 | Areytos or songs and ballads of the South |  |
I.
O Faith and Will! maternal birds that lift
The wing of Genius, and make sure its gift;
How do ye strengthen for the audacious flight,
The soul whose eyes still open for the light;
How train the feeble fledgling whence to rise,
O'er rocky heights, commercing with the skies;
To brave the bolt, and with careering form,
Break through the cloud, and wrestle with the storm!
The wing of Genius, and make sure its gift;
How do ye strengthen for the audacious flight,
The soul whose eyes still open for the light;
How train the feeble fledgling whence to rise,
O'er rocky heights, commercing with the skies;
To brave the bolt, and with careering form,
Break through the cloud, and wrestle with the storm!
Ye are the wings of Purpose, the Desire
That flies to Fame, and wins its way through Fire;
Ye keep the eye still resolute in aim,
The heart still faithful to the imperial fame:
Chasten each passion which would thwart the toil,
And teach the fitting enterprise and spoil;
Prepare the soul for struggle, train the Power,
Till both mature, the Mortal and the Hour;
Then fling aside the veil that hid the goal,
And cry the spell word for the conquering soul!
That flies to Fame, and wins its way through Fire;
Ye keep the eye still resolute in aim,
The heart still faithful to the imperial fame:
Chasten each passion which would thwart the toil,
And teach the fitting enterprise and spoil;
Prepare the soul for struggle, train the Power,
Till both mature, the Mortal and the Hour;
Then fling aside the veil that hid the goal,
And cry the spell word for the conquering soul!
O mightiest birds of Genius, that in cloud,
And earth, and midnight, still your secrets shroud,
I see ye busy, in mysterious rite,
Training one bold young eaglet for its flight;
The altar smokes in sacrifice—the rock
Shakes with the lightning-bolt, and thunder-shock—
Lurid, the fires from gloomy temples rise,
And the black Doubt hangs threatening in the skies!
But your twin voices reassure, and Fate,
Submissive, seconds the great hope of Hate:
The mighty Vengeance ye would rouse to strife,
Starts up before you, armed with death and life:
Waiting the last commission, forth he stands,
The red bolt quivering in his fateful hands:
Your pliant wings beneath his arms ye bend,
And the rocks open, and the wings ascend;
From the great peaks your spectral eyes explore,
While all the Hounds of Horror hunt before!
And earth, and midnight, still your secrets shroud,
I see ye busy, in mysterious rite,
Training one bold young eaglet for its flight;
The altar smokes in sacrifice—the rock
Shakes with the lightning-bolt, and thunder-shock—
Lurid, the fires from gloomy temples rise,
And the black Doubt hangs threatening in the skies!
But your twin voices reassure, and Fate,
Submissive, seconds the great hope of Hate:
The mighty Vengeance ye would rouse to strife,
Starts up before you, armed with death and life:
235
The red bolt quivering in his fateful hands:
Your pliant wings beneath his arms ye bend,
And the rocks open, and the wings ascend;
From the great peaks your spectral eyes explore,
While all the Hounds of Horror hunt before!
| Areytos or songs and ballads of the South | |