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 | Abaddon, the spirit of destruction ; and other poems |  |
THE DEDICATION.
TO FITZ GREEN HALLECK, Esq.,
As the highest and purest evidence which a poet can offer of his admiration of Genius united to purity of heart, and great poetic excellence to devoted habits of business, with profound respect for virtue and ability, and the varied accomplishments of the scholar and the gentleman,
This Poem is Dedicated by THE AUTHOR.
51
THE HEART'S APOCALYPSE.
Εν ελπισι χρη τους σοφους εχειν βιου.
Ανθρωπος ατυχων σωζεται υπο της ελπιδος.
—Menander.
Ανθρωπος ατυχων σωζεται υπο της ελπιδος.
—Menander.
Why wake ye, memories of devoted hours?
Delirious dreamers, sleep forever now!
Through the cold tempest, that around me lowers,
Glance not heaven's glory on my darkened brow!
Hushed hearts, that quail o'er still despair's last vow,
Breathe awful music 'neath a stranger's touch,
And minds, that rocky as their fortunes grow,
Like mountain torrents gush when tasked too much—
They bear long years, but dare not feel their burden such.
Delirious dreamers, sleep forever now!
Through the cold tempest, that around me lowers,
Glance not heaven's glory on my darkened brow!
Hushed hearts, that quail o'er still despair's last vow,
Breathe awful music 'neath a stranger's touch,
And minds, that rocky as their fortunes grow,
Like mountain torrents gush when tasked too much—
They bear long years, but dare not feel their burden such.
Though shook by every gale, yet, rooted, deep,
Youth's hapless love lives through all power of change!
Too pure to shrink, too proud to wail or weep,
It fills all things with memories vast and strange;
Where'er the rainbow bends or sunbeams range,
Or lightning flames or thunder heralds God,
In ruined castle or romantic grange,
It gathers flowers to clothe its native sod,
And o'er the birthplace hangs where young hearts rushed abroad.
Youth's hapless love lives through all power of change!
Too pure to shrink, too proud to wail or weep,
It fills all things with memories vast and strange;
Where'er the rainbow bends or sunbeams range,
Or lightning flames or thunder heralds God,
In ruined castle or romantic grange,
It gathers flowers to clothe its native sod,
And o'er the birthplace hangs where young hearts rushed abroad.
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The wasted heart retains its earliest glow,
As trampled flowers their odour, not their bloom—
Though doomed no more the thrilling bliss to know,
That threw its angel glance beyond the tomb;
Mid all that can man's lion heart illume,
Mid all his boundless hopes, ambitions, fears,
One image steals o'er all its glow and gloom,
Troubling the fountain of forbidden tears,
And fading not, though borne far down the sea of years.
As trampled flowers their odour, not their bloom—
Though doomed no more the thrilling bliss to know,
That threw its angel glance beyond the tomb;
Mid all that can man's lion heart illume,
Mid all his boundless hopes, ambitions, fears,
One image steals o'er all its glow and gloom,
Troubling the fountain of forbidden tears,
And fading not, though borne far down the sea of years.
The worn mind clings to this—this beautifies
The temple it must ruin; all things sink
Into one passion;—life of earth and skies
Becomes a frenzied ecstacy to drink
The poison-cup, from which we vainly shrink,
The deep cup brimmed with deathless destinies!
Hurled on by agony, which cannot think,
We search vast ocean and world-studded skies
For one sweet home to rest from grief that never dies.
The temple it must ruin; all things sink
Into one passion;—life of earth and skies
Becomes a frenzied ecstacy to drink
The poison-cup, from which we vainly shrink,
The deep cup brimmed with deathless destinies!
Hurled on by agony, which cannot think,
We search vast ocean and world-studded skies
For one sweet home to rest from grief that never dies.
Again—and yet again, my earliest love—
Ellen! thou fabled Clara of my song!
My lonely heart, unchanged, is doomed to prove
A sleepless watcher o'er thy nameless wrong—
An unseen visitant, who roams along
Thy desert way, and loves to trace thy tread,
Though downward tending where Oppression strong
No more can bow thy wildly throbbing head,
Nor gore thy bosom fair among the sceptered dead!
Ellen! thou fabled Clara of my song!
My lonely heart, unchanged, is doomed to prove
A sleepless watcher o'er thy nameless wrong—
An unseen visitant, who roams along
Thy desert way, and loves to trace thy tread,
Though downward tending where Oppression strong
No more can bow thy wildly throbbing head,
Nor gore thy bosom fair among the sceptered dead!
53
Pale, chilled, and passionless, thine image steals,
With wrought brow, hollow cheek, and faded eyes,
O'er me when most the quickened spirit feels,
The soundless hour of midnight phantasies;
Then pallid Memory on dark wings flies,
Like birds to Tinian's isle from ocean's storm,
To thee and love, romance and May-night skies,
And for an hour it slumbers 'neath the charm,
That, as an angel garb, hath ever wrapt thy form.
With wrought brow, hollow cheek, and faded eyes,
O'er me when most the quickened spirit feels,
The soundless hour of midnight phantasies;
Then pallid Memory on dark wings flies,
Like birds to Tinian's isle from ocean's storm,
To thee and love, romance and May-night skies,
And for an hour it slumbers 'neath the charm,
That, as an angel garb, hath ever wrapt thy form.
Then, in communion with eternal days,
I clothe my soul in sanctities, and yearn
For that restoring hour when scorn or praise
Shall mock no more the heart that cannot learn
To quench the shrine where love's first odours burn;
When courteous speech shall sanction spotted crime,
And tyrants from their sacrifices turn
No more exulting, but, beyond all time,
True hearts, long sundered, clasp in glory's realms sublime.
I clothe my soul in sanctities, and yearn
For that restoring hour when scorn or praise
Shall mock no more the heart that cannot learn
To quench the shrine where love's first odours burn;
When courteous speech shall sanction spotted crime,
And tyrants from their sacrifices turn
No more exulting, but, beyond all time,
True hearts, long sundered, clasp in glory's realms sublime.
We feast on hope as 't were our vital food—
And linger o'er it with a vain delight;
We banquet on the air when tempests brood,
And breathe the rose when at its heart is blight!
Misguided, hopeless pilgrims of the night,
Grasping at shadows in an unknown land,
Victims of visions, gathering wrong from right,
With foes behind us and on either hand,
And led by danger on where giant fiends command.
And linger o'er it with a vain delight;
We banquet on the air when tempests brood,
And breathe the rose when at its heart is blight!
Misguided, hopeless pilgrims of the night,
Grasping at shadows in an unknown land,
Victims of visions, gathering wrong from right,
With foes behind us and on either hand,
And led by danger on where giant fiends command.
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'Would I had been thy brother! life had then
Been pleasant to thee, and thy virgin smile
Had lingered yet—like twilight in the glen,
Revealing a bright spirit!—to beguile
Thy little cares, with deep and patient toil
To build a quiet refuge for thy rest,
To love thee with a hallowed love, and pile
Blessings around—in each myself most blest—
Had been my daily joy—so joy was in thy breast.
Been pleasant to thee, and thy virgin smile
Had lingered yet—like twilight in the glen,
Revealing a bright spirit!—to beguile
Thy little cares, with deep and patient toil
To build a quiet refuge for thy rest,
To love thee with a hallowed love, and pile
Blessings around—in each myself most blest—
Had been my daily joy—so joy was in thy breast.
But thou art fated to endure reproof,
Linked to a serpent evil none can rend—
Doomed to the dismal refuge of a roof
Whence hope was banished by thy nearest friend—
Creating images of woe where blend
All separate features of thy own despair—
And, worse than madness, destined to depend
On him who peopled all thy landscape fair
With grief, repentance, doubt, and cold and crushing care!
Linked to a serpent evil none can rend—
Doomed to the dismal refuge of a roof
Whence hope was banished by thy nearest friend—
Creating images of woe where blend
All separate features of thy own despair—
And, worse than madness, destined to depend
On him who peopled all thy landscape fair
With grief, repentance, doubt, and cold and crushing care!
And I, when vesper lifts its diamond brow,
And zephyrs glide in music through the grove,
Oft sink in anguish o'er thy fate, as now,
And sanctify thy sacrilege of love!
Where'er o'er earth my wayward passions rove,
To thee ne'er faithless, still to Derby's wood
They turn enchanted—and ascend above.
When by that silent forest shore we stood,
Rememberest thou, lost love?—the sun went down in blood!
And zephyrs glide in music through the grove,
Oft sink in anguish o'er thy fate, as now,
And sanctify thy sacrilege of love!
Where'er o'er earth my wayward passions rove,
To thee ne'er faithless, still to Derby's wood
They turn enchanted—and ascend above.
When by that silent forest shore we stood,
Rememberest thou, lost love?—the sun went down in blood!
55
DESPONDENCY.
There is no bliss in being; all in vain
We toil and struggle here; in grief and pain
Born to a world of sufferance and of sin,
And doomed to woo what none can ever win,
Life is a weary burden, hard to bear,
Of dark offence and desolate despair—
A lingering helplessness—a quenchless thirst
To taste and yet a shuddering o'er the worst.
The diamond dawn of being—its blest hours
Of love and innocence—young budding flowers!
Its earliest pleasures, bursting into bloom,
Only to blossom o'er the chill dark tomb,
Soon fade and perish, and hope's rosy light
Throws lurid gloom o'er sorrow's wailing night,
Which shrouds the heart in such unmeasured woe
As they, who deeply feel, alone can know.
We toil and struggle here; in grief and pain
Born to a world of sufferance and of sin,
And doomed to woo what none can ever win,
Life is a weary burden, hard to bear,
Of dark offence and desolate despair—
A lingering helplessness—a quenchless thirst
To taste and yet a shuddering o'er the worst.
The diamond dawn of being—its blest hours
Of love and innocence—young budding flowers!
Its earliest pleasures, bursting into bloom,
Only to blossom o'er the chill dark tomb,
Soon fade and perish, and hope's rosy light
Throws lurid gloom o'er sorrow's wailing night,
Which shrouds the heart in such unmeasured woe
As they, who deeply feel, alone can know.
Oh, how the heart-pulse throbs with burning flush
When life's young feelings o'er the bosom gush,
And earth unfolds her glories to the eye,
And angel harps are heard along the sky,
At that sweet season when the spirit pours
Its starlight beauty o'er the eternal shores!
What radiant forms glide through each Eden grove,
Forms full of loveliness and bliss and love—
Ideal shapes from fancy's magic mould,
Never beheld when the warm heart grows cold,
And the wan hue of sickly thought doth spread
O'er living brows the image of the dead!
The glorious skies, where angels sing in praise,
Their unfurled pinions flashing heaven's own blaze;
The fair green earth—the vestibule of heaven,
Where spirits commune in the dusky even;
The wild lone main, with all its worlds beneath,
The dim mysterious palaces of death;
The joy of thought, the rainbow of the mind,
The silent rapture of a soul refined;
All cease to charm when want and woe assail
The shuddering spirit with their spectre wail,
E'en in the dayspring of confiding youth
When the pure bosom is the shrine of truth.
Lost in himself amid the false and vain,
Man looks abroad upon a world of pain
With the cold eye of unobservant scorn,
And wonders why this wretchedness was born.
When life's young feelings o'er the bosom gush,
And earth unfolds her glories to the eye,
And angel harps are heard along the sky,
At that sweet season when the spirit pours
Its starlight beauty o'er the eternal shores!
What radiant forms glide through each Eden grove,
Forms full of loveliness and bliss and love—
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Never beheld when the warm heart grows cold,
And the wan hue of sickly thought doth spread
O'er living brows the image of the dead!
The glorious skies, where angels sing in praise,
Their unfurled pinions flashing heaven's own blaze;
The fair green earth—the vestibule of heaven,
Where spirits commune in the dusky even;
The wild lone main, with all its worlds beneath,
The dim mysterious palaces of death;
The joy of thought, the rainbow of the mind,
The silent rapture of a soul refined;
All cease to charm when want and woe assail
The shuddering spirit with their spectre wail,
E'en in the dayspring of confiding youth
When the pure bosom is the shrine of truth.
Lost in himself amid the false and vain,
Man looks abroad upon a world of pain
With the cold eye of unobservant scorn,
And wonders why this wretchedness was born.
Oh, what is human hope? a viewless star,
That never shines upon us where we are;
A glimmering light, that, throned in other spheres,
Only reveals the darkness of our fears;
A world beyond all other worlds on high,
That mocks the gaze of every mortal eye;
A realm of dreams this life cannot fulfil,
Forever distant, wander where we will.
Oft and yet vainly hath my worn heart sighed
For joys that budded but to be denied;
And vain hath been my spirit's airy flight—
It fell from heaven in sorrow's troubled night,
And sunk below the common hopes of man—
Seared by the lightning of my being's ban.
The loftier triumphs of the human breast,
The proud ambition that can find no rest,
The rainbow joys that glitter but to die,
And love, our heaven or hell beneath the sky—
All—all are vain! the wide waste world is cursed
By ills and wrongs—the wildest and the worst.
That never shines upon us where we are;
A glimmering light, that, throned in other spheres,
Only reveals the darkness of our fears;
A world beyond all other worlds on high,
That mocks the gaze of every mortal eye;
A realm of dreams this life cannot fulfil,
Forever distant, wander where we will.
Oft and yet vainly hath my worn heart sighed
For joys that budded but to be denied;
57
It fell from heaven in sorrow's troubled night,
And sunk below the common hopes of man—
Seared by the lightning of my being's ban.
The loftier triumphs of the human breast,
The proud ambition that can find no rest,
The rainbow joys that glitter but to die,
And love, our heaven or hell beneath the sky—
All—all are vain! the wide waste world is cursed
By ills and wrongs—the wildest and the worst.
Trust not in man! confide not in the best,
But lock thy counsels in thine own still breast!
He loves thee not whose venal voice proclaims
Vile paynim worship to dark Mammon's names;
He loves thee not who honours thee in pride
But to reject when fortune is denied;
He loves thee not, who, in a darkened day,
Leaves thee alone to track thy desert way,
Content to mutter—“O, I wish thee well!”
When earth seems opening to the nether hell.
Trust not in man! the wisest err in ill,
The greatest falter—and the human will
Grovels forever in the darkness cast
O'er life from the first sigh unto the last.
Friends are but phantoms in thy bitter need,
They counsel wisely while thy death-wounds bleed.
Love lives in deep delusions born of youth,
And dying in the dawn of awful truth;
Faith, like the raven from the ark sent forth,
Wanders unresting o'er the lonely earth;
And hope, earth's only happiness, doth nurse
Wild thoughts that centre in a burning curse!
Trust not in man! confide not in his faith!
His tongue breeds venom and his spirit—death.
But lock thy counsels in thine own still breast!
He loves thee not whose venal voice proclaims
Vile paynim worship to dark Mammon's names;
He loves thee not who honours thee in pride
But to reject when fortune is denied;
He loves thee not, who, in a darkened day,
Leaves thee alone to track thy desert way,
Content to mutter—“O, I wish thee well!”
When earth seems opening to the nether hell.
Trust not in man! the wisest err in ill,
The greatest falter—and the human will
Grovels forever in the darkness cast
O'er life from the first sigh unto the last.
Friends are but phantoms in thy bitter need,
They counsel wisely while thy death-wounds bleed.
Love lives in deep delusions born of youth,
And dying in the dawn of awful truth;
Faith, like the raven from the ark sent forth,
Wanders unresting o'er the lonely earth;
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Wild thoughts that centre in a burning curse!
Trust not in man! confide not in his faith!
His tongue breeds venom and his spirit—death.
There is no joy in life; its hopes and fears,
Its cold lip-smiles and unconsoling tears,
Its woes that wither and its toil that tires,
Its vain illusions and its false desires;
The keen pursuit, without a settled aim,
Of bootless power and unaccomplished fame;
The changes, chances, and unwitnessed tears,
The doubts that darken into endless fears;—
All pour the bitterness of wrath upon
The heart of man—earth's dust compounded son!
Alas! how poor is all he seeks to gain!
Clothed with bright pleasure but replete with pain.
Bright with the colours fond self-love bestows,
As mildew pictures like the morning rose;
Warm with the deep glow of the spirit's fire,
As the dead earth beneath the victim's pyre;
Love spreads its glory o'er our youth, but leaves
The bosom blasted, and alone it grieves.
Misfortune, fount of pride, in silence sears
The purest feelings of our earlier years,
And dread dependance o'er the high mind throws
The robe of Nessus; and our wants and woes
Blanche the fair cheek and furrow o'er the brow,
And make our progeny what we are now!
Its cold lip-smiles and unconsoling tears,
Its woes that wither and its toil that tires,
Its vain illusions and its false desires;
The keen pursuit, without a settled aim,
Of bootless power and unaccomplished fame;
The changes, chances, and unwitnessed tears,
The doubts that darken into endless fears;—
All pour the bitterness of wrath upon
The heart of man—earth's dust compounded son!
Alas! how poor is all he seeks to gain!
Clothed with bright pleasure but replete with pain.
Bright with the colours fond self-love bestows,
As mildew pictures like the morning rose;
Warm with the deep glow of the spirit's fire,
As the dead earth beneath the victim's pyre;
Love spreads its glory o'er our youth, but leaves
The bosom blasted, and alone it grieves.
Misfortune, fount of pride, in silence sears
The purest feelings of our earlier years,
And dread dependance o'er the high mind throws
The robe of Nessus; and our wants and woes
Blanche the fair cheek and furrow o'er the brow,
And make our progeny what we are now!
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THE IMPERIAL SACRIFICE.
This poem was written at the request of my friend John Howard Payne on the occasion of Charles X. laying the corner stone of the monument, in the square of the Tuilleries, to Louis XVI.; one of the most unpopular acts which an ill-established monarch ever committed.
Hear ye the rush that, like the mountain storm,
Rolls deep and awfully along?
Lo! what mute horror, like a sorcerer's charm,
Holds that upgazing throng!
Amazed the unfettered vassal stands
Before his captive lord!
See how he gazes on his blood-red hands
And shakes the purple drops from his uplifted sword.
Rolls deep and awfully along?
Lo! what mute horror, like a sorcerer's charm,
Holds that upgazing throng!
Amazed the unfettered vassal stands
Before his captive lord!
See how he gazes on his blood-red hands
And shakes the purple drops from his uplifted sword.
Where is the monarch? where his train
Of lords and ladies fair?
And where the adoring crowd, whose hearts, like rain
Or dew in summer's air,
Shed light and joy and regal pride
Round Bourbon's royal son?
Hark! 't was a groan as if a monarch died!
The earthquake has begun!
How the vast mass of human life doth move
And tremble like an avalanche on high!
Flows such deep terror from devoted love
And loyal truth and sacred fealty?
Alas! before the palace of his sires,
A glorious line of kings,
The crownless king beneath the axe expires—
The shout of triumph and derision rings.
Of lords and ladies fair?
And where the adoring crowd, whose hearts, like rain
Or dew in summer's air,
Shed light and joy and regal pride
Round Bourbon's royal son?
Hark! 't was a groan as if a monarch died!
The earthquake has begun!
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And tremble like an avalanche on high!
Flows such deep terror from devoted love
And loyal truth and sacred fealty?
Alas! before the palace of his sires,
A glorious line of kings,
The crownless king beneath the axe expires—
The shout of triumph and derision rings.
Lo! where they move in long and dark array
With banner, pall, and shroud!
The smoke of censers dims the eye of day,
Religion cries aloud!
High o'er the pomp of royal funeral rites
In meek devotion paid,
The uplifted cross moves on 'mid thousand lights,
Where a great nation like one hermit tread!
How mournfully, 'mid chanted hymn,
And requiem murmured low,
And orisons round tapers dim,
While countless forms like shadows swim,
The deep knell tolls a nation's wailing woe!
Why throng they round the accursed spot?
Away! it was the deathbed of a king!
O banished Bourbon! knowest thou not
Thy brother perished like a felon here?
O hearst thou not the shout of madness ring?
And seest thou not the badge of death they bear!
Fly, chief betrayed! in silence fly,
Thy throne is stained with blood!
Turn not again thy blasted eye—
They come! they come! like Gierstein's torrent flood.
With banner, pall, and shroud!
The smoke of censers dims the eye of day,
Religion cries aloud!
High o'er the pomp of royal funeral rites
In meek devotion paid,
The uplifted cross moves on 'mid thousand lights,
Where a great nation like one hermit tread!
How mournfully, 'mid chanted hymn,
And requiem murmured low,
And orisons round tapers dim,
While countless forms like shadows swim,
The deep knell tolls a nation's wailing woe!
Why throng they round the accursed spot?
Away! it was the deathbed of a king!
O banished Bourbon! knowest thou not
Thy brother perished like a felon here?
O hearst thou not the shout of madness ring?
And seest thou not the badge of death they bear!
Fly, chief betrayed! in silence fly,
Thy throne is stained with blood!
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They come! they come! like Gierstein's torrent flood.
Ah! 'twas the dæmon forms of other years,
That hurried o'er my brain;
The miscreant host that drank a nation's tears,
And feasted on the slain.
I see them now—each gory brow,
Each crimson hand—in wrath they stand
E'en on the spot where Louis fell
And Austria's lovely daughter died!
They throng around like shapes of hell,
The sacred pomp of funeral pride,
And shriek and yell and hurtle in the air,
In vain, to mock the rites that doom them to despair.
That hurried o'er my brain;
The miscreant host that drank a nation's tears,
And feasted on the slain.
I see them now—each gory brow,
Each crimson hand—in wrath they stand
E'en on the spot where Louis fell
And Austria's lovely daughter died!
They throng around like shapes of hell,
The sacred pomp of funeral pride,
And shriek and yell and hurtle in the air,
In vain, to mock the rites that doom them to despair.
The sacrifice is paid!
Rest, martyred Louis! in thy glory rest!
Thy riven crown is laid,
Thy broken sceptre on thy bleeding breast.
Rest, for thy requiem hath been said!
Rejoice, thou hearst our prayers among the blest!
Here, on the earth once hallowed by thy blood,
O royal martyr! let thy presence dwell!
Where frantic murderers at thy death hour stood,
And o'er thee raised hate's maddening yell,
With holy joy and sacrificial praise
We build thy temple tomb—thy mausoleum raise!
Rest, martyred Louis! in thy glory rest!
Thy riven crown is laid,
Thy broken sceptre on thy bleeding breast.
Rest, for thy requiem hath been said!
Rejoice, thou hearst our prayers among the blest!
Here, on the earth once hallowed by thy blood,
O royal martyr! let thy presence dwell!
Where frantic murderers at thy death hour stood,
And o'er thee raised hate's maddening yell,
With holy joy and sacrificial praise
We build thy temple tomb—thy mausoleum raise!
71
THE LAST HOUR OF THE POLONESE.
Count Pulaski, banished from his own ruined country, sought fame and true glory by his services in the American Revolution; and fell at the siege of Savannah, while rallying the flying forces of the wounded Admiral D'Estaing.
Vainly in battle's lava van
The highborn Pole had striven;
His warriors quailed beneath the ban,
The doom of earth and heaven;
And Warsaw's last proud spirit fled
Before the Cossack host,
While far and near the unburied dead
Shrieked wildly—“all is lost!”
The highborn Pole had striven;
His warriors quailed beneath the ban,
The doom of earth and heaven;
And Warsaw's last proud spirit fled
Before the Cossack host,
While far and near the unburied dead
Shrieked wildly—“all is lost!”
Doomed to despair, by vultures rent,
And blotted from the earth,
Pale Poland to the tyrant bent,
The child of monarch birth!
And ravening hordes of serfs o'erran
And sack'd the imperial realm,
Where thousand kings in battle's van
Had banner borne and helm.
And blotted from the earth,
Pale Poland to the tyrant bent,
The child of monarch birth!
And ravening hordes of serfs o'erran
And sack'd the imperial realm,
Where thousand kings in battle's van
Had banner borne and helm.
72
Wrenched from the heart of nations—thrown,
A felon's quivering corse,
A limb to each accursed one—
Could dæmons spoil thee worse?
Oh, how could men behold nor stay
The bandit league of blood,
The deed of that unhallowed day
Whose triumph none withstood?
A felon's quivering corse,
A limb to each accursed one—
Could dæmons spoil thee worse?
Oh, how could men behold nor stay
The bandit league of blood,
The deed of that unhallowed day
Whose triumph none withstood?
Thou parted realm of bleeding hearts!
Thrice widowed child of woe!
The glory of thy power departs
And leaves thee—ah, how low!
Could one of all thy sons abide
To see the spoiler's sword
Wave o'er the ruins of his pride,
The standard of his lord?
Thrice widowed child of woe!
The glory of thy power departs
And leaves thee—ah, how low!
Could one of all thy sons abide
To see the spoiler's sword
Wave o'er the ruins of his pride,
The standard of his lord?
Let tyrants vainly trample o'er
The wreck of feeble men,
Till Europe quakes from shore to shore
Like the wild thunder's glen!
They cannot break or bend or bind
The Will sublime and free,
Nor chain nor crush the immortal mind—
Such, blood king! spurn at thee.
The wreck of feeble men,
Till Europe quakes from shore to shore
Like the wild thunder's glen!
They cannot break or bend or bind
The Will sublime and free,
Nor chain nor crush the immortal mind—
Such, blood king! spurn at thee.
Dispersed like beams of deathless fire
The hunted Polonese:
Some lighted Stamboul's funeral pyre
Among the hills of Greece;
Some o'er pale Gaul their spirit cast,
And Freedom's voice went up;
And some—Pulaski was the last—
Drank at our trial cup!
The hunted Polonese:
Some lighted Stamboul's funeral pyre
Among the hills of Greece;
73
And Freedom's voice went up;
And some—Pulaski was the last—
Drank at our trial cup!
His sword—his only birthright now,
His heart,—his only dower,
His only pride—a soul to glow
O'er Freedom—hope's sole flower!
Pulaski from the ruins sprung
Of empire, shrine and throne,
Back on his foes a deep curse flung,
And wandered forth alone!
His heart,—his only dower,
His only pride—a soul to glow
O'er Freedom—hope's sole flower!
Pulaski from the ruins sprung
Of empire, shrine and throne,
Back on his foes a deep curse flung,
And wandered forth alone!
He rode upon the midnight wave
And dared the ocean wind;
The billow was a happier grave
Than the earth he left behind:
His spirit mingled with the main
And drank its music then,—
There were no mounds of victims slain,
No screams of dying men.
And dared the ocean wind;
The billow was a happier grave
Than the earth he left behind:
His spirit mingled with the main
And drank its music then,—
There were no mounds of victims slain,
No screams of dying men.
He came where Famine held her guard,
And giant Danger stood;
He was his own one great reward
In tent or field or flood!
His eye amid the brave and free
Shone like the brow of even—
The star of empire yet to be—
The Aurora light of heaven!
And giant Danger stood;
He was his own one great reward
In tent or field or flood!
His eye amid the brave and free
Shone like the brow of even—
The star of empire yet to be—
The Aurora light of heaven!
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His clarion voice to wrath awoke
The faint but fearless host;
The lightning of his whirlwind stroke
Restored the battle lost;
His warhorse sprung—ere carbine flashed,
The foeman headless lay,
And on, where treacherous wildwoods crashed,
He held his victor way.
The faint but fearless host;
The lightning of his whirlwind stroke
Restored the battle lost;
His warhorse sprung—ere carbine flashed,
The foeman headless lay,
And on, where treacherous wildwoods crashed,
He held his victor way.
He soared his broidered banner high
O'er Wissihiccon's glen,
And sent his fierce loud battlecry
Through hosts of banded men;
Wronged victor in a foreign war,
He laid his laurels down,
And rendered to a worshipped Star
A glory not its own.
O'er Wissihiccon's glen,
And sent his fierce loud battlecry
Through hosts of banded men;
Wronged victor in a foreign war,
He laid his laurels down,
And rendered to a worshipped Star
A glory not its own.
When torrent War in flame rolled on
To Georgia's pinewood heath,
And dying prayer and shriek and groan
Called warriors to their death,
Like hope around deathbed despair,
Pulaski hurried by,
Meek grandeur in his dauntless air,
And triumph in his eye.
To Georgia's pinewood heath,
And dying prayer and shriek and groan
Called warriors to their death,
Like hope around deathbed despair,
Pulaski hurried by,
Meek grandeur in his dauntless air,
And triumph in his eye.
The siege beneath Savannah's towers
Unfolds its fearless band,
Who count not foes but wasted hours
Dear to a bleeding land;
Yet few in peril now are blest
While thousands war within—
High floats proud Albion's scornful crest—
Who shall the glory win?
Unfolds its fearless band,
Who count not foes but wasted hours
Dear to a bleeding land;
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While thousands war within—
High floats proud Albion's scornful crest—
Who shall the glory win?
Soul of the battle! son of Gaul!
Beware thy dauntless tread!
The bastion shakes—the ramparts fall—
The dying and the dead
Lie mingled 'neath yon trembling tower
Where fires through darkness glow—
On! on! 'tis victory's chosen hour!
Why shrink the siegers now?
Beware thy dauntless tread!
The bastion shakes—the ramparts fall—
The dying and the dead
Lie mingled 'neath yon trembling tower
Where fires through darkness glow—
On! on! 'tis victory's chosen hour!
Why shrink the siegers now?
Where is Pulaski? Where the Gaul
Sheds life upon the ground,
Where Death stalks o'er the shatter'd wall,
And mad Rout cries around!
Hark! Flight and Terror hear his cry
And Glory lights his spear—
They mount! they mount! they fall! they fly!
Where is that Form of Fear!
Sheds life upon the ground,
Where Death stalks o'er the shatter'd wall,
And mad Rout cries around!
Hark! Flight and Terror hear his cry
And Glory lights his spear—
They mount! they mount! they fall! they fly!
Where is that Form of Fear!
Low on the green turf bleeding, dead!
Despair beside him lies,
Fame from his plume and helm hath fled—
The light of all his victories!
Who doth lament the hero gone?
The Patriot fall'n? Two nations there;
Poland, her last devoted son!
Columbia! her glory's heir!
Despair beside him lies,
Fame from his plume and helm hath fled—
The light of all his victories!
Who doth lament the hero gone?
The Patriot fall'n? Two nations there;
Poland, her last devoted son!
Columbia! her glory's heir!
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THE CAPTURE OF ANDRE.
'T was the midnight hour, when the Traitor bade
His country's foe adieu,
And broken gleams of moonlight played
The dew-dropp'd foliage through;
The autumnal wind, in gusty sighs,
The twinkling forest fann'd,
While Love seemed stooping from the skies,
To bless a bleeding land.
His country's foe adieu,
And broken gleams of moonlight played
The dew-dropp'd foliage through;
The autumnal wind, in gusty sighs,
The twinkling forest fann'd,
While Love seemed stooping from the skies,
To bless a bleeding land.
Ill-fated chief! youth on thy brow,
Ambition in thy heart,
Fame smiles in gladness on thee now—
Oh, haste not to depart!
A voice comes from the wildwood dim,
But breathes no midnight prayer,
And vague vast forms like shadows swim—
Lo! war and death are there!
Ambition in thy heart,
Fame smiles in gladness on thee now—
Oh, haste not to depart!
A voice comes from the wildwood dim,
But breathes no midnight prayer,
And vague vast forms like shadows swim—
Lo! war and death are there!
Hark to the sound of the measured tread!
Mark yon quick shooting gleam!
Stern hearts are where that flash is shed—
Yon white tents are no dream;
Thy path lies through a host of men
Whose souls are in their swords,
And a cross of shame is in yon glen—
They heed no gentle words.
Mark yon quick shooting gleam!
Stern hearts are where that flash is shed—
Yon white tents are no dream;
77
Whose souls are in their swords,
And a cross of shame is in yon glen—
They heed no gentle words.
Oh! gallant is thy proud array,
But souls as proud as thine,
Like meteor lights, around thy way
In gloom of battle shine.
Beware the scathe of their patriot ire!
Though the Traitor gives thee scope—
Beware the blaze of the beacon fire!
Or thou hast no farther hope.
But souls as proud as thine,
Like meteor lights, around thy way
In gloom of battle shine.
Beware the scathe of their patriot ire!
Though the Traitor gives thee scope—
Beware the blaze of the beacon fire!
Or thou hast no farther hope.
On, on the Briton warrior goes,
And the Traitor bids God speed!
Through the banded line of his sleeping foes—
Young hero! take good heed!
The woods are silent, but life is there,
And the weapons of war are round,
And a lone far cry rings on the air—
Thou art on forbidden ground!
And the Traitor bids God speed!
Through the banded line of his sleeping foes—
Young hero! take good heed!
The woods are silent, but life is there,
And the weapons of war are round,
And a lone far cry rings on the air—
Thou art on forbidden ground!
“Who rides so late?” Three warriors start
From the shattered ravine dun,
And fear sinks on the Briton's heart,
For his camp is almost won.
“Speak out the watchword!” sternly gleam
The bayonets raised on high,—
He looked to wood and field and stream,
But uttered no reply.
From the shattered ravine dun,
And fear sinks on the Briton's heart,
For his camp is almost won.
“Speak out the watchword!” sternly gleam
The bayonets raised on high,—
He looked to wood and field and stream,
But uttered no reply.
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He marched to death with a daunted heart.
For his was the doom of shame;
And his spirit shrunk from earth to part
With a brand upon his name:
And his sternest foe bewailed the fate
That stained his pride of mind,
As he stood in his last hour desolate,
To death, not shame, resigned.
For his was the doom of shame;
And his spirit shrunk from earth to part
With a brand upon his name:
And his sternest foe bewailed the fate
That stained his pride of mind,
As he stood in his last hour desolate,
To death, not shame, resigned.
He looked to the glorious sun and sighed,
And to earth he gave a tear,
And then, with a thought, he cast aside
The weight of his grief and fear.
For a moment's lapse each panting breath
Was heard amid the crowd,
Then the platform fell, and the groan of death
Rose fearfully wild and loud.
And to earth he gave a tear,
And then, with a thought, he cast aside
The weight of his grief and fear.
For a moment's lapse each panting breath
Was heard amid the crowd,
Then the platform fell, and the groan of death
Rose fearfully wild and loud.
79
MEMORY'S REVEALINGS.
O'er life's brief, fitful day,
Through the deep cypress vista of the Past,
Linger and watch, like pilgrims on their way
O'er Afric's voiceless waste.
Through the deep cypress vista of the Past,
Linger and watch, like pilgrims on their way
O'er Afric's voiceless waste.
What meets thee there, pale child?
The glimmering ghosts of being's happier years?
What hear'st thou? Sighs along the whispering wild,
Too full of woe for tears.
The glimmering ghosts of being's happier years?
What hear'st thou? Sighs along the whispering wild,
Too full of woe for tears.
Gone to the realm of Mind,
To the dim dwellings of the seraphs gone,
The hearts that breathed their music on the wind—
And I am left alone.
To the dim dwellings of the seraphs gone,
The hearts that breathed their music on the wind—
And I am left alone.
Alone 'mid Life's wild stir,
Where toil o'erwears and thought corrodes the frame,
And great Ambition bears the felon's slur.
While Glory's but a name!
Where toil o'erwears and thought corrodes the frame,
And great Ambition bears the felon's slur.
While Glory's but a name!
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Grief and despair attend
My wayward wanderings o'er the shadowy heath,
Yet, many an image of a long loved friend
Floats o'er the land of death.
My wayward wanderings o'er the shadowy heath,
Yet, many an image of a long loved friend
Floats o'er the land of death.
O'er the quick spirit's eye,
Like gleams through white clouds of Night's diamond star,
Time's hallowed memories, from their haunts on high,
Thrill me like things that are.
Like gleams through white clouds of Night's diamond star,
Time's hallowed memories, from their haunts on high,
Thrill me like things that are.
Oft to the echo of my song
The earliest touches of my lyre have wailed
O'er him who perished ere I cursed men's wrong,
O'er her who never quailed.
The earliest touches of my lyre have wailed
O'er him who perished ere I cursed men's wrong,
O'er her who never quailed.
Yet there were more—proud boys,
Whose minds just budded when the stem decayed;
Whose bright eyes gleamed with all earth's earliest joys—
And mirrored worlds they made.
Whose minds just budded when the stem decayed;
Whose bright eyes gleamed with all earth's earliest joys—
And mirrored worlds they made.
And others, to whose spell
All spirits bowed in rapture and in bliss,
Whose smile like incense on the bosom fell—
Doomed to the earth-worm's kiss!
All spirits bowed in rapture and in bliss,
Whose smile like incense on the bosom fell—
Doomed to the earth-worm's kiss!
Electric Memory springs
To one whom years of early love endeared.
We parted; Death closed round him his dark wings,
He died—but never feared.
To one whom years of early love endeared.
We parted; Death closed round him his dark wings,
He died—but never feared.
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Descend, pale visions! come
Round my dark spirit on your angel pinions,
And waft my prayers to heaven's ethereal home
Of Princedoms and Dominions!
Round my dark spirit on your angel pinions,
And waft my prayers to heaven's ethereal home
Of Princedoms and Dominions!
Glide, like June's twilight hues,
O'er the green mountain and its vale of flowers,
Round my lone path, and o'er its thorns diffuse
Odours of lovelier hours.
O'er the green mountain and its vale of flowers,
Round my lone path, and o'er its thorns diffuse
Odours of lovelier hours.
So my rough road shall lead,
Temptation foiled and persecution scorned,
Where youth no more shall struggle, toil and bleed,
But Virtue reign adorned.
Temptation foiled and persecution scorned,
Where youth no more shall struggle, toil and bleed,
But Virtue reign adorned.
So trial shall achieve
Its best reward, the conscious pride of Truth,
And Love no more o'er baffled transports grieve,
In blest eternal youth.
Its best reward, the conscious pride of Truth,
And Love no more o'er baffled transports grieve,
In blest eternal youth.
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THE EUDÆMONIST.
Last night, o'er glorious woods with leaves like wings,
Luxuriant meads and orchards all in bloom,
And the glass'd beauty of transparent springs,
Which seem'd elysium far beyond the tomb,
The sunset linger'd, and threw o'er the gloom
Radiant revealments of a holier trust,
And, as I gazed, methought the grave's cold womb
Could never quench the spirit proud and just,
Nor dim the light of God in earth's unhonoured dust.
Luxuriant meads and orchards all in bloom,
And the glass'd beauty of transparent springs,
Which seem'd elysium far beyond the tomb,
The sunset linger'd, and threw o'er the gloom
Radiant revealments of a holier trust,
And, as I gazed, methought the grave's cold womb
Could never quench the spirit proud and just,
Nor dim the light of God in earth's unhonoured dust.
From their blue orbits in the realms of air,
Forth flash the myriad monarchs of the night,
Regents of heaven! who hold o'er man's despair
The silent empire of serene delight;
Gloriously beautiful and deeply bright,
Their emanations blend like music's breath,
And to the bosom through the enchanted sight,
Their softness and their sanctity bequeath,
The knowledge how to live—the hallowed awe of death.
Forth flash the myriad monarchs of the night,
Regents of heaven! who hold o'er man's despair
The silent empire of serene delight;
Gloriously beautiful and deeply bright,
Their emanations blend like music's breath,
And to the bosom through the enchanted sight,
Their softness and their sanctity bequeath,
The knowledge how to live—the hallowed awe of death.
Memory, melancholy and patient hope
Attend your missions through the midnight hours,
Unfaltering courage with life's ills to cope,
Devotion kneeling in forsaken bowers,
And breathing odours from youth's withered flowers.
Life, at the best a dream of happier spheres,
A dim, vague vision while the tempest lowers,
In your soft light o'ercomes its human fears,
Bends o'er the throne of thought and worships heaven in tears.
Attend your missions through the midnight hours,
Unfaltering courage with life's ills to cope,
Devotion kneeling in forsaken bowers,
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Life, at the best a dream of happier spheres,
A dim, vague vision while the tempest lowers,
In your soft light o'ercomes its human fears,
Bends o'er the throne of thought and worships heaven in tears.
How burns the spirit, in its seraph mood,
To drink your mysteries, the shadowy smile
Of Him, who beautiful from chaos' flood
Wrought countless worlds! how boundless hopes beguile
The heart that festers in its earthly toil,
And give to night enchantment, when the mind,
Untaxed, untasked, around its shrine may pile
Sweet buds of thought, whose fragrance in the wind
Soars to love's glorious realm, by martyrs scarce divined.
To drink your mysteries, the shadowy smile
Of Him, who beautiful from chaos' flood
Wrought countless worlds! how boundless hopes beguile
The heart that festers in its earthly toil,
And give to night enchantment, when the mind,
Untaxed, untasked, around its shrine may pile
Sweet buds of thought, whose fragrance in the wind
Soars to love's glorious realm, by martyrs scarce divined.
With awful reverence on my soul I gaze,
The echoed image of a birthless God,
The trembling shadow of Jehovah's blaze,
Whose light to heaven mounts from the buried sod;
On seraph wings electric thought abroad
Rushes and floats on midnight's silvery sea,
And from all lands where human foot hath trod,
And all that glow in fabling fantasy,
Return, with hoarded gems, too blest e'en thus to be.
The echoed image of a birthless God,
The trembling shadow of Jehovah's blaze,
Whose light to heaven mounts from the buried sod;
On seraph wings electric thought abroad
Rushes and floats on midnight's silvery sea,
And from all lands where human foot hath trod,
And all that glow in fabling fantasy,
Return, with hoarded gems, too blest e'en thus to be.
'Tis only when the dust, the tomb's dark dust
Hath shrined our ashes that our memories bloom,
'Tis only then the intellect can thrust
Aside the darkness of our mortal doom;
But even now, though grovelling in the gloom
That broods perpetual o'er the deeds of earth,
The soul, in hope of spotless life to come,
Drinks in quick glimpses of that deathless birth,
Whose happiest days endure nor agony nor mirth.
Hath shrined our ashes that our memories bloom,
'Tis only then the intellect can thrust
Aside the darkness of our mortal doom;
But even now, though grovelling in the gloom
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The soul, in hope of spotless life to come,
Drinks in quick glimpses of that deathless birth,
Whose happiest days endure nor agony nor mirth.
The evil know this not; the stained in soul,
The sear'd in guilt, the branded and the lost;
Cains of their kind, o'er them all seasons roll,
Unmark'd, uncheer'd by all that gladdens most;
The fiendish calumny, the tumid boast
Darken their sun, and wassail wastes the night;
But to the heart oft pierced and foiled and cross'd,
Imagination, steeped in nature's light,
Brings highest, purest bliss from its empyreal flight.
The sear'd in guilt, the branded and the lost;
Cains of their kind, o'er them all seasons roll,
Unmark'd, uncheer'd by all that gladdens most;
The fiendish calumny, the tumid boast
Darken their sun, and wassail wastes the night;
But to the heart oft pierced and foiled and cross'd,
Imagination, steeped in nature's light,
Brings highest, purest bliss from its empyreal flight.
At Pentecost, THE ELEVEN together sat,
Bereaved of Him who veiled his power and died,
The Omnipotent, the Deathless! to his fate,
That hurled destruction on man's maniac pride,
Submitting meekly! poor, outcast, belied,
Netted by foes, in danger, want and woe,
They talked of him, from whose gored, writhing side
Earth's poor life gushed, while heaven's own radiant glow
Revealed the Godhead's brow, and nature shrieked below.
Bereaved of Him who veiled his power and died,
The Omnipotent, the Deathless! to his fate,
That hurled destruction on man's maniac pride,
Submitting meekly! poor, outcast, belied,
Netted by foes, in danger, want and woe,
They talked of him, from whose gored, writhing side
Earth's poor life gushed, while heaven's own radiant glow
Revealed the Godhead's brow, and nature shrieked below.
Darkened and desolate, and rent by doubt,
Faith feebly soared though great love held its power,
When suddenly high voices all about
Uttered their oracles at midnight's hour,
And heaven illumed revealed each holy bower
Of rest and bliss, and all spake tongues unlearned,
Adoring Him for this celestial dower.
Then grieved hearts bathed in bliss, for which they yearn'd,
While to the throne of God the Spirit blest returned.
Faith feebly soared though great love held its power,
When suddenly high voices all about
Uttered their oracles at midnight's hour,
And heaven illumed revealed each holy bower
85
Adoring Him for this celestial dower.
Then grieved hearts bathed in bliss, for which they yearn'd,
While to the throne of God the Spirit blest returned.
And thus, though oft bewildered and astray,
Oft crushed by cares and every earthly ill,
We yet sometimes may drink a wandering ray
From the pure fount of Deity, and fill
Our burdened spirits, on the holy hill
Of the mind's Sion, with archangel thought,
That well atones for suffering bravely still,
And soothes the soul which years of woe have taught
To reap deep wisdom from each work that God hath wrought.
Oft crushed by cares and every earthly ill,
We yet sometimes may drink a wandering ray
From the pure fount of Deity, and fill
Our burdened spirits, on the holy hill
Of the mind's Sion, with archangel thought,
That well atones for suffering bravely still,
And soothes the soul which years of woe have taught
To reap deep wisdom from each work that God hath wrought.
93
STANZAS,
Written in the Park of Versailles, May 19, 1826.
O'er the bright lawns of lilied France arise
The purple lights that herald springtime morn,
And perfume floats along the pale blue skies
Of countless flowers from shower and sunlight born.
The purple lights that herald springtime morn,
And perfume floats along the pale blue skies
Of countless flowers from shower and sunlight born.
The daybreak zephyrs breathe their rosy balm,
Bland music melts along the olive wood—
All nature smiles in joy's elysian charm,
The magic of the world's deep solitude.
Bland music melts along the olive wood—
All nature smiles in joy's elysian charm,
The magic of the world's deep solitude.
Morning's young glories with their radiance gild
Park, vineyard, garden, forest, field and tower,
And fairy flowerbells, with night's pearl dew filled,
Breathe beauty o'er the sweetness of the hour.
Park, vineyard, garden, forest, field and tower,
And fairy flowerbells, with night's pearl dew filled,
Breathe beauty o'er the sweetness of the hour.
How silent all! the monarch spell is gone,
That shed its bliss through every bosom here;
Earth's fairest palace yonder stands alone,
No voice is heard—no waiting forms appear.
That shed its bliss through every bosom here;
Earth's fairest palace yonder stands alone,
No voice is heard—no waiting forms appear.
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None but the sentinel's—whose hollow tread
Wakes moaning echoes in the faded halls,
That sound along, like sighings of the dead,
The ruined grandeur of those kingly walls.
Wakes moaning echoes in the faded halls,
That sound along, like sighings of the dead,
The ruined grandeur of those kingly walls.
All else is silent as the realms of shade,
And fountains gush and forests wave in vain;
The slave commanded and the king obeyed,
And wild mirth mocks at desolation's reign.
And fountains gush and forests wave in vain;
The slave commanded and the king obeyed,
And wild mirth mocks at desolation's reign.
Oh! 'tis a weary and a wasting thought,
The mirth and madness—triumph and despair;
The pride and pomp—the deaththroe and the nought
That crown with ruin scenes so heavenly fair.
The mirth and madness—triumph and despair;
The pride and pomp—the deaththroe and the nought
That crown with ruin scenes so heavenly fair.
It glooms the light of love and chills the mind,
This awful dream of desolating years!
In vain, flowers breathe upon the blooming wind,
When every bud is wet with misery's tears.
This awful dream of desolating years!
In vain, flowers breathe upon the blooming wind,
When every bud is wet with misery's tears.
Here blood like torrents poured in fierce affray
When anarch massacre swept o'er the land;
Here groaned the gored Swiss in the trampled way
When proud France quailed beneath a mob's command.
When anarch massacre swept o'er the land;
Here groaned the gored Swiss in the trampled way
When proud France quailed beneath a mob's command.
Here Almaine's loveliest daughter—queen of mirth,
Reigned and rejoiced amid her glittering train:
Here terror hurried o'er the shuddering earth,
And death in darkness came—led on by pain.
Reigned and rejoiced amid her glittering train:
Here terror hurried o'er the shuddering earth,
And death in darkness came—led on by pain.
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Could nature speak—could every matchless flower
The demon deeds of other days attest,
What startling tales of tyrant treason's power
Would rise in throbs from every violet's breast!
The demon deeds of other days attest,
What startling tales of tyrant treason's power
Would rise in throbs from every violet's breast!
How every statue from its throne would start!
And every sculptured lip grow quick with words!
Words whose deep accents chill the quivering heart,
And pierce like arrows plumed or fiery swords.
And every sculptured lip grow quick with words!
Words whose deep accents chill the quivering heart,
And pierce like arrows plumed or fiery swords.
Oh, give me back my wildwood home again,
The deep lone forest where the tread of crime,
The shriek of woe, the clank of traitor's chain
Fall like an omen on the ear of time.
The deep lone forest where the tread of crime,
The shriek of woe, the clank of traitor's chain
Fall like an omen on the ear of time.
Here memory blasts the wreath that beauty weaves,
And the heart sickens o'er the bowers of death;
Stern truth the dreaming soul of bliss bereaves,
Earth's highest glory hangs upon a breath.
And the heart sickens o'er the bowers of death;
Stern truth the dreaming soul of bliss bereaves,
Earth's highest glory hangs upon a breath.
'Tis morn—why wake not Gallia's monarch train?
Closed the dim casements—silent every tower.
Ring out the matin chimes! more loud, again!
Proclaim the Levee! cry the banquet hour!
Closed the dim casements—silent every tower.
Ring out the matin chimes! more loud, again!
Proclaim the Levee! cry the banquet hour!
Still the proud palace seems a sealed tomb,
The glorious sepulchre of gorgeous kings,
Wrapt in the grandeur of a living gloom,
Where spirits flit on dim and shadowy wings.
The glorious sepulchre of gorgeous kings,
Wrapt in the grandeur of a living gloom,
Where spirits flit on dim and shadowy wings.
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Yet by each fountain where the tritons sport
With naiads 'mid the water's sunny play,
Methinks, the shades of other years resort,
Bask in the bloom and bless the purple day.
With naiads 'mid the water's sunny play,
Methinks, the shades of other years resort,
Bask in the bloom and bless the purple day.
For o'er a scene so passing fair as this
Spirits must hover in the charm of love,
And deem it still the haunt of angel bliss,
The realm of blessedness and light and love.
Spirits must hover in the charm of love,
And deem it still the haunt of angel bliss,
The realm of blessedness and light and love.
But, even here, 'mid all that thralls the eye,
Dark thoughts and bitter memories will come;
Though beauty dwells in fairy earth and sky,
Yet lovelier, happier is my own far home.
Dark thoughts and bitter memories will come;
Though beauty dwells in fairy earth and sky,
Yet lovelier, happier is my own far home.
97
THE DISINTERRED MASTODON.
“Made desperate by too quick a sense
Of constant infelicity; cut off
From peace like exiles on some barren rock,
Their life's sad prison, with no more of ease
Than sentinels between two armies set.”—
Anon.
Of constant infelicity; cut off
From peace like exiles on some barren rock,
Their life's sad prison, with no more of ease
Than sentinels between two armies set.”—
Anon.
Thy name is princely. Though no poet's magic
Could make Red Jacket grace an English rhyme,
Unless he had a genius for the tragic,
And introduced it in a pantomime.
Could make Red Jacket grace an English rhyme,
Unless he had a genius for the tragic,
And introduced it in a pantomime.
Yet it is music in the language spoken
Of thine own land; and on her herald-roll,
As nobly fought for, and as proud a token
As Cœur de Lion's of a warrior's soul.—
Halleck.
Of thine own land; and on her herald-roll,
As nobly fought for, and as proud a token
As Cœur de Lion's of a warrior's soul.—
Dark mouldered relique of an elder time!
Wreck of some fierce convulsion, all untold!
Revealing voice of glory and of crime—
Of plenty's golden years—of garments rolled
In blood of bondage to which madness sold
The trusters of the traitors! from the ground
Thou risest, giant of the days of old!
Scattering thy pale dust on the earth around,
Of buried monarchies to tell without a sound.
Wreck of some fierce convulsion, all untold!
Revealing voice of glory and of crime—
Of plenty's golden years—of garments rolled
In blood of bondage to which madness sold
The trusters of the traitors! from the ground
Thou risest, giant of the days of old!
Scattering thy pale dust on the earth around,
Of buried monarchies to tell without a sound.
98
The deep wild forest, where the wailing wind
Moans its lone dirge o'er doomed and banished kings,
Where gushed the fearless heart and soared the mind
Of angel nature on its glorious wings;
The prairie's vast green solitude—the springs,
That from hill fountains sung through glimmering wood,
Echoing the music of imaginings:
O'er these thou oft hadst trod ere guilt and blood
Rained dæmon curses on the holy solitude.
Moans its lone dirge o'er doomed and banished kings,
Where gushed the fearless heart and soared the mind
Of angel nature on its glorious wings;
The prairie's vast green solitude—the springs,
That from hill fountains sung through glimmering wood,
Echoing the music of imaginings:
O'er these thou oft hadst trod ere guilt and blood
Rained dæmon curses on the holy solitude.
Ohio's marge—Wisconsin's mountain land
Were prophets of thy footsteps, and thy tread,
Like the far tempest's sigh, came o'er that band
Of dauntless warriors, on whose crested head
Rested the Atlas empire. O ye dead!
Your godlike energies would once outdare
The bison and the mammoth; never fled
The unsuccoured red man from most hopeless lair,
Nor shrunk your hero chiefs from last and worst despair.
Were prophets of thy footsteps, and thy tread,
Like the far tempest's sigh, came o'er that band
Of dauntless warriors, on whose crested head
Rested the Atlas empire. O ye dead!
Your godlike energies would once outdare
The bison and the mammoth; never fled
The unsuccoured red man from most hopeless lair,
Nor shrunk your hero chiefs from last and worst despair.
The spirit of a day that knew not fear
Was on them ere the subtle fiend of gain
Baffled and blasted all they hoarded dear,
And left them not till poverty and pain,
Abasement and disease, with all their train,
Bowed the proud monarchs to the earth in shame.
Then fell the sun they ne'er will see again,
Then darkness brooded o'er their ancient fame,
And doubt and dust and death effaced each trophied name.
Was on them ere the subtle fiend of gain
Baffled and blasted all they hoarded dear,
And left them not till poverty and pain,
Abasement and disease, with all their train,
Bowed the proud monarchs to the earth in shame.
Then fell the sun they ne'er will see again,
Then darkness brooded o'er their ancient fame,
And doubt and dust and death effaced each trophied name.
99
From Katahelin to the Chippewan,
From fair Mohegan to the Oregon,
Thrilled the bright spirit of immortal man—
Earth gloried in the Nation's humblest son!
But time and truth and all the vision 's gone—
The Ozark mountains o'er the wreck of crime,
The living sepulchre of ruin moan,
Yet their bold spirits, in their woe sublime,
Like dying volcans, glare o'er the dark sea of time.
From fair Mohegan to the Oregon,
Thrilled the bright spirit of immortal man—
Earth gloried in the Nation's humblest son!
But time and truth and all the vision 's gone—
The Ozark mountains o'er the wreck of crime,
The living sepulchre of ruin moan,
Yet their bold spirits, in their woe sublime,
Like dying volcans, glare o'er the dark sea of time.
From Damariscotta the strong Norridgewock
Went forth and dared Pejypscot's boiling flood,
The winter night, the storm, the beetling rock,
The wily foeman ambushed in the wood;
The Narragansett, in his simple mood,
Nourished the child that sacked his secret hold,
And drank Miantonimoh's guiltless blood:
And Metacom, the hero, sage and bold,
Battled for crown and life until his heart was cold.
Went forth and dared Pejypscot's boiling flood,
The winter night, the storm, the beetling rock,
The wily foeman ambushed in the wood;
The Narragansett, in his simple mood,
Nourished the child that sacked his secret hold,
And drank Miantonimoh's guiltless blood:
And Metacom, the hero, sage and bold,
Battled for crown and life until his heart was cold.
And this is all your chronicle—huge bones
Mouldering beneath the woods of ages—ye!
Round whose green, living, and all-worshipped thrones
Hurried a thousand tribes—dark destiny!
Couldst thou not spare the good, the just, the free?
The priests of nature and the kings of joy?
And must these bones be offered up to thee,
Moloch of gain! why quake not earth and sky
When the Last Chief is shown—a beggar's mockery!
Mouldering beneath the woods of ages—ye!
Round whose green, living, and all-worshipped thrones
Hurried a thousand tribes—dark destiny!
Couldst thou not spare the good, the just, the free?
The priests of nature and the kings of joy?
And must these bones be offered up to thee,
Moloch of gain! why quake not earth and sky
When the Last Chief is shown—a beggar's mockery!
100
In vain, devoted people of the leaves!
Your Lalage called on Ishtohoolo's name—
The iron heart that crushes, never grieves
O'er its black orgies, and earth-seeking shame
Visits no spirit whose assassin fame
Is hell's own lucre. The reward will come.
The retribution of the gory game,
And Logan yet shall utter Cresap's doom,
And glutted havoc turn the mad destruction home.
Your Lalage called on Ishtohoolo's name—
The iron heart that crushes, never grieves
O'er its black orgies, and earth-seeking shame
Visits no spirit whose assassin fame
Is hell's own lucre. The reward will come.
The retribution of the gory game,
And Logan yet shall utter Cresap's doom,
And glutted havoc turn the mad destruction home.
Hopeless remorse and helpless agony
Shall gnash and rend the slayers, for your doom
Invokes meet vengeance from the eternal sky,
The bolt that hurtles through the quivering gloom.
Then tremble thou, hoar tyrant! in thy home
Of parricidal power! a nation's curse
Shall crown Tecumseh's and the years to come
Shall load thy deathbed and unhonoured hearse
With anguish, shame, despair, till none could wish thee worse.
Shall gnash and rend the slayers, for your doom
Invokes meet vengeance from the eternal sky,
The bolt that hurtles through the quivering gloom.
Then tremble thou, hoar tyrant! in thy home
Of parricidal power! a nation's curse
Shall crown Tecumseh's and the years to come
Shall load thy deathbed and unhonoured hearse
With anguish, shame, despair, till none could wish thee worse.
Gone from your beautiful and glorious clime,
Trampled and spurned and crushed by foes in power,
Drenched and devoured, without a single crime,
By the fiend's fire, that tempts ye in the hour
Of outcast bondage, with your dreadful dower
Blending the ruin of woe's gift—to feel—
Ye yet may tell your tyrants in their bower,
That, where your slaughtered fathers wont to kneel,
Your blood will sow the soil with curses on their weal.
Trampled and spurned and crushed by foes in power,
Drenched and devoured, without a single crime,
By the fiend's fire, that tempts ye in the hour
Of outcast bondage, with your dreadful dower
Blending the ruin of woe's gift—to feel—
Ye yet may tell your tyrants in their bower,
That, where your slaughtered fathers wont to kneel,
Your blood will sow the soil with curses on their weal.
102
THE STAR OF MEMORY.
Life! life! how many Scyllas dost thou hide
In thy calm depths, which sooner kill than threaten?
Phineas Fletcher.
In thy calm depths, which sooner kill than threaten?
Phineas Fletcher.
O'er the lone temple of my secret mind,
That stands unnoted 'mid the pomp of men,
Beam, star of memory! ever mild and kind,
And wake the slumbering thoughts of youth agen,
That every green hillside and shadowy glen,
Peopled by angel visitants, may bring
Once more the sinless hours of pleasure when
The pure bright Spirit o'er the world could fling
The beauty, light and bloom of one unchanging spring!
That stands unnoted 'mid the pomp of men,
Beam, star of memory! ever mild and kind,
And wake the slumbering thoughts of youth agen,
That every green hillside and shadowy glen,
Peopled by angel visitants, may bring
Once more the sinless hours of pleasure when
The pure bright Spirit o'er the world could fling
The beauty, light and bloom of one unchanging spring!
Bliss of my childhood! sister of my soul!
Oft o'er thy name my voiceless spirit sighs,
As my path wanders and the fleet years roll,
And disappointments darken on my eyes.
Oft through the depths of vast, blue, glorious skies
My yearning though bereaved thoughts sadly roam,
Painting thy form 'mid those effulgencies
That glow forever round thy heavenly home,
Whence thy soft smiles effuse o'er trial days to come.
Oft o'er thy name my voiceless spirit sighs,
As my path wanders and the fleet years roll,
And disappointments darken on my eyes.
Oft through the depths of vast, blue, glorious skies
My yearning though bereaved thoughts sadly roam,
Painting thy form 'mid those effulgencies
That glow forever round thy heavenly home,
Whence thy soft smiles effuse o'er trial days to come.
103
Thou wert my starlight, sister! holy truth,
Thrilling devotion and immortal love
With seraph robes of beauty clothed thy youth,
That breathed the mildness of the snow-winged dove;
At eve, accustomed by thy side to rove
From toil unsolaced, unrewarded, o'er
The new-mown meadows where the flock and drove
Gleaned after harvest, thoughts, bound down before,
Gushed from their unsealed spring, with thee on high to soar.
Thrilling devotion and immortal love
With seraph robes of beauty clothed thy youth,
That breathed the mildness of the snow-winged dove;
At eve, accustomed by thy side to rove
From toil unsolaced, unrewarded, o'er
The new-mown meadows where the flock and drove
Gleaned after harvest, thoughts, bound down before,
Gushed from their unsealed spring, with thee on high to soar.
For in thy dayspring not of earth wert thou,
And feeling, mother of event, foretold
That malady should blanche thy beaming brow,
Quench that sweet eye and leave that fresh heart cold;
Yet not in fear, but grief, didst thou behold
The hastened vision of thine early end,
And from the sacred wisdom, stored of old,
Thy sorrow with the slow discourse did blend
Full many a promise blest to soothe thy weeping friend.
And feeling, mother of event, foretold
That malady should blanche thy beaming brow,
Quench that sweet eye and leave that fresh heart cold;
Yet not in fear, but grief, didst thou behold
The hastened vision of thine early end,
And from the sacred wisdom, stored of old,
Thy sorrow with the slow discourse did blend
Full many a promise blest to soothe thy weeping friend.
Thy widowed parent and thy brother heard,
Cherubic Spirit! thy pure breath depart;
Thy meek religion in our bosoms stirr'd,
And hushed our dreadful hopelessness of heart;
For well we knew thine was the better part,
That sin could never stain thy spotless mind,
Nor evil—jaguar of the world's dark mart—
Torture thy nature and thy bosom bind
With chains of agony—and so we grew resigned.
Cherubic Spirit! thy pure breath depart;
Thy meek religion in our bosoms stirr'd,
And hushed our dreadful hopelessness of heart;
For well we knew thine was the better part,
That sin could never stain thy spotless mind,
Nor evil—jaguar of the world's dark mart—
Torture thy nature and thy bosom bind
With chains of agony—and so we grew resigned.
104
Cease thy vain workings, memory! and be still,
And let me not repine o'er fading dreams
Of lost affection that with anguish fill
A wronged and troubled heart! Thy beauty gleams
Through being's storm, and by its hallowed beams
Watches pale melancholy unto its rest,
Where the rapt soul with truth prophetic deems
It holds communion with thee, Sister blest!
And sinks away from grief on thine ethereal breast.
And let me not repine o'er fading dreams
Of lost affection that with anguish fill
A wronged and troubled heart! Thy beauty gleams
Through being's storm, and by its hallowed beams
Watches pale melancholy unto its rest,
Where the rapt soul with truth prophetic deems
It holds communion with thee, Sister blest!
And sinks away from grief on thine ethereal breast.
105
THE DAWN OF THE DECADE.
Long had I listened, free from mortal fear,
With inward stillness and submitted mind,
When lo! its folds far waving on the wind,
I saw the train of the departing year!
With inward stillness and submitted mind,
When lo! its folds far waving on the wind,
I saw the train of the departing year!
How I re-centre my immortal mind
In the deep Sabbath of meek self-content;
Cleansed from the vaporous passions that bedim
God's image, sister of the Seraphim!—
Coleridge.
In the deep Sabbath of meek self-content;
Cleansed from the vaporous passions that bedim
God's image, sister of the Seraphim!—
From the dim shrine of ages come thou forth,
Bright year! in thy pure robe of light and love,
And shed upon the changed and darkened earth
The empyreal hues that ever bloom above!
Come forth, ye destined days! and gently move
Along the dream-land of youth's gay romance,
And, with a prophet's holy gladness, prove
The visions true that glitter in your glance,
As on to years of joy their fairy steps advance!
Bright year! in thy pure robe of light and love,
And shed upon the changed and darkened earth
The empyreal hues that ever bloom above!
Come forth, ye destined days! and gently move
Along the dream-land of youth's gay romance,
And, with a prophet's holy gladness, prove
The visions true that glitter in your glance,
As on to years of joy their fairy steps advance!
107
Deep shadows hide revealments of events,
That brood in thy dark bosom; but thy knell
Sounds through the solitudes of being, whence
Time startles on our gaze, the doom to tell
Of myriads trembling o'er the last farewell;
And vague presages of the awakened mind
On the broad skirts of thy cloud-banner swell,
And voiceless prophecies float on the wind
To bid the evil fear—the good to be resigned.
That brood in thy dark bosom; but thy knell
Sounds through the solitudes of being, whence
Time startles on our gaze, the doom to tell
Of myriads trembling o'er the last farewell;
And vague presages of the awakened mind
On the broad skirts of thy cloud-banner swell,
And voiceless prophecies float on the wind
To bid the evil fear—the good to be resigned.
The chill night airs moan in the withered grass,
The tedded grain is garner'd up—the flock
With bowed heads quiver as the frost-fiends pass,
And seek the shelter of the beetling rock;
The leafless woods with dismal voices mock
The storm-king as he rides through cheerless skies,
And the deep mountain feels the rushing shock
Of winter, on whose bosom nature dies,
And birds, leaves, flowers and streams forsake their pleasantries.
The tedded grain is garner'd up—the flock
With bowed heads quiver as the frost-fiends pass,
And seek the shelter of the beetling rock;
The leafless woods with dismal voices mock
The storm-king as he rides through cheerless skies,
And the deep mountain feels the rushing shock
Of winter, on whose bosom nature dies,
And birds, leaves, flowers and streams forsake their pleasantries.
The son of toil from mead and field retires,
Stores the rich maize and serves the generous steed,
Content with health and hope and honest sires,
Who knew not wealth, remorse, nor bitter need;
While, 'mid the city's pomp, wrung bosoms bleed,
And riot laughs 'mid naked misery's cries,
Trembling with anguish like a desert reed,
And plumed and banner'd fashion flaunts the skies
With mockeries of earth's woe and glittering pageantries.
Stores the rich maize and serves the generous steed,
Content with health and hope and honest sires,
Who knew not wealth, remorse, nor bitter need;
While, 'mid the city's pomp, wrung bosoms bleed,
And riot laughs 'mid naked misery's cries,
Trembling with anguish like a desert reed,
And plumed and banner'd fashion flaunts the skies
With mockeries of earth's woe and glittering pageantries.
108
This hath been ever; callous pomp preludes
The burglar's dark atrocities, and crime
Haunts the pale prodigal and around him broods
O'er midnight deeds that steep the heart of time.
Condemned and banished from hope's sunny clime,
Wedded to guilt by desolation's curse,
Youth's better thoughts and manhood's aim sublime
Vanish before despair that follies nurse,
And leave the victim where no change could make him worse.
The burglar's dark atrocities, and crime
Haunts the pale prodigal and around him broods
O'er midnight deeds that steep the heart of time.
Condemned and banished from hope's sunny clime,
Wedded to guilt by desolation's curse,
Youth's better thoughts and manhood's aim sublime
Vanish before despair that follies nurse,
And leave the victim where no change could make him worse.
Bring forth the criminal, stern justice! hale
The offender to atone for edicts broken!
Who comes? the quivering outcast, wild and pale?
No, 't is Society, whose voice hath spoken
Ruin to hopelessness; and many a token,
'Mid its vain blazon, ratifies the deed!
But who shall doom the tyrant, whom no ken
Can track or power condemn? Let justice read
The uttered will of God and see the assassin bleed!
The offender to atone for edicts broken!
Who comes? the quivering outcast, wild and pale?
No, 't is Society, whose voice hath spoken
Ruin to hopelessness; and many a token,
'Mid its vain blazon, ratifies the deed!
But who shall doom the tyrant, whom no ken
Can track or power condemn? Let justice read
The uttered will of God and see the assassin bleed!
Time to the cold extortioner can bring
No joy but gold, no profit but increase;
A frozen sea, his heart can never spring
To shield the friendless and shed holy peace
On life's wild ocean!—for the golden fleece,
Though th' Argo's slave, he suffers, tortures, bends
To baseness, courts contempt, and may not cease
To feast on agonies, making fit amends
For a hoar age of guilt by bribery when it ends.
No joy but gold, no profit but increase;
A frozen sea, his heart can never spring
To shield the friendless and shed holy peace
On life's wild ocean!—for the golden fleece,
Though th' Argo's slave, he suffers, tortures, bends
To baseness, courts contempt, and may not cease
To feast on agonies, making fit amends
For a hoar age of guilt by bribery when it ends.
109
But years on poverty confer the bliss
Of a near close, and guide the weary soul,
Through penitence, to meet the Earth-King's kiss
With an abiding faith, that may control
The dread and awe that o'er all spirits roll;
Wearied by toil uncheered, the child of grief
Resigns his portion of earth's bitter dole,
Wraps his worn thoughts in blest Religion's sheaf,
And lies down to his rest secure of long relief.
Of a near close, and guide the weary soul,
Through penitence, to meet the Earth-King's kiss
With an abiding faith, that may control
The dread and awe that o'er all spirits roll;
Wearied by toil uncheered, the child of grief
Resigns his portion of earth's bitter dole,
Wraps his worn thoughts in blest Religion's sheaf,
And lies down to his rest secure of long relief.
Ye hasten on, devoted days! and bear
Change, trial, peril on your awful wings,
Unsuccoured suffering and unwitnessed care,
The wreck of empires and the fall of kings!
Oh, thickly crowd most dread imaginings
Of all that man must bear ere love can link
The amities of life—ere mercy's springs,
Unsealed, flow forth for passion's slaves to drink,
And men, from bondage loosed, may utter what they think.
Change, trial, peril on your awful wings,
Unsuccoured suffering and unwitnessed care,
The wreck of empires and the fall of kings!
Oh, thickly crowd most dread imaginings
Of all that man must bear ere love can link
The amities of life—ere mercy's springs,
Unsealed, flow forth for passion's slaves to drink,
And men, from bondage loosed, may utter what they think.
Weep, vigil stars! be veiled, thou queen of light!
Eye of the universe, great sun! retire!
For War, in hauberk mail, comes up through night
To kindle on God's shrine earth's idol fire;
And paynim banner and unholy lyre
Mock the great rites by martyrs offered there;
Heathen and atheist, in hate's fierce desire,
Band their bold legions with the fiends of air,
And Antichrist leads on to trample and to tear.
Eye of the universe, great sun! retire!
For War, in hauberk mail, comes up through night
To kindle on God's shrine earth's idol fire;
And paynim banner and unholy lyre
Mock the great rites by martyrs offered there;
Heathen and atheist, in hate's fierce desire,
Band their bold legions with the fiends of air,
And Antichrist leads on to trample and to tear.
110
The King of Sabaoth shall meet the foe,—
Wreck and convulsion herald Him along,
And the hills quiver and vast oceans glow
Before His presence! stained and troubled long,
His true adorers shall uplift their song,
And rebel armies mingle with the dust!
Then unbelief, woe, want and sin and wrong
Shall sink to Hades, and the true and just
A thousand years rejoice in their immortal trust!
Wreck and convulsion herald Him along,
And the hills quiver and vast oceans glow
Before His presence! stained and troubled long,
His true adorers shall uplift their song,
And rebel armies mingle with the dust!
Then unbelief, woe, want and sin and wrong
Shall sink to Hades, and the true and just
A thousand years rejoice in their immortal trust!
Beautiful vision! Poesy hath had
Her multitude of dreams—her holy bowers,
Creatures of purity and brightness, clad
With the soul's sunshine, crowned by deathless flowers,
Breathing heaven's joy and leading on the hours;
But none so fair as this—oh, who shall see
The maranatha broken? the dark towers
Of insult and oppression low? or be,
When dawns the day of peace from heaven's eternity?
Her multitude of dreams—her holy bowers,
Creatures of purity and brightness, clad
With the soul's sunshine, crowned by deathless flowers,
Breathing heaven's joy and leading on the hours;
But none so fair as this—oh, who shall see
The maranatha broken? the dark towers
Of insult and oppression low? or be,
When dawns the day of peace from heaven's eternity?
Patience, meantime, must wait on power, and pride
Hurl back reflected scorn, and wisdom hold
Counsel with prudence; duty hath defied
Ancient authority, and, mild yet bold,
The unanswering tyrant on his throne controuled;
And conscious Virtue in an adverse time
May triumph, and to love all hatred mould,
Endure reproach and bear the charge of crime,
Yet in the elysium dwell of hallowed thought sublime.
Hurl back reflected scorn, and wisdom hold
Counsel with prudence; duty hath defied
Ancient authority, and, mild yet bold,
The unanswering tyrant on his throne controuled;
And conscious Virtue in an adverse time
May triumph, and to love all hatred mould,
Endure reproach and bear the charge of crime,
Yet in the elysium dwell of hallowed thought sublime.
130
BIRTHDAY MEDITATIONS.
So when Detraction and a Cynic's tongue
Have sunk desert unto the depth of wrong,
By that the eye of skill true worth may see
To brave the stars, though low his passage be.—
William Browne.
Have sunk desert unto the depth of wrong,
By that the eye of skill true worth may see
To brave the stars, though low his passage be.—
William Browne.
O'er him, to whom the heartless world appears
One vast aceldama of guilt and woe,
A desert watered by the bosom's tears,
That long have flowed and must forever flow,
Life's earlier hours with roselight radiance burn,
Kindling deep incense in oblivion's urn.
One vast aceldama of guilt and woe,
A desert watered by the bosom's tears,
That long have flowed and must forever flow,
Life's earlier hours with roselight radiance burn,
Kindling deep incense in oblivion's urn.
Blest is each scene of simple, trusting youth,
Ere the heart breathes earth's thick and tainted air,
When the soul bowed and worshipped holy truth,
And bade its voice her oracles declare;
Backward he gazes on life's morn, and sighs,
And pours his spirit through his swimming eyes.
Ere the heart breathes earth's thick and tainted air,
When the soul bowed and worshipped holy truth,
And bade its voice her oracles declare;
Backward he gazes on life's morn, and sighs,
And pours his spirit through his swimming eyes.
131
A sunbeam hovering on its golden wing,
Mission'd from heaven to light this lowliest sphere,
The heart breathes music in its blossoming,
And throws its beauty o'er each infant year;
But, like a star in mist and moorlands lost,
It mourns, full soon, o'er all it loved the most.
Mission'd from heaven to light this lowliest sphere,
The heart breathes music in its blossoming,
And throws its beauty o'er each infant year;
But, like a star in mist and moorlands lost,
It mourns, full soon, o'er all it loved the most.
Quick o'er the gloomier realms of life in mirth
Bounding, the spirit drank the rainbow light
Of heaven, and scattered o'er the desert earth
Fair thoughts that gush'd in fountains ever bright;
Or brightness, shadowed for a moment, wore
A deeper beauty than it knew before.
Bounding, the spirit drank the rainbow light
Of heaven, and scattered o'er the desert earth
Fair thoughts that gush'd in fountains ever bright;
Or brightness, shadowed for a moment, wore
A deeper beauty than it knew before.
Through the vast glorious depths of summer's heaven
Rush the glad musings of the high-soul'd boy;
Wing'd spirits, harping 'mid the clouds of even,
Float round his path to crown his simple joy;
And fancy fables what the heart desires,
And songs of rapture gush from golden lyres.
Rush the glad musings of the high-soul'd boy;
Wing'd spirits, harping 'mid the clouds of even,
Float round his path to crown his simple joy;
And fancy fables what the heart desires,
And songs of rapture gush from golden lyres.
Then Nature triumphs: forest, field and grove,
Mountain and vale and ocean's pebbled shore,
All breathe out blessedness and hope and love,
Like Delphi and Dodona's woods of yore;
And magic sounds from the stirred foliage flow,
And the wild billows, murmuring as they glow.
Mountain and vale and ocean's pebbled shore,
All breathe out blessedness and hope and love,
Like Delphi and Dodona's woods of yore;
And magic sounds from the stirred foliage flow,
And the wild billows, murmuring as they glow.
132
Love, truth and purity impart their sweet
And holy light to all they look upon;
And childhood blesses all its wanderings meet,
Leaving a track of rays when years have gone;
That when the bosom bleeds and thought grows cold,
We may look back and feel e'en as we felt of old.
And holy light to all they look upon;
And childhood blesses all its wanderings meet,
Leaving a track of rays when years have gone;
That when the bosom bleeds and thought grows cold,
We may look back and feel e'en as we felt of old.
Grief touches but taints not the budding heart;
Quick tears start only from the flashing eye;
Soon from young spirits mournful thoughts depart
Like melting vapours from the morning sky;
The radiant sunlight of the pure mind throws
A glorious beauty o'er our darkest woes.
Quick tears start only from the flashing eye;
Soon from young spirits mournful thoughts depart
Like melting vapours from the morning sky;
The radiant sunlight of the pure mind throws
A glorious beauty o'er our darkest woes.
'T is the wide pestilence of sin, that makes
This world the desert and the doom it is;—
Dark wanders midnight Fraud—and Baseness slakes
Its goul thirst in the nectar of our bliss;—
Affection shrinks—cold interest frowns on truth,
And love turns weeping to the bowers of youth.
This world the desert and the doom it is;—
Dark wanders midnight Fraud—and Baseness slakes
Its goul thirst in the nectar of our bliss;—
Affection shrinks—cold interest frowns on truth,
And love turns weeping to the bowers of youth.
There memory lingers o'er the hoarded words
Of sages old, the pleiades of earth;
And thoughts, that pierce like skill'd and mirror'd swords,
From the heart's sepulchre in clouds come forth;
Hoar wisdom and romance beneath the spell
Of music wed, and virtue cries “'t is well.”
Of sages old, the pleiades of earth;
And thoughts, that pierce like skill'd and mirror'd swords,
From the heart's sepulchre in clouds come forth;
Hoar wisdom and romance beneath the spell
Of music wed, and virtue cries “'t is well.”
133
But soon from phantom dreams of happier days
We turn like pilgrims from the desert's fountain;
Hope faintly lights our lone and wandering ways
O'er the steep rocks and thorns of grief's bleak mountain;
Prudence and knowledge, gods of guilt and gain,
Fierce tyrants, rise and revel in our pain.
We turn like pilgrims from the desert's fountain;
Hope faintly lights our lone and wandering ways
O'er the steep rocks and thorns of grief's bleak mountain;
Prudence and knowledge, gods of guilt and gain,
Fierce tyrants, rise and revel in our pain.
Alas! a child, I sighed to be a man;—
I little knew the meaning of my prayer;—
I recked not as in youth's greenwood paths I ran,
How soon the clouds of ill would darken there!—
Sigh not for years—to tell thee life is woe—
Change, anguish, death—all thou canst feel below!
I little knew the meaning of my prayer;—
I recked not as in youth's greenwood paths I ran,
How soon the clouds of ill would darken there!—
Sigh not for years—to tell thee life is woe—
Change, anguish, death—all thou canst feel below!
| Abaddon, the spirit of destruction ; and other poems | |