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139
ETERNITY.
(A CERTAIN MOOD OF A CERTAIN MIND.)
It seems to me not only possible but probable that in a higher and above all a happier condition of human life, not annihilation but immortality will be the burdensome idea; and that human nature, though pleased with the present and by no means willing to quit it, would find comfort and not sadness in the thought that it is not chained through eternity to a conscious existence which it cannot be assured that it will always wish to preserve.—
John Stuart Mill.
What pleasure will not one day pall?
What sweetness will not one day cloy?
A joy that has no end at all
Is not a joy.
What sweetness will not one day cloy?
A joy that has no end at all
Is not a joy.
On that fair Heaven which some men name
With such glad surety while they bless,
Must there not fall the curse, the shame
Of weariness?
With such glad surety while they bless,
Must there not fall the curse, the shame
Of weariness?
This hour, in calms of dazzling sky,
Perchance the applausive song rings pure;
But after æons have gone by
Will it endure?
Perchance the applausive song rings pure;
But after æons have gone by
Will it endure?
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That Heaven the dying thrill to name
And die desiring from their souls,
That rapture ceaselessly the same,
That goal of goals,
And die desiring from their souls,
That rapture ceaselessly the same,
That goal of goals,
When centuries of its ease are past,
Who of its white crowned throngs august
Shall deem not its delights at last
Ashes and dust?
Who of its white crowned throngs august
Shall deem not its delights at last
Ashes and dust?
Will not the voices faintlier come
And faintlier from the angelic band,
And harp by harp drop sadly from
Hand after hand?
And faintlier from the angelic band,
And harp by harp drop sadly from
Hand after hand?
Will any wide chaste wing be found
To cleave at last the untainted air?
Will any sound be save the sound
Of sighings there?
To cleave at last the untainted air?
Will any sound be save the sound
Of sighings there?
What then shall Heaven's bright halls behold
But hate of peace no discord harms,
And languorous heads that droop their gold
On languorous arms?
But hate of peace no discord harms,
And languorous heads that droop their gold
On languorous arms?
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Will immortality not moan
At last for some austere distress
To break its monstrous monotone
Of happiness?
At last for some austere distress
To break its monstrous monotone
Of happiness?
And in those realms of endless dawn
May life at last not grow to be
One sombre and eternal yawn
Of vast ennui?
May life at last not grow to be
One sombre and eternal yawn
Of vast ennui?
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