Days and Hours :: :: University of Virginia Library

The morn is bright—the clouds ride swift and high,
The wild breeze curls the woods, the wild birds sing,
In answer to a lark that floods the sky
With fiery notes that make the sunlight ring;
The world is full of life and power,
Each moment sweeter than the last,
Swift Youth flies onward to the unborn hour,
And Age unto the Past.

II

A time-worn Chieftain in his garden sate,
And saw a great host arm'd for battle go
With banners and with plumes before his gate,
He heard the music, like a tempest, blow;
He saw the banners float and swell,
The iron lightnings swift and dread,
And his old eyes grew glad and terrible,
And sparkled in his head.

III

Oh! who can think on darkness and on Death,
The silence, and the coldness of the grave,
The nameless anguish of life's ebbing breath,
When the loud trumpet flattereth the brave?
While Faith is strong, and Fancy young,
And Glory lifts the heart, like wine,
O God, the knell of nations may be rung
In notes that are divine!

IV

And One, his tall helm flashing like a star,
With crimson mantle waving o'er his steel,
Descended swift, and with a voice of war
Trod down the roses 'neath his armed heel;
And pointing with his mailed hand
To that proud Chivalry and bold,
He cried ‘Wilt thou too linger in the land,
Who wert our Chief of old?’

V

The trumpet blew again—but his great voice
Took up the sound, and he arose in haste,
‘I come,’ he cried, ‘I make the better choice,
To do, or die—but not to be surpast;
Shall younger men go by, and say,
‘He was a man, his deeds are done?’
I come—my fame that was the rising day,
Shall be the setting sun!

VI

‘Bring me mine ancient arms, my father's sword,
My steed—he snuffs the tumult from afar,
And beats with angry hoof, for he hath heard
The trumpet sound, and seen the cloud of war;
Farewell, my home, and farewell, thou,
Dearest, save Honor; I will earn
Yet one more laurel for this bruised brow
While yet my pulses burn.

100

VII

‘Ply thou thy distaff, gentle-hearted wife,
Teach truth, and mercy, sing beneath the vine;
The dust of battle is my breath of life,
Oblivion sweeter than to live and pine;
To drink in haste the cup of fears,
To feel, to-day we win or die;
To ride away with music in mine ears,
And back with Victory!

VIII

Can hearts be still, that ever have been stirr'd
By deeds of Glory—can the arm repose
Within the breast, that once hath flash'd the sword,
The eye grow blind that lighten'd on our foes?
What music is so sweet to hear
As region shouts when Cities craze,
And thro' the stormed gates pale Kings appear
In sorrow and amaze?

101

IX

‘What pity half so sweet as that, so rare—
When high-born Beauty leading in her hands
Young heirs of empire, desolate and fair,
And lowly weeping at my stirrup stands;
While with despairing art she flings
Soft lightnings into her blue eyes
That, yesterday, perchance had frown'd on Kings,
And breathes forlornest sighs?’

X

‘Those words of triumph fell like sparks of fire,
And lighted in the heart of his young heir,
Mix'd with fond thoughts the spirit of his sire;
Few summers yet had kiss'd his sunny hair:
And he rose up, and then he bow'd
His knee—he said, ‘My years are few,
But oh! my heart is strong, my hopes as proud
As thine, when they were new!

102

XI

‘Thy laurell'd Age my Youth shall never shame;
If Age be dauntless, why should Youth not dare?
Else will men mock in me thine honor'd name,
That is and is not, like a clouded star:
And oh! if moments there should be,
When thou art faint, and none are near
To fence some winged Death athirst for thee,
And shield thee, father dear.’

XII

Again the trumpet sounded, and he rose
Strong as in youth, and from his eye there went
Arrows of fire, that would confound his foes,
And made his lordly head magnificent!
But ere he pass'd the porch, a hand
Upon his own, like Pity, laid,
Into its scabbard press'd the half-drawn brand,
A voice, like music, said:

103

XIII

‘Oh! fly not thus—remember all thy days
By thine own hearth, beneath that ancient tree,
Thy children, and their mirth, and loving ways,
Forget not all thy vows, forget not me!
Oh! I will sing thee other songs
Shall stir thee like the morning air,
Sweeter than all the voices wrung from wrongs,
Pæans, and shouts of war!

XIV

‘While hunters bold ride homeward with the spoil;
While bugles ring, and forest echoes cry;
While mowers laugh, while reapers sing and toil;
While vintage bands go, like a revel, by;
While bridals pass, while poor men bless,
While Yule is blithe, while Summer fair,
Oh! wouldst thou change the flowing songs of peace
For triumphs, and despair?

104

XV

‘Alas! alas! Ambition, why art thou
Yclad in Hope's gay dress of many dyes,
With flowing garlands on thy faithless brow,
Joy on thy tongue, and laughter in thine eyes?
If thy fondest worshipper
Dared but whisper of his woes,
Both king and clown would hate thy name and fear,
And wreak it on their foes!’

XVI

Again the dreadful trumpet rang forlorn,
Again she sang, ‘I saw a sight sublime,
The World's new Conqueror pass the gates of Morn,
And to the crazy battlements of Time
He led bright hosts of his compeers,
Matchless in beauty, great in limb,
Strong Spirits of indomitable Years,
With faces turn'd on Him!

105

XVII

‘And with a shout that clave the clouds asunder,
And round the illumined, vast horizon ran
In endless echoes of melodious thunder,
Down to the World their godlike march began;
The armies of the Days of old
Smit thro' with splendors of that sight
Back on each hand in stormy ruin roll'd,
And perish'd in the light!

XVIII

‘And One, from whose great presence glory came
As from a sunrise, in a still small voice
That made the ether flutter like a flame,
Utter'd sweet words that made the earth rejoice!
All the World broke forth in songs;
‘God, our God is come again,
Build up the fallen cities, heal the wrongs,
For He shall dwell with men!’

106

XIX

‘Oh! think, that every home beneath the skies
Hath hearths, and altars, holy as thine own,
That from the cinders of Destruction rise
Earth-kindling sparks, when Justice is o'erthrown;
Think, Oh! think of me and mine,
When widows weep, and babes lament,
And sanguine Ruin makes the midnight shine;
Think timely, and relent!’

XX

Once more that note, like evil Angel's, shrill;
He frown'd, and moved disdainful, but she held
Unto his mantle, and his iron will
Bent to her breath, although his pride rebell'd:
‘And canst thou arm the bloody hand
Against the Stranger, and not fear
The woes thou wreakest on another's land
May recompense thee here?

107

XXI

‘Whate'er the fever of thy heart may be,
One hope burns deeper than thy thirst of fame,
The hope, that sometime, sometime thou shalt see
Thy rooftree o'er thee, and thy hearth the same;
Sometime thou shalt see me, hear me,
As in the tender ancient days,
Chanting old ditties with my children near me,
And teaching them thy praise.

XXII

‘When some pale mother with astonished eyes,
Whence hate, not love, hath exiled hope and fear,
Hath stood before thee, mad with agonies,
And caught thee by the hand, and bade thee hear,
Bade thee in her frenzied pride
Give back her sons, and their slain sire,
Hast thou ne'er dream'd such chance might here betide
And shudder'd in thine ire?’

108

XXIII

Far down the wind the trumpet spake again,
Sad, as a plaint, and in his eye a tear
Hung, as he strove against himself in vain;
‘Ah!’ then she cried, ‘and shouldst thou enter here,
And see thro' thresholds black with fire
Thy chambers thick with armed men,
No faithful lips to welcome spouse, or sire,
Would Glory serve thee then?

XXIV

‘Is it not better to hang up thy shield
And sheath thy sword, while loving hands unlace
Thy batter'd helm, than on the stormy field
To gaze upon thy brother's dying face?
To clasp thy children, and to feel
Their faithful voices thrill thine ear,
Than dust, and thunder, and the clash of steel,
The glory and the fear?

109

XXV

‘To mark the wind, the sunshine, and the shower
Clothe the old battle-fields with harvest ears;
To watch thy crops increase, thy garden flower,
In this green vale which early love endears;
To see the tree of Knowledge stand
Fed by Love's light, but not his tears,
And the wise nations flock beneath the hand
Of Him who rolls the years?'

XXVI

Far off the warnote died upon the breeze,
Like Sorrow drowning in the waves of Time,
The leaves, like friendly tongues, discoursed of peace,
He heard a blackbird pipe, a rivulet chime;
As music over madness streams,
Those sweet notes melted him to sighs,
A woke his heart from its tumultuous dreams,
And clouded o'er his eyes.

110

XXVII

But where was He, the plumed Tempter, fled?
Far down the vale they saw his morion dance
Above the dust that curl'd around his head,
And caught the last proud glitter of his lance;
And when the blackbird ceased his singing,
And the wind blew freshly by,
They heard his hoofs amid the mountains ringing,
They heard his battle-cry.

XXVIII

A blue-eyed daughter led him to his seat
Beneath the garden trees, laid by his sword,
Unclasp'd his glittering helm, and at his feet
Lay—as he murmur'd fondly, not unheard,
While his little ones embraced
His neck, and clomb about his knees,
‘Forgive me, God, if I forgot the Past,
And teach my spirit Peace!’