 | Poems of home and travel |  |
193
THE ANGEL OF THE SOUL.
Una stella, una notte, ed una croce.
—Bisazza.
—Bisazza.
Silence hath conquered thee, imperial Night!
Thou sitt'st alone within her void, cold halls,
Thy solemn brow uplifted, and thy soul
Paining the space with dumb and yearning thought.
The dreary winds are eddying round thy form,
Following the stealthy hours, that wake no stir
In the hushed velvet of thy mantle's fold.
Thy thoughts take being: down the dusky aisles
Glide shapes of good, enticing ghosts of guilt,
And dreams of maddening beauty—hopes, that shine
To darken, and in cloudy height sublime,
The spectral march of some approaching doom.
Nor these alone, O Mother of the world!
People thy chambers, echoless and vast:
Their dewy freshness like ambrosia cools
Life's fever-thirst, and to the fainting soul
Their porphyry walls are touched with light, and gleams
Of shining wonder dance along the void,
Like those processions which the traveller's torch
Wakes from the darkness of three thousand years,
In rock-hewn sepulchres of Theban kings.
Prophets, whose brows of pale, unearthly glow
Reflect the twilight of celestial dawns,
And bards, transfigured in immortal song,
Like eager children, kneeling at thy feet,
Unclasp the awful volume of thy lore.
Thou sitt'st alone within her void, cold halls,
Thy solemn brow uplifted, and thy soul
Paining the space with dumb and yearning thought.
The dreary winds are eddying round thy form,
Following the stealthy hours, that wake no stir
In the hushed velvet of thy mantle's fold.
Thy thoughts take being: down the dusky aisles
Glide shapes of good, enticing ghosts of guilt,
And dreams of maddening beauty—hopes, that shine
To darken, and in cloudy height sublime,
The spectral march of some approaching doom.
Nor these alone, O Mother of the world!
People thy chambers, echoless and vast:
194
Life's fever-thirst, and to the fainting soul
Their porphyry walls are touched with light, and gleams
Of shining wonder dance along the void,
Like those processions which the traveller's torch
Wakes from the darkness of three thousand years,
In rock-hewn sepulchres of Theban kings.
Prophets, whose brows of pale, unearthly glow
Reflect the twilight of celestial dawns,
And bards, transfigured in immortal song,
Like eager children, kneeling at thy feet,
Unclasp the awful volume of thy lore.
My soul explores thy far, mysterious realms,
Beyond this being's circumscribed domain,
Touches the threshold of supremer life,
And calls through all the spangled deeps of heaven
Its guardian angel, as an orphan calls
His only brother, that in childhood died:
Beyond this being's circumscribed domain,
Touches the threshold of supremer life,
And calls through all the spangled deeps of heaven
Its guardian angel, as an orphan calls
His only brother, that in childhood died:
Thy wings waved white across my cradled dreams,
Lost Angel of the Soul! Thy presence led
The babe's faint gropings through the glimmering dark
And into Being's conscious dawn. Thy hand
Held mine in childhood, and thy cherub's cheek
Caressed, like some familiar playmate's, mine.
Lost Angel of the Soul! Thy presence led
The babe's faint gropings through the glimmering dark
And into Being's conscious dawn. Thy hand
Held mine in childhood, and thy cherub's cheek
Caressed, like some familiar playmate's, mine.
195
Up to that boundary, whence the heart leaps forth
To life, like some young torrent, when the rains
Pour dark and full upon the cloudy hills,
Thy shining steps kept even pace with mine.
Be with me now! O, in the starry hush
Of holy night, restore to me again
The innocence whose loss was loss of thee!
Through the warm gush of unexpected tears
Let me behold thine eyes divine, as stars
Swim through the twilight vapors of the sea!
To life, like some young torrent, when the rains
Pour dark and full upon the cloudy hills,
Thy shining steps kept even pace with mine.
Be with me now! O, in the starry hush
Of holy night, restore to me again
The innocence whose loss was loss of thee!
Through the warm gush of unexpected tears
Let me behold thine eyes divine, as stars
Swim through the twilight vapors of the sea!
Not yet hast thou forsaken me. The prayer
Whose crowning fervor lifts my nature up
Midway to God, may still evoke thy form.
Thou hast returned, what time the midnight dew
Clung damp upon my brow, and the broad fields
Stretched far and dim beneath the ghostly moon;
When the dark, awful woods were silent near,
And with imploring hands towards the stars
Clasped in mute yearning, I have questioned Heaven
For the lost language of the book of Life.
In the last undulating, dying strains
Of tender music, I have heard thy voice;
And thou hast cried amid the stormy rush
Of grand orchestral triumph, calling me
Till every chord became a pang, and calling still
Till I could bear no more. I feel the light,
Which is thine atmosphere, around my soul,
When a great sorrow gulfs it from the world.
Whose crowning fervor lifts my nature up
Midway to God, may still evoke thy form.
Thou hast returned, what time the midnight dew
Clung damp upon my brow, and the broad fields
Stretched far and dim beneath the ghostly moon;
When the dark, awful woods were silent near,
And with imploring hands towards the stars
Clasped in mute yearning, I have questioned Heaven
For the lost language of the book of Life.
In the last undulating, dying strains
Of tender music, I have heard thy voice;
And thou hast cried amid the stormy rush
Of grand orchestral triumph, calling me
Till every chord became a pang, and calling still
196
Which is thine atmosphere, around my soul,
When a great sorrow gulfs it from the world.
Come back! come back! my heart grows faint, to know
How thy withdrawing radiance leaves more dim
The twilight borders of the night of Earth.
Now, when the bitter truth is learned; when all
That seemed so high and good, but mocks its seeming;
When the warm dreams of youth come shivering back,
In the cold chambers of the heart to die;
When, with the wrestling years, familiar grows
The merciless hand of Pain, desert me not!
Come with the true heart of the faithful Night,
When I have thrown aside the masking garb
Of the deceitful Day, and lie at rest
On her consoling bosom! From the founts
Of thine exhaustless light, make clear the road
Through toil and darkness, into God's repose!
How thy withdrawing radiance leaves more dim
The twilight borders of the night of Earth.
Now, when the bitter truth is learned; when all
That seemed so high and good, but mocks its seeming;
When the warm dreams of youth come shivering back,
In the cold chambers of the heart to die;
When, with the wrestling years, familiar grows
The merciless hand of Pain, desert me not!
Come with the true heart of the faithful Night,
When I have thrown aside the masking garb
Of the deceitful Day, and lie at rest
On her consoling bosom! From the founts
Of thine exhaustless light, make clear the road
Through toil and darkness, into God's repose!
| Poems of home and travel | |