Изображения страниц
PDF
EPUB

His steps-are not upon thy paths;-thy fields-
Are not a spoil-for him;-thou dost arise,—
And shake him from thee;-the vile strength-he wields
For earth's destruction, thou-dost all despise,
Spurning him-from thy bosom-to the skies,

And send'st him—(shivering) in thy playful spray,
And howling-to his gods,—where-haply-lies
His petty hope, in some near port—or bay,

And dashest him again to earth :—there—let him lay.

The armaments-which thunderstrike-the walls
Of rock-built cities,-bidding nations quake,
And monarchs tremble-in their capitals;—
The oak leviathans,-whose huge ribs-make
Their clay creator the vain title take

Of lord of thee,-and arbiter—of war;
These are thy toys,—and,- -as the snowy flake,
They melt-into thy yest of waves, which mar
Alike the Armada's pride-or spoils of Trafalgar.

The shores-are empires,-changed in all-save thee.
Assyria, Greece,-Rome,-Carthage,-what are they?
Thy waters-wasted them-while they were free,
And many a tyrant-since; their shores-obey
The stranger,-slave,—or savage; their decay-
Has dried up realms-to deserts:-not so thou,
Unchangeable, save thy wild waves' play,-

Time-writes no wrinkle-on thine azure brow;-
Such.. as creation's dawn beheld, thou rollest now.

Thou glorious mirror,-where the Almighty's form-
Glasses itself in tempests; in all time,-
Calm-or convulsed-in breeze,—or gale,-or storm,
Icing the pole,- -or in the torrid clime

Dark heaving; boundless,―endless,—and sublime—
The image of eternity-the throne-

Of the Invisible; even from out thy slime

The monsters of the deep are made; each zone-
Obeys thee; thou goest forth—dread,-fathomless,—alone.

And I have loved thee,-Ocean! and my joy
Of youthful sports-was on thy breast to be
Borne, like thy bubbles,-onward: from a boy-
I wantoned with thy breakers: they-to me--
Were a delight; and if the freshening sea

Made them a terror,-'t was a pleasing fear,
For I was, (as it were,) a child of thee,

And I trusted to thy billows-far—and near,
And laid my hand-upon thy mane,—
-as I do here.

My task-is done; my song hath ceased;-my theme
Has died-into an echo: it is fit

The spell should break of this protracted dream.
The torch shall be extinguished-which hath lit
My midnight lamp,-and-what is writ is writ.

Would-it were worthier!/-but I am not now-
That-which I have been,-and my visions-flit
Less palpably before me,—and the glow-

Which-in my spirit dwelt-is fluttering,-faint,-and low.

THE OCEAN. FANNY GREEN.

With the boundless sea around,—and the boundless sky above, I have been for days, as it were, swallowed up in the grandeur of the scene. You remember, my brother, when we stood together in the midst of the Great Desert, and the deep repose of a starry night was folded round us as a garment. Silence stretched out her great wings, brooding over all things, and Fear shrunk trembling into the deepest shadows. The crouching lion was hushed in his lair, and stirred not even when the grim shadow of the silent-footed camels fell across his track; and the silly ostrich hid her head in the sand and nestled silently, as if she too felt the great Power that lives in Nature.

We stood together, grasping each other by the hand,-silent before the Majesty which had clothed itself in vastness, and reigned alone. Oppressed with a strange awe, we could only whisper, "How great is Allah!" Then we started at the sound of our own voices, which were drunk up in a moment; for the stillness itself-was the profoundest voice of God.

A night view of the sea is akin to that; but in some respects quite different. The desert lies stretched out in its immensity, boundless in extent, and terrible in stillness; but wholly void of life. The great creation seems to have dropped still-born from the hands of Allah; and, thenceforth become dead, it lies as it was first laid, with the sorrowful and silent stars looking in its wan face; though the Ages have embalmed it, and like the Dead of Egypt it has been brought to the Banquet of Life.

But the sea is full of motion, of physical character and life in their grandest forms. It is in itself a great motive power, and only weaker than the Strongest. As I look afar over the broad, heaving bosom of the ocean, I am filled with a variety of strange and new sensations. I feel a deep longing after the Beautiful and the True. I stretch out my arms to embrace the Greatness. I aspire toward all the Possible.

THE ALPS. WILLIS GAYLORD CLARK.

Proud monuments-of God! sublime ye stand
Among the wonders-of his mighty hand:

With summits-soaring in the upper sky,

Where the broad day looks down-with burning eye;

Where gorgeous clouds-in solemn pomp repose,
Flinging rich shadows-on eternal snows:
Piles of triumphant dust, ye stand alone,
And hold, (in kingly state,) a peerless throne!

Like olden conquerors, on high ye rear
The regal ensign, and the glittering spear:
Round icy spires-the mists, (in wreaths unrolled,)
Float ever near, in purple—or in gold;
And voiceful torrents, sternly rolling there,
Fill (with wild music) the unpillared air:
What garden, or what hall-on earth beneath,
Thrills to such tones as o'er the mountains breathe?

There, (through long ages past,) those summits shone
When morning radiance on their state was thrown;
There, (when the summer day's career was done,)
Played the last glory-of the sinking sun;
There, (sprinkled luster-o'er the cataract's shade,)
The chastened moon-her glittering rainbow made;
And,-(blent with pictured stars,) her luster lay
Where-(to still vales) the free streams leaped away.
Where-are the thronging hosts-of other days,
Whose banners-floated o'er the Alpine ways;
Who, (through their high defiles,) to battle-wound,
While deadly ordnance-stirred the heights around?
Gone, like the dream-that melts at early morn,
When the lark's anthem-through the sky is borne:
Gone, like the wrecks-that sink in ocean's spray,
And chill Oblivion-murmurs: Where are they?
Yet "Alps-on Alps" still rise; the lofty home
Of storms-and eagles, where their pinions roam;
Still-round their peaks-the magic colors lie,
(Of morn—and eve,) imprinted—on the sky;

And still, while kings—and thrones-shall fade—and fall,
And empty crowns-lie dim-upon the pall;

Still-shall their glaciers flash; their torrents roar,

Till kingdoms fail, and nations-rise no more.

THE CELESTIAL ARMY. T. BUCHANAN READ.

I stood by the open casement,
And looked upon the night,
And saw the westward-going stars
Pass slowly out of sight.

Slowly the bright procession

Went down the gleaming arch,
And my soul discerned the music
Of their long triumphant march.
Till the great celestial army,
Stretching far beyond the poles,
Became the eternal symbol

Of the mighty march of souls.

Onward! forever onward,

Red Mars led down his clan,

And the moon, like a mailed maiden,
Was riding in the van.

And some were bright in beauty,

And some were faint and small;
But these might be in their great height
The noblest of them all.

Downward! forever downward,

Behind earth's dusky shore,

They passed into the unknown night-
They passed, and were no more.

No more! Oh, say not so!

And downward is not just;

For the sight is weak and the sense is dim
That looks through the heated dust.

The stars and the mailed moon,

Though they seem to fall and die,
Still sweep with their embattled lines
An endless reach of sky.

And though the hills of death
May hide the bright array,

The marshaled brotherhood of souls
Still keeps its upward way.

Upward! forever upward!

I see their march sublime,
And hear the glorious music
Of the conquerors of time.
And long let me remember,

That the palest fainting one
May unto divine wisdom be
A bright and blazing sun.

THE URSA MAJOR. H. WARE, JR.

With what a stately and majestic step-
That glorious constellation of the North-
Treads its eternal circle!-going forth
Its princely way amongst the stars in slow
And silent brightness. Mighty one,--all hail!
I joy to see thee on thy glowing path

Walk like some stout and girded giant-stern,—
Unwearied,—resolute, whose toiling foot
Disdains to loiter on its destined way.
The other tribes forsake their midnight track,
And rest their weary orbs beneath the wave;

But thou dost never close thy burning eye,
Nor stay thy steadfast step;-but on,-still on,
While systems—change and suns-retire, and worlds-
Slumber-and wake, thy ceaseless march proceeds.
The near horizon tempts to rest in vain;

Thou, faithful sentinel, dost never quit

Thy long-appointed watch;-but, sleepless still,—
Dost guard the fixed light of the universe,
And bid the north-forever know its place.

Ages have witnessed thy devoted trust,
Unchanged, unchanging.

When the sons of God

Sent forth that shout of joy which rang thro' heaven,
And echoed from the outer spheres-that bound

The illimitable universe,-thy voice

Joined the high chorus; from thy radiant orbs
The glad cry resounded, swelling to his praise
Who thus had cast another sparkling gem,
Little but beautiful, amid the crowd

Of splendors-that enrich his firmament:
As thou art now,-so wast thou then the same.
Ages have roll'd their course, and time grows gray;
The seas have changed their beds; the eternal hills
Have stoop'd with age;-the solid continents

Have left their banks; and man's imperial works,—
The toil, pride, strength of kingdoms, which had flung
Their mighty honors in the face of heaven,
As if immortal,--have been swept away,--
Shatter'd and moldering,-buried and forgot.
But time has shed no-dimness on thy front,

Nor touched the firmness of thy-tread:-youth, strength,
And beauty still are thine,-as clear, as bright

As when the Almighty Former sent thee forth,
Beautiful offspring of his curious skill,

To watch earth's northern beacon, and proclaim
The chorus of-Eternal Love.

I wonder as I gaze! That stream of light,
Undimm'd,-unquench'd,-just as I see thee now,
Has issued from those dazzling points thro' years
That go back--far into eternity.

Exhaustless flood!-forever spent! renewed
Forever! Yea, and those refulgent drops,
Which now descend upon my lifted eye,

Left their fair fountain twice three years ago:-
So far from earth those mighty orbs revolve;

So vast the void through which their beams descend.
Yea, glorious lamps of God, he may have quench'd
Your ancient flames, and bid eternal night
Rest on your spheres, and yet no tidings reach

« ПредыдущаяПродолжить »