GLORY.
I.
'Tis thy first vision of glory;—
Lo! he is sleeping beside thee;
Sweet is the boy in his slumber;
Slumber more beautiful never
Curtain'd the lips of an infant,
Hung on his mouth like a zephyr,
Or from his lips drew a laughter,
Such as an angel might share in!—
Dark are his violet eyelids,
Soft with a tear dewy-glistening;
Red on his cheeks are the blossoms
Of youth and ineffable beauty;
And o'er his brow, how transcendent,
Bright with all colors, and glowing
Lovely as summer's first rainbow,
Circles the halo of heaven.
II.
Madden not, gazing upon him,—
Thus he but sleeps to beguile thee;—
Stoop not to kiss from his eyelid
Those pearly droplets that glisten
Gem-like, as tributes from ocean,
Cast on the gray sand and shining
Bright in the last glance of evening.—
Little thou dream'st of thy peril;—
Lo! where, conceal'd by the roses,
Grasp'd in his hand, and now quivering,
As eager to fly on its mission,
The subtle red shaft of the lightning!—
Look where his head finds its pillow,
Bolt upon bolt, that flash softly,
Tinging, with faintest suffusion,
The tresses of gold that half hide them.
III.
This is no child but an eagle,
Ready for flight with his burden,
Changing his aspect as quickly,
And reckless and stern as the Afrite,
Who, 'scaping from Solomon's signet,
Rose from his urn to a giant,
Stretching from ocean to heaven.
Waken him not in thy madness;—
Sore is the grief he will bring thee;
Hard is the task he will set thee;
Soon, with the daylight beginning,
Late, with the midnight unending;
Toils, that will make thee to weary,
Sinking to die by the wayside,
With an eye and a hand ever stretching
To the lone, unattainable summits.
