University of Virginia Library

Quaint-thoughted Rumor whispered of a Name,
And said that Fame had set another star
Within the glorious galaxy that brows
Old England's forehead! and that she had paused,
And had been listening to a Titan bard
Attentively as Summer to the Wren!
It spake of one, a child of Penury,
In whose veins ran red blood as beautiful
As pulses of the purple wine; his song
As the full gushes of a ripening soul—
Rare music drops wrung out by anguish from
A heart sphered with humanity, a-flush
With inward Spring, and drunk with love of this
Dear World. One that made Fate a menial,
And with a holy purpose in his soul,
Rose from obscurity above his peers
Like a full moon that leaves a dismal swamp
And sits in heaven 'mong the stars and night!
Not long I waited for the winds to waft
This freighted soul o'er the Atlantic wave;
For soon the Western Hemisphere bursts forth
In murmurs, like a Memnon touched at morn.
And well I knew that proud Columbia hailed
Another son of song, and stretched her hands
To laurel him. His Book came; and I felt
The Passion that ran through it like a vein,
Was born of Genius, and that the skill
Which flung his fevered being into song,
Would write his name upon the hearts of men
In characters Time's finger cannot blot.

I read and read until my heart was flushed
With a new pleasure; a diviner Light
Came on me, and its golden-fingers touched
My being into tears, as the lightning
Breaks a cloud and ravishes its wealth of
Rain. I read and read, and tho' my eyes grew
Dim with weariness, my soul still thirsted
For those draughts of thought inspiring as Wine!
And all one summer day I bent above
His book, like a pale lily o'er a stream,
And saw my own heart-fancies mirrored on
His page with wilder beauty. . . .
I read and read until the day and dusk
In married colors flooded through the blinds,
And darkness laid his black hand on the page.
And with the taper burning at my side,
The Midnight came upon me ere I'd done
With stars like drops of fire upon her breast!
I turned to look at them and wondered why
Such God-like beauty doomed the sinful world.
I thought of those great souls that, dying, leave
Behind the shadow of their godliness;
Who wrestled all their lives with some great Wrong,
As Jacob did with the mysterious
Angel one long still night at Penuel.
Dear God! when will Contention come and sleep
In the soft lap of Peace? And when shall Right
Throw off its galling chains, as in the spring
The brooks leap from their icy manacles
With an exuberance of joy? Dear God!
When this is so, shall not the Sun go down
Upon the world with a great flushing light,
And rise amid a chorus of the stars
In Paradise?