University of Virginia Library

SORROW'S RICHES.

Sorrow! pale, mighty Sorrow! thou dost come
Like night, enrobed with a majestic gloom;
My soul is full of thee, hour after hour—
That soul thou overshadowest with thy power;
But oft from thee with trembling fear it shrinks,
And from the clasping of thy chain's strong links;
Full oft it shrinks from thee;—yet, yet at times,
Unto the cloud-capped heights of grief it climbs,
And learns e'en to luxuriate in the excess
Of feelings overwrought with rich distress,
On which it lavishes its fiery strength,
As though it fell in love with pain, at length;
The griefs of old it suffers o'er again,
And prides itself on their possession then—
The rich regalia of my Sorrows lies,
(For costly things are treasured agonies,)
Displayed in royalty of triumph there,
A funeral dark regalia!—sternly fair!
'Tis mine and Sorrow's coronation hour—
I own and share her deep and sovereign power;
I gather then—beholding how they shine,
My melancholy riches, most divine!
Shadowy but starry—(like the depths of night—
Whose darkly-glorious purple burns with light!
Streaming with far-off suns, that rise to us
When sets our own proud orb, and luminous;
For even the voice of Darkness echoeth low,
“Let there be light!” and forth its fountains flow,
While million splendours take the place of one,
And light plays lightening on from sun to sun!—
'Tis in such mighty, and such solemn hour,
While, Sorrow! I adore and bless thy power,
That I do gather up my scattered woes,
And crown imperially my lightened brows,
With their faint clouds and constellations pale,
Their shadows and their stars—crown, wreath, and veil—
And grow a Queen of Griefs;—and proudly wear
Their mournful splendours all—profoundly fair!
I grow a queen of griefs, and wear them all,
And clothe myself with shadows for a pall;
While the most precious jewels that I boast
Are those of mightiest and heart-wringing cost:
Yea, the most precious jewels I then wear,
The most imperial gems that shine forth there,
Are the worst, wildest griefs that I have known,
And mine own tears, like pearls, seem round me strown,
(My own wild-flowing—anguish-raining tears,
Those I then weep, or wept in bye-past years!)
And rich Affliction's sumptuous bravery
Hangs round me,—until nought beside I see.
Thus robed in funeral magnificence,
I reap from sorrow this dark joy intense,
And crown with crowns imperial that pale brow,
Which seems uplifted for its triumph now;
And proud I grow of all that I have borne,
And slight and petty griefs can spurn and scorn:
It is a pomp and luxury of distress,
Far richer than the richest happiness!—
And thus a Queen of many Griefs I grow,
And boast of all that I have borne of woe!
Mine the veiled empires of the Eternal pain,
Wide as the world and deeper than the main!—
(Those veiled and shadowy empires of the night,
That spread beyond e'en Thought's far-journeying flight,
And boast—broad realms there spread, as yet unknown—
A Space and an Eternity—their own!)
My soul thus grows, oh! how augustly sad,
In gorgeous pomp of crowned afflictions clad—
And bows to that Dejection's conquering might,
Whose dark, illustrious truth outstrips delight.
Sorrow! I will not, may not shrink from thee,
For thou art power, and truth, and majesty—
One hour with thee doth teach our souls far more
Than all Life's happier hours—pass'd lightly o'er.