 | Poems by Sarah Helen Whitman |  |
96
ARCTURUS.
WRITTEN IN APRIL.
“Nec morti esse locum, sed viva volare
Sideris in numerum atque alto succedere cœlo.”
Virgil, Geor., IV.
Sideris in numerum atque alto succedere cœlo.”
Virgil, Geor., IV.
Again, imperial star! thy mystic beams
Pour their wild splendors on my waking dreams,
Piercing the blue depths of the vernal night
With opal shafts and flames of ruby light;
Filling the air with melodies, that come
Mournful and sweet, from the dark, sapphire dome,—
Weird sounds, that make the cheek with wonder pale,
As their wild symphonies o'ersweep the gale.
For, in that gorgeous world, I fondly deem,
Dwells the freed soul of one whose earthly dream
Was full of beauty, majesty and wo;
One who, in that pure realm of thine, doth grow
Into a power serene,—a solemn joy,
Undimmed by earthly sorrow or alloy;
Sphered far above the dread, phantasmal gloom,—
The penal tortures of that living tomb
Wherein his earth-life languished;—who shall tell
The drear enchantments of that Dantean hell!
Pour their wild splendors on my waking dreams,
Piercing the blue depths of the vernal night
With opal shafts and flames of ruby light;
Filling the air with melodies, that come
Mournful and sweet, from the dark, sapphire dome,—
Weird sounds, that make the cheek with wonder pale,
As their wild symphonies o'ersweep the gale.
For, in that gorgeous world, I fondly deem,
Dwells the freed soul of one whose earthly dream
97
One who, in that pure realm of thine, doth grow
Into a power serene,—a solemn joy,
Undimmed by earthly sorrow or alloy;
Sphered far above the dread, phantasmal gloom,—
The penal tortures of that living tomb
Wherein his earth-life languished;—who shall tell
The drear enchantments of that Dantean hell!
“Was it not Fate, whose earthly name in Sorrow,”
That bade him, with prophetic soul, to borrow
From all the stars that fleck night's purple dome,
Thee, bright Arcturus! for his Eden home:—
Was it not Fate, whose name in Heaven above,
Is Truth and Goodness and unchanging Love,—
Was it not Fate, that bade him turn to thee
As the bright regent of his destiny?—
For when thine orb passed from the lengthening gloom
Of autumn nights, a morning-star to bloom
Beside Aurora's eastern gates of pearl,
He passed from earth, his weary wings to furl
In the cool vales of Heaven: thence, through yon sea
Of starry isles, to hold his course to thee.
That bade him, with prophetic soul, to borrow
From all the stars that fleck night's purple dome,
Thee, bright Arcturus! for his Eden home:—
Was it not Fate, whose name in Heaven above,
Is Truth and Goodness and unchanging Love,—
Was it not Fate, that bade him turn to thee
As the bright regent of his destiny?—
For when thine orb passed from the lengthening gloom
Of autumn nights, a morning-star to bloom
98
He passed from earth, his weary wings to furl
In the cool vales of Heaven: thence, through yon sea
Of starry isles, to hold his course to thee.
Now, when in April's cloudless nights, I turn
To where thy pharos mid the stars doth burn,—
A glorious cynosure,—I read in thee
The rune of Virgil's golden augury;
And deem that o'er thy seas of silver calm
Floats the far perfume of the Eden palm.
To where thy pharos mid the stars doth burn,—
A glorious cynosure,—I read in thee
The rune of Virgil's golden augury;
And deem that o'er thy seas of silver calm
Floats the far perfume of the Eden palm.
April, 1850.
| Poems by Sarah Helen Whitman | |