 | The Emperor's Vigil, and The Waves And The War |  |
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VI. The Fountains of History.
The Genius of History stood on the height
Of a hill that the sun had kissed;
Deep, deep at its root was the brooding night,
And its centre was circled by mist.
Of a hill that the sun had kissed;
Deep, deep at its root was the brooding night,
And its centre was circled by mist.
And structures of Glory that promised to bide
Till Time and Eternity meet,
In fragments Titanic were rent from its side,
And lay nameless wrecks at its feet.
Till Time and Eternity meet,
In fragments Titanic were rent from its side,
And lay nameless wrecks at its feet.
And beautiful forms, like to palaces fair,
Stood glittering a short sunny day;
Like bright exhalations they rose in the air,
And vanished as trackless away.
Stood glittering a short sunny day;
Like bright exhalations they rose in the air,
And vanished as trackless away.
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The layers of the mountain were piled one by one,
By the ages that went there to rest,
As History climbed to the light of the sun,
And looked o'er the world from its crest.
By the ages that went there to rest,
As History climbed to the light of the sun,
And looked o'er the world from its crest.
She beheld how a blight had crept over the earth
And cankered the spirit of man:
The souls without glory, and hearts without worth,
And lives dwindled down to a span.
And cankered the spirit of man:
The souls without glory, and hearts without worth,
And lives dwindled down to a span.
Some creeping to labour with faint bleeding feet,
And cursing the work that they wrought;
And some, with brains shrivelled, like scrolls in the heat,
For want of a single great thought.
And cursing the work that they wrought;
And some, with brains shrivelled, like scrolls in the heat,
For want of a single great thought.
And hard, bony hands, that were griping for gain,
In the guerdons to other men due;
And few who were longing, but longing in vain,
For the good, and the great, and the true.
In the guerdons to other men due;
And few who were longing, but longing in vain,
For the good, and the great, and the true.
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Then History spake to the myriads of man,
In a moment of sympathy rare,
When with passion electric a noble thought ran
Through the mass of their mean, sordid care:
In a moment of sympathy rare,
When with passion electric a noble thought ran
Through the mass of their mean, sordid care:
“Deep—deep—hidden deep in the mountain away,
“Lies buried the pure virgin gold:
“There is tinsel enough in the world of to-day—
“Go! bring me the ore of the old.”
“Lies buried the pure virgin gold:
“There is tinsel enough in the world of to-day—
“Go! bring me the ore of the old.”
Then stood forth the children of passion and thought,
And delved in the mountain's dark home,
Till the pure crystal springs bounded forth as they wrought,
From the marble of Athens and Rome.
And delved in the mountain's dark home,
Till the pure crystal springs bounded forth as they wrought,
From the marble of Athens and Rome.
Oh! then how the myriads came gathering around!
How the heart in their bosom beat fast!
How the blood in their veins was beginning to bound,
As they drank the great cup of the past.
How the heart in their bosom beat fast!
How the blood in their veins was beginning to bound,
As they drank the great cup of the past.
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How paltry the present appeared to their eyes—
How worthless each poor selfish end—
With the light of their heaven beginning to rise,
And their heaven itself to extend!
How worthless each poor selfish end—
With the light of their heaven beginning to rise,
And their heaven itself to extend!
Thus ever the fountains that History unsealed,
In their bright early purity roll:
And the lepers of life wander there to be healed
Of the canker corroding the soul.
In their bright early purity roll:
And the lepers of life wander there to be healed
Of the canker corroding the soul.
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