Poems by the late John Bethune With a sketch of the author's life, by his brother |
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SONG TO THE RISING SUN. |
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| II. |
 | Poems by the late John Bethune |  |
SONG TO THE RISING SUN.
Let the sluggard sleep
On his down bed deep;
But I would not repose
While each opening rose
The dews of the morning steep.
On his down bed deep;
But I would not repose
While each opening rose
The dews of the morning steep.
The sun is up: in the eastern sky
He is filling his urn of light.
No grief is seen in his fiery eye,
For the sorrows he saw in his flight:
He tells no tale of the woes and the crimes,
Or the groans which he heard in other climes;
Nor does he drop, on his bright return,
A single tear of sorrow,
For the eyes which met him yestermorn
Quench'd long before the morrow:
No!—he wakes his joyous birds to sing,
And he opens his flowers to bloom;
And from all he has seen of suffering,
He brings no shade of gloom.
He is filling his urn of light.
No grief is seen in his fiery eye,
For the sorrows he saw in his flight:
He tells no tale of the woes and the crimes,
Or the groans which he heard in other climes;
Nor does he drop, on his bright return,
A single tear of sorrow,
For the eyes which met him yestermorn
Quench'd long before the morrow:
No!—he wakes his joyous birds to sing,
And he opens his flowers to bloom;
And from all he has seen of suffering,
He brings no shade of gloom.
Let the sluggard sleep, &c.
The sun is up: o'er the eastern lawn
He rises as pure and as bright
As he first arose, when his primal dawn
Put the shadows of Chaos to flight.
Nor years, nor tears have left a mark
On his brow, which shone on the lonely ark.
He hath survived, in that azure sky,
The wrecks of a perish'd world:
He saw its hosts in the deep flood die,
And its cities to ruin hurl'd;
And he saw a phœnix-world arise
From the grasp of the whelming waves,
And forests springing beneath his eyes
From the mud which had cover'd their graves.
Let the sluggard sleep, &c.
He rises as pure and as bright
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Put the shadows of Chaos to flight.
Nor years, nor tears have left a mark
On his brow, which shone on the lonely ark.
He hath survived, in that azure sky,
The wrecks of a perish'd world:
He saw its hosts in the deep flood die,
And its cities to ruin hurl'd;
And he saw a phœnix-world arise
From the grasp of the whelming waves,
And forests springing beneath his eyes
From the mud which had cover'd their graves.
Let the sluggard sleep, &c.
The sun is up: with a changeless brow
He looks on a world of change;
He hath seen proud nations arise, and now
Their very names grow strange.
He hath seen cities sapp'd by the sea-waves' sweep,
And islands arise from the fathomless deep;
He hath seen strong towers, by a nation's strength,
And a nation's wealth cemented,
Fall tumbling down in a ruinous length
Of rubbish, unlamented.
He hath seen tall temples raised to his name,
And his priests come forth at morn;
But their orisons pleased not the god of flame,
For he pass'd them by in scorn.
He looks on a world of change;
He hath seen proud nations arise, and now
Their very names grow strange.
He hath seen cities sapp'd by the sea-waves' sweep,
And islands arise from the fathomless deep;
He hath seen strong towers, by a nation's strength,
And a nation's wealth cemented,
Fall tumbling down in a ruinous length
Of rubbish, unlamented.
He hath seen tall temples raised to his name,
And his priests come forth at morn;
But their orisons pleased not the god of flame,
For he pass'd them by in scorn.
Let the sluggard sleep, &c.
The sun is up: he hath heard the song
From Memnon's stony heart;
And he hath survived that worship long,
And mock'd the sculptor's art.
He hath seen the towers of Tadmor grow less,
He hath smiled on the fall of Persepolis;
He saw them wax, and day after day
He shone upon them as he pass'd;
He saw them wane and vanish away,
And their sites are disputed at last.
He hath wanton'd with flowers on Assyria's plain,
He hath gazed on her idols august;
He hath look'd on the glory of Nimrod's reign,
And on Nineveh stretch'd in the dust.
From Memnon's stony heart;
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And mock'd the sculptor's art.
He hath seen the towers of Tadmor grow less,
He hath smiled on the fall of Persepolis;
He saw them wax, and day after day
He shone upon them as he pass'd;
He saw them wane and vanish away,
And their sites are disputed at last.
He hath wanton'd with flowers on Assyria's plain,
He hath gazed on her idols august;
He hath look'd on the glory of Nimrod's reign,
And on Nineveh stretch'd in the dust.
Let the sluggard sleep, &c.
The sun is up: the glories of Greece
He hath witness'd—the lovely, the free;
He hath warm'd the hearts of her patriots in peace,
And he shone on the pride of Thermopylæ.
He hath witness'd her sages waiting for night,
To consult by the stars or the pale moonlight;
But he hath shone till her wisdom was gone,
And her battlements levell'd low:
Till slavery sat upon Marathon,
And slaves upon Sunium's brow;
Where the wisest and bravest were born
He hath seen, as he sped on his way,
The fool and the coward sit and mourn
Like children when cross'd in their play.
He hath witness'd—the lovely, the free;
He hath warm'd the hearts of her patriots in peace,
And he shone on the pride of Thermopylæ.
He hath witness'd her sages waiting for night,
To consult by the stars or the pale moonlight;
But he hath shone till her wisdom was gone,
And her battlements levell'd low:
Till slavery sat upon Marathon,
And slaves upon Sunium's brow;
Where the wisest and bravest were born
He hath seen, as he sped on his way,
The fool and the coward sit and mourn
Like children when cross'd in their play.
Let the sluggard sleep, &c.
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He saw proud Carthage in glory arise,
And rival the mightiest in fame;
He saw her again, and she rose to the skies
In a volume of lava and flame—
While hervictor, as thousands around him expired,
Wept over the city his fury had fired.
He hath seen the eagle which floated there,
Plumed with destruction, insultingly skim,
Majcstic and high in the death-fire's glare,
With a bloody flight over all but him.
He hath seen him fall like the powerless moth,
And low in the dust he hath seen him lie—
Trampled upon by the Visigoth,
And spurn'd by the Huns of Attila—
Till the tenantless hall, and the bloody home,
Was all that remain'd of the glory of Rome.
And rival the mightiest in fame;
He saw her again, and she rose to the skies
In a volume of lava and flame—
While hervictor, as thousands around him expired,
Wept over the city his fury had fired.
He hath seen the eagle which floated there,
Plumed with destruction, insultingly skim,
Majcstic and high in the death-fire's glare,
With a bloody flight over all but him.
He hath seen him fall like the powerless moth,
And low in the dust he hath seen him lie—
Trampled upon by the Visigoth,
And spurn'd by the Huns of Attila—
Till the tenantless hall, and the bloody home,
Was all that remain'd of the glory of Rome.
Let the sluggard sleep, &c.
The sun is up—to enlighten each part—
But through the long ages of his career,
Of all which lightens or brightens the heart,
How little, alas! hath he look'd upon here!
He saw the temple of Salem arise,
And the wonder of Babylon ascend to the skies;
And the sights which he looks upon, day by day,
Are cheeks growing pale, and eyes growing dim,
Bright visions eclipsed, and hopes swept away,
And families scatter'd in ruin, like them!
Since all is change which his fiery eye
Hath look'd upon from the day of his birth,
Let us fix our hearts upon hopes more high,
And look no more for rest upon earth.
But through the long ages of his career,
Of all which lightens or brightens the heart,
How little, alas! hath he look'd upon here!
He saw the temple of Salem arise,
And the wonder of Babylon ascend to the skies;
And the sights which he looks upon, day by day,
Are cheeks growing pale, and eyes growing dim,
Bright visions eclipsed, and hopes swept away,
And families scatter'd in ruin, like them!
Since all is change which his fiery eye
Hath look'd upon from the day of his birth,
Let us fix our hearts upon hopes more high,
And look no more for rest upon earth.
| Poems by the late John Bethune | |