The Christian Scholar :: :: University of Virginia Library

Where didst thou glean that strange mysterious tale,
Thou solemn bard, or seer, or sage divine,
Or priest of Heathen Wisdom? In what vale
Of shadowy death or subterranean mine
Chaldee or Ind, or in Egyptian shrine
'Neath some dark pyramid,—or on the shore
Of dim Oblivion left in its decline,
Some fragment old of Babylonian lore;—
Where didst thou gain that tale of days that went before?

As in some tree or flower's deep hidden lines,
Or many-colour'd pebble on the beach,
Christ crucified we trace in mystic signs,
Whom stones within their secret bosom preach;—
Or when the skies of blue majestic reach
In starry characters the Cross disclose,
The same beneath our feet may waters teach
In dark reflection,—thus, whence'er it rose,
Beneath this legend strange shadows of truth repose.

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For who is this amid the mountain peaks
In adamantine fetters on the rock,
Whose very name itself of wisdom speaks?
Two monsters, Strength and Force, huge rivets lock,
Alien to pity, and his sorrows mock,
But Nature through her realms doth sympathize,
And Earth unto its centre feels the shock.
See Ocean on his griffin car arise,
And all his daughter-nymphs too fair for human eyes,—

Full of diviner communings;—from far
Ascending from their azure palaces
And coral caves, upborne on airy car
'Tween earth and Heaven, and sitting on the breeze
With wisdom hold their virgin colloquies;
Poising the scales of virtue; while hard by
Laughing with dimples numberless the Seas,
Ether Divine, swift-wing'd Airs, Earth and Sky
Around him mingling breathe intensest sympathy.

Of what mysterious fate art thou the prey,
Deep-counselling son of Themis , wise of mind,
Or Son of Earth and Heaven , as some would say;
Thus suffering for thy love of lost mankind,

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Who were to Hades going , weak and blind,
Like shadows in a dream to ruin given,
Despair before and wrath itself behind,
When thou didst give them Hope and Fire from Heaven,
For which thou art thyself to bonds and exile driven.

And who this Jove imperious, new to power,
Throned majesty of evil, given to reign
A dynasty of ill one destin'd hour,
Yet trembling at a captive he would chain?
Men “seeing saw not, hearing heard in vain .”
But who is this with melancholy moan,
That like a death-doom'd victim doth complain,
And comes to thee with supplicating groan,
Whom that dread evil power hath touch'd and made his own?

The horned maid of Inachus, 'neath ban
Of conscience, expiating Jove-wrought sin,
Like some strange symbol of guilt-laden man,
Whom the live stings without and pangs within
From Argus hundred-eyed no respite win,

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Whom e'en in death earth hides not —but her grief,
Like phantom of the crime that hems her in,
Brings her this way to thee on mountain reef,
For one that's born of her shall bring the world relief.

But, lo, the Earth to its foundation shakes,
'Mid mountain fastnesses the Thunders bound,
And Echo from her rocky caves awakes,
And Lightnings shake their forked hair around,
Wild dusty Whirlwinds ride the storm. 'Mid sound
Of bursting thunders with a mightier chime,
From him upon the adamantine rock fast-bound
Is heard the righteous voice lifted sublime,
Making his loud appeal to furthest shores of time.

I would not force such legends of old lore
To square with truths divine, nor bring from high
Transcendent Love, to blend with tales of yore
Found in the dreams of heathen vanity;—
As when in fiery embers as they lie
We trace out fancied shapes, or in the cloud

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That rolls and melts upon the azure sky,—
Give shape and mould to falsehood—nor have bowed
To look for beauty's face within a funeral shroud.

But whether deep in man's divining heart
(Like shadow of the Heavens in some dark well)
Such wisdom hath been found; or whether part
Of some primeval lore unsearchable,
Much changed, much fraught with error, which thus fell
Like some stray scatter'd fragments on the strand;—
Methinks if we could all the meaning tell
It bears the mark of some unearthly hand,
On which with awe we gaze, yet cannot understand.

They who the Cross would mark in things of sense,
Earth, sea, or sky, live form, or human face,
Yet lose it soon in other lineaments,
Alien and intricate; enough to trace
Though rude and shapeless;—or in realms of grace
With complications manifold may blend
The Cross of Christ, yet find therein no place
In full distinctness, though through all it tend;
Enough if 'mid dark clouds we. Heavenward still ascend.

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