 | An Ode to Astronomy and other poems |  |
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AN ODE TO ASTRONOMY.
I.
Hail! Heaven-born science, on whose soaring pinionsThe mind of man is borne
Triumphant, through the most remote dominions
Of cavernous night and sun-enlivened morn.
Hail! searcher of the realms of space,
Hail! scorner of this lower ground,
Whose soul, unchained by time or place,
The heights of Heaven can span, its void abysses sound.
II.
What sights and scenes are thine!What rhapsodies divine!
What poems unconceived by singer's brain!
What thoughts sublimely great
The spirit to elate,
And purify like fire the earth-born brain!
What hours of bliss approaching
To the joys that angels feel,
When the hand seems almost touching
What the telescopes reveal;
And the mind, borne high and higher,
Leaps, like Heaven attracted fire,
To the stars the eyes untiring contemplate,
With enthusiasm elate!
III.
'Tis thine the secrets of the sky to know,To solve the problems of the universe,
To watch the course of worlds that glow
Unknown, unfelt by us.
Thy scenes are landscapes system strewn,
Thine the deep music of the spheres,
Thy quenchless lamps the sun and moon,
Thy time is measured by a million years;
Thy landmarks worlds, thy oceans trackless space,
Thy banners knowledge over Heaven unfurled,
Thy measures distances no thought can trace,
Thy poetry the epic of the world.
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THE POET.
There is a being on the revolving earth
Whose name is as a cipher among men,
Which when unwrit is nothing, and when writ
Is nothing still. He is unknown to all
Without the circle of his little world,
As circumscribed as, to the wanderer's eye,
The view the mount-surrounded vale commands.
And yet he has I think a soaring mind,
A soul that would aspire above its clay,
A heart that would respond to one kind word,
If men to him were other than they are.
But from his childhood's hour, till now, when youth
Has just begun to fringe his lips with down,
He has but met unkindness and rebuffs,
And covert sneers, and open want of heart
And sympathy, from all who might have lent
A helping hand up life's precipitous road;
Till, tired of all the little gaining strife,
And sick of all the hoping against hope,
He has sunk down, I fear, to rise no more.
Whose name is as a cipher among men,
Which when unwrit is nothing, and when writ
Is nothing still. He is unknown to all
Without the circle of his little world,
As circumscribed as, to the wanderer's eye,
The view the mount-surrounded vale commands.
And yet he has I think a soaring mind,
A soul that would aspire above its clay,
A heart that would respond to one kind word,
If men to him were other than they are.
But from his childhood's hour, till now, when youth
Has just begun to fringe his lips with down,
He has but met unkindness and rebuffs,
And covert sneers, and open want of heart
And sympathy, from all who might have lent
A helping hand up life's precipitous road;
Till, tired of all the little gaining strife,
And sick of all the hoping against hope,
He has sunk down, I fear, to rise no more.
He is a poet, or aspires, at least,
To snatch the laurel from the sacred shrine,
But wants those wings to help him on his way
That, in these days, are only bought with gold.
Therefore he has sat down in silence now
And strings the harp no more; but oh! a blight
Has settled, like a shadow, on his heart,
And poisons slowly every virtue there.
Yet never does he utter a complaint,
Nor raise his impotent arms upbraiding Heaven,
Nor turn with hate and scorn upon mankind,
As authors or fulfillers of his fate;
But, wrapped up in his own mysterious thoughts,
He wanders like a shadow through the world,
And leaves no trace behind him of his path.
Men pass him, like a stream that may not stay,
And do not heed the pale enthusiast,
Who, like an orbitless and wandering star,
Runs counter to the spirit of the age.
He speaks to none his thoughts, he goes about
A dreamer in the work day of the world,
A stranger 'mid the brotherhood of earth;
By many scorned, by all misunderstood,
One soul affection lingering in his heart,
The worship of the beauty of the world,
Which leads us step by step to the Divine,
Having itself its own divinity.
Oh! let us hope this softener of the heart
May haply change him and redeem him yet.
To snatch the laurel from the sacred shrine,
But wants those wings to help him on his way
That, in these days, are only bought with gold.
Therefore he has sat down in silence now
And strings the harp no more; but oh! a blight
Has settled, like a shadow, on his heart,
And poisons slowly every virtue there.
Yet never does he utter a complaint,
Nor raise his impotent arms upbraiding Heaven,
Nor turn with hate and scorn upon mankind,
As authors or fulfillers of his fate;
But, wrapped up in his own mysterious thoughts,
He wanders like a shadow through the world,
And leaves no trace behind him of his path.
Men pass him, like a stream that may not stay,
And do not heed the pale enthusiast,
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Runs counter to the spirit of the age.
He speaks to none his thoughts, he goes about
A dreamer in the work day of the world,
A stranger 'mid the brotherhood of earth;
By many scorned, by all misunderstood,
One soul affection lingering in his heart,
The worship of the beauty of the world,
Which leads us step by step to the Divine,
Having itself its own divinity.
Oh! let us hope this softener of the heart
May haply change him and redeem him yet.
THE PARTING.
For the last time, the last, last time on earth,
My arms are clasped around thy innocent form,
Thy golden head is laid upon my heart,
My eyes seek thine, thy pale ethereal face
Is turned up meekly lovingly to mine,
For the last time, the last, last time on earth.
The setting sun a misty halo casts
About the couch whereon thy form is laid;
Slowly it sinks into the lurid west.
The casement glitters in the dying light,
The fragrant breeze is wafted through the room,
From the green meadows where the fountains play;
See how the woodbine floats upon its wings,
Its fragrance fades around us. Oh! how oft
Thus have we waited, while the twilight stole
(Pale-purple herald of returning night)
O'er the wide land. Slow died the hues of eve,
And silent up the hyacinthine sky
Walked the wan sceptre of the wandering moon.
Then came the dusky night, her raven skirts
Begemmed and glittering with a thousand stars.
My arms are clasped around thy innocent form,
Thy golden head is laid upon my heart,
My eyes seek thine, thy pale ethereal face
Is turned up meekly lovingly to mine,
For the last time, the last, last time on earth.
The setting sun a misty halo casts
About the couch whereon thy form is laid;
Slowly it sinks into the lurid west.
The casement glitters in the dying light,
The fragrant breeze is wafted through the room,
From the green meadows where the fountains play;
See how the woodbine floats upon its wings,
Its fragrance fades around us. Oh! how oft
Thus have we waited, while the twilight stole
(Pale-purple herald of returning night)
O'er the wide land. Slow died the hues of eve,
And silent up the hyacinthine sky
Walked the wan sceptre of the wandering moon.
Then came the dusky night, her raven skirts
Begemmed and glittering with a thousand stars.
But now I go for ever from thy side
Into the desolate desert of the world,
A lonely wanderer, like the houseless moon
Across the star sown meadows of the sky.
Over the distant hills, and far across
The lonely waters of the restless deep,
I go to wander in a stranger land.
No more these skies, no more this amber light,
Which tinges nature with enchantment's hues.
No more these undulating hills, these plains,
Where dew and sunshine intermingled both
Burst out in myriad flowers, and green trees
Cast lengthening shadows through the summer days,
In whose cool presence you may sit, and watch
The glad leaves tremble in the winds embrace,
While, like sweet voices heard in pleasant dreams,
The sun-bright founts and rills laugh softly nigh.
Into the desolate desert of the world,
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Across the star sown meadows of the sky.
Over the distant hills, and far across
The lonely waters of the restless deep,
I go to wander in a stranger land.
No more these skies, no more this amber light,
Which tinges nature with enchantment's hues.
No more these undulating hills, these plains,
Where dew and sunshine intermingled both
Burst out in myriad flowers, and green trees
Cast lengthening shadows through the summer days,
In whose cool presence you may sit, and watch
The glad leaves tremble in the winds embrace,
While, like sweet voices heard in pleasant dreams,
The sun-bright founts and rills laugh softly nigh.
I dare not linger o'er this last farewell,
Lest my weak heart should fail me at the end.
I lift thee from my breast, I must be gone;
Night has come round us, and the moonlight streams
Full through the open casement. Fare thee well.
The struggles and the pangs are at an end,
The foolish fight with fate is over now,
I turn but one more look upon thy face—
Would that my wretched soul might be poured forth,
Poured forth and spent, in this one look of love.
Lest my weak heart should fail me at the end.
I lift thee from my breast, I must be gone;
Night has come round us, and the moonlight streams
Full through the open casement. Fare thee well.
The struggles and the pangs are at an end,
The foolish fight with fate is over now,
I turn but one more look upon thy face—
Would that my wretched soul might be poured forth,
Poured forth and spent, in this one look of love.
Weep not, oh! gentle friend, thou need'st not weep,
Thine are the roses and the thorns are mine,
Thine are the joys that fade not out of life,
Mine are the empty and delusive toys
Which crumble into ashes at a touch.
Thy lot is with the sunshine, to be loved,
To love, and to be happy, it is mine,
Like those lost angels who are deepest lost,
To be supreme in misery. Farewell.
Thine are the roses and the thorns are mine,
Thine are the joys that fade not out of life,
Mine are the empty and delusive toys
Which crumble into ashes at a touch.
Thy lot is with the sunshine, to be loved,
To love, and to be happy, it is mine,
Like those lost angels who are deepest lost,
To be supreme in misery. Farewell.
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THE SEA ROVER.
I steer across the azure main,
My boat is strong, though light and slim;
The tempest blusters all in vain,
It harms no craft so tight and trim.
My boat is strong, though light and slim;
The tempest blusters all in vain,
It harms no craft so tight and trim.
I sail beneath a tropic sky,
A wandering bark I seldom meet,
And swift the haunts of men pass by,
They are too much with crime replete.
A wandering bark I seldom meet,
And swift the haunts of men pass by,
They are too much with crime replete.
But when some lonely isle I reach,
Some Eden undisturbed by men,
I land upon the golden beach
And linger there awhile, and then
Some Eden undisturbed by men,
I land upon the golden beach
And linger there awhile, and then
Spread out once more the idle sail,
And roam the sky girt ocean round,
Till, wafted by the fragrant gale,
Again a resting place be found.
And roam the sky girt ocean round,
Till, wafted by the fragrant gale,
Again a resting place be found.
And men may laugh and call me mad,
But had they joy so wild as mine
The earth would be an Eden glad,
And all who dwelt therein divine.
But had they joy so wild as mine
The earth would be an Eden glad,
And all who dwelt therein divine.
THE VALLEY.
There was once a fairy valley
In a land beyond the sea,
Where the soft winds loved to dally,
Ever whispering musically
Up a little leafy alley,
Full itself of melody.
In a land beyond the sea,
Where the soft winds loved to dally,
Ever whispering musically
Up a little leafy alley,
Full itself of melody.
O'er the grass a stream meandered
And its banks with flowers were gemmed;
Balsams at their beauty wondered,
Lilies o'er their image pondered,
And to every breeze that wandered
Sighed the moss rose, thorn enhemmed.
And its banks with flowers were gemmed;
Balsams at their beauty wondered,
Lilies o'er their image pondered,
And to every breeze that wandered
Sighed the moss rose, thorn enhemmed.
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There a poet dwelt who chanted
Songs delightful all the day,
Sang of lands and scenes enchanted,
By the Power of Beauty haunted;
Him no envious critic taunted,
Only nature heard his lay.
Songs delightful all the day,
Sang of lands and scenes enchanted,
By the Power of Beauty haunted;
Him no envious critic taunted,
Only nature heard his lay.
But this poet early dying
Came a blight upon the vale,
Withered soon the flowers were lying,
Far away the birds went flying,
O'er the wreck the breezes sighing
But remained to tell the tale.
Came a blight upon the vale,
Withered soon the flowers were lying,
Far away the birds went flying,
O'er the wreck the breezes sighing
But remained to tell the tale.
LINES.
Oh! seek not mortal heart too much of love
To lavish upon aught while here below,
Lest, meeting, in this cold and selfish world,
Ingratitude and scorn for thy reward,
Thy love become a serpent, which will turn
And wound the breast wherein it late reposed.
To lavish upon aught while here below,
Lest, meeting, in this cold and selfish world,
Ingratitude and scorn for thy reward,
Thy love become a serpent, which will turn
And wound the breast wherein it late reposed.
There once was one who wandered through the world
Seeking seme heart responsive to his own,
Some being upon whom his eyes might gaze
With love and worship, till his very soul,
Breathed out in rapturous longing, should be absorbed,
Made one with it. In vain. His youth went by
In unproductive seeking, and the prime
Of manhood passed and left him pale and wan,
Consumed with an unquenchable desire
Not ever to be satisfied. He died,
And his pale corpse, neglected and untombed,
Became a banquet for the carrion bird.
Seeking seme heart responsive to his own,
Some being upon whom his eyes might gaze
With love and worship, till his very soul,
Breathed out in rapturous longing, should be absorbed,
Made one with it. In vain. His youth went by
In unproductive seeking, and the prime
Of manhood passed and left him pale and wan,
Consumed with an unquenchable desire
Not ever to be satisfied. He died,
And his pale corpse, neglected and untombed,
Became a banquet for the carrion bird.
| An Ode to Astronomy and other poems | |