 | [Poems by Hayne in] The Southern Amaranth |  |
139
Scenes.
Oh, God! if gifted with an angel's flight,
And somewhat of an angel's mystic sight,
'Twere ours to pass this bleeding country over
What visions would those piercing orbs discover!
What horrors branded on the shrinking brain
Would burn and burn like purgatorial pain,
Thrilling throughout our consciousness to rise
In nightmare terror on our sleeping eyes!
Nay! though our flight be fancy's—and our view
But owns the magic of an insight true,
We well may pause and tremble as we see
Revived, in all their shame and infamy,
The cruel orgies of that later day
Of Rome, which knew the Borgia's cruel sway
Ere Rome sunk to perdition—!
But with these
Are mingled tenderer scenes and images,
Mournful as any Shakspeare pitying wrought
On the dim canvas of pathetic thought.
And somewhat of an angel's mystic sight,
'Twere ours to pass this bleeding country over
What visions would those piercing orbs discover!
What horrors branded on the shrinking brain
Would burn and burn like purgatorial pain,
Thrilling throughout our consciousness to rise
In nightmare terror on our sleeping eyes!
Nay! though our flight be fancy's—and our view
But owns the magic of an insight true,
We well may pause and tremble as we see
Revived, in all their shame and infamy,
The cruel orgies of that later day
Of Rome, which knew the Borgia's cruel sway
Ere Rome sunk to perdition—!
But with these
Are mingled tenderer scenes and images,
Mournful as any Shakspeare pitying wrought
On the dim canvas of pathetic thought.
Farewells, whereat no scorching tears are shed,
Mute claspings of the brave, untimely dead,
Calm hero bearings, though the heart be broke
And the soul withered at the lightning's stroke
Of supreme grief! unconscious children playing
Despite a father's curse, a mother's praying;
Fair maidens, smiling on despair, to make
A lover's death-bed softer for love's sake,
And all home's fragrant ministries that bring
Full blosoms and odors (like a sudden spring
Born in mid winter) to the sufferer's room,
Wafting both light and sweetness through the gloom
Mute claspings of the brave, untimely dead,
Calm hero bearings, though the heart be broke
And the soul withered at the lightning's stroke
Of supreme grief! unconscious children playing
Despite a father's curse, a mother's praying;
Fair maidens, smiling on despair, to make
140
And all home's fragrant ministries that bring
Full blosoms and odors (like a sudden spring
Born in mid winter) to the sufferer's room,
Wafting both light and sweetness through the gloom
Yet o'er it all, fierce tumult and false calm,
Unseen, but sovereign, rules the dread “I Am!”
His prescience guides the complex threads of Fate,
His mercy will not leave us desolate,
For in our blood, our tears, and pain and sorrow,
Rest the rich germs of some sublime to-morrow!
Unseen, but sovereign, rules the dread “I Am!”
His prescience guides the complex threads of Fate,
His mercy will not leave us desolate,
For in our blood, our tears, and pain and sorrow,
Rest the rich germs of some sublime to-morrow!
Southern Illustrated News.
| [Poems by Hayne in] The Southern Amaranth | |