lucy Larcom |  |
EUREKA.
I ran through a garden of roses at morning,
Uncaring the whither or why,
When, sudden as light, came a musical warning,
Thrilling over my heart like a sigh.
“Seek! seek!” one low word, and there followed no other:
I gathered a white lily-bell;
A doveling I caught, newly left by its mother;
I stooped for a pebble, a shell.
But just as a joyous “Eureka!” replied,
My dove flew away, and my white lily died;
My pebble and shell lost the light of the wave,
And “I have not found,” was the answer I gave.
Uncaring the whither or why,
When, sudden as light, came a musical warning,
Thrilling over my heart like a sigh.
“Seek! seek!” one low word, and there followed no other:
I gathered a white lily-bell;
A doveling I caught, newly left by its mother;
I stooped for a pebble, a shell.
But just as a joyous “Eureka!” replied,
My dove flew away, and my white lily died;
My pebble and shell lost the light of the wave,
And “I have not found,” was the answer I gave.
52
Then outward I sally, a fearless crusader,
With “Seek” for a herald and guide:
On Error's dominions I march, an invader;
Green laurels the promise of Pride.
Impatient Goliath is striding to battle;
My foes are but pygmies to-day;
“Eureka!” I shout, while the war-thunders rattle,—
The victor rides forth from the fray.
“Eureka!” why falters my tongue at the word?
Chimæra yields not to a mortal's dull sword:
Lo, giants arise from the blood of the slain!
Alike were the search and the struggle in vain.
With “Seek” for a herald and guide:
On Error's dominions I march, an invader;
Green laurels the promise of Pride.
Impatient Goliath is striding to battle;
My foes are but pygmies to-day;
“Eureka!” I shout, while the war-thunders rattle,—
The victor rides forth from the fray.
“Eureka!” why falters my tongue at the word?
Chimæra yields not to a mortal's dull sword:
Lo, giants arise from the blood of the slain!
Alike were the search and the struggle in vain.
Now bring my good staff, for the pilgrim sees yonder,
A Mecca, an altar of rest:
Beside that calm shrine I will seat me and ponder,
And be in my solitude blest.
There Peace shall bend over me, Peace, the white angel,
And Love, with her warm brooding wings:
Eureka! I hear it—a soothing evangel—
'T is gentle Reflection that sings.
Still cheated! Ixion still grasps at a cloud!
The white robe of Peace,—it is only a shroud!
My Mecca I leave; all in vain have I sought
The garden, the battle, the shrine; they are naught.
A Mecca, an altar of rest:
Beside that calm shrine I will seat me and ponder,
And be in my solitude blest.
There Peace shall bend over me, Peace, the white angel,
And Love, with her warm brooding wings:
Eureka! I hear it—a soothing evangel—
'T is gentle Reflection that sings.
Still cheated! Ixion still grasps at a cloud!
The white robe of Peace,—it is only a shroud!
My Mecca I leave; all in vain have I sought
The garden, the battle, the shrine; they are naught.
Now pausing, a wanderer restless yet weary,
“Seek! seek!” how it sounds, like a moan!
Ah, where? for around all is barren and dreary;
Beyond lies the dread, the unknown.
And upward—O joy! what a glory is breaking!
Why looked I not upward before?
My soul like a planet in sunlight is waking,
To suffer eclipse nevermore.
Eureka! all dazzled with splendor I stand;
Light upward and inward, a Father at hand,
A crown overhead that erelong I shall win;—
Eureka! the Kingdom of God is within!
“Seek! seek!” how it sounds, like a moan!
Ah, where? for around all is barren and dreary;
Beyond lies the dread, the unknown.
And upward—O joy! what a glory is breaking!
Why looked I not upward before?
My soul like a planet in sunlight is waking,
To suffer eclipse nevermore.
Eureka! all dazzled with splendor I stand;
Light upward and inward, a Father at hand,
A crown overhead that erelong I shall win;—
Eureka! the Kingdom of God is within!
| The poetical works of Lucy Larcom | |