O, Father Time, I envy thee,
For the scenes which thou shalt see
When my lyre's frail cords be broken-
When my latest words be spoken :
And the circling years are flown,
The present generations gone;
For all the scenes thou then shalt see,
Dear Father Time, I envy thee !
The music of a vision dear,
Dwells for ever in mine ear;
Like birds' wild notes in early spring,
When from the budding copse they sing ;
Or like love zephyrs murmuring-
Or silver streamlets' ripple clear,
Beneath the brush-wood running near;
So fall the tones upon mine ear.
Where'er I go, where'er I flee,
That heavenly vision haunteth me!
If by the river's marge I lie,
And mark the clouds, which flitting by,
Conceal the splendour of the sky;
Or, if beneath the giant lime,
I try to chant some lusty rhyme-
A wild romance of ancient time;
Whate'er I sing, the notes but seem
To fashion forth that glorious dream.
And even in the clouds I see
The fairy nymph who sang to me.
The Vision comes upon me now-
Strange fancies throng my throbbing brow;
On viewless wings from earth I rise,
And soar serenely to the skies;
High, to the realms where vapours cease,
And stormy tempests sleep in peace;
Higher! unto those regions fair,
Unruffled by a breath of air;
Higher, still higher! Past the moon-
New worlds on every side crowd round;
Higher, still higher! Past the sun,
And still revolving globes are found.
Higher! Past earth's remotest star,
And still fresh meteors blaze afar ;
Begirt with moons new planets roll,
And glitter round my tranced soul.
Onward, still on! Through boundless space,
Through trackless paths of azure sheen;
And still below, above, beneath,
Great, glorious, rolling worlds are seen!
O, close the scene! O, blind my sight!
My sense is dazzled with their light;
Moons glitter here-stars twinkle there,
Comets and suns are every where,
And denser grow as mists disperse :
O God! thine awful universe!
Within a purple cloud I stand,
Upon the apex of the world;
A rainbow 'neath my feet is placed,
At either end on planets base.
Around are scented vapours curled-
And in th' expanse above me, floating,
The bowery groves of Heaven appear;
With silver screen and sardine column,
And fretted aisle and arches solemn :
The bright celestial fanes uprear!
Burning thoughts within me spring,
O, give me utterance-let me sing
The glories of this awful place,-
The marvels of th' abyss of space;
The worlds beneath, around, above
Great Heaven's o'ershadowing alcove,
Kindle a grand, unearthly strain,
Within my throbbing, raptured brain.
Let me pour forth the inspiration,
These scenes have in my bosom nurst;
Proclaim my spirit's adoration
O, let me, or my soul will burst!!
Oh! vain the thought for utterance seeking,
Such thoughts defy all power of speaking;
My mind is chaos-without order,
Like nature between night and day:
These great conceptions are too mighty
For me to utter. I WILL PRAY!
THE PRAYER OF THE DREAMER.
"Dear Father of the boundless sky!
On earth our narrow creedists say, That to thy star-girt home on high
There is but one thorn-bordered way. Mankind, from mercy's mildest book,
To ruthless force they have exhorted;
And from the grandest law of love,
The wildest code of hate extorted;
And loathsome deeds of blood and shame,
They sanction with thy glorious name!
"O! could they be where now I stand, And view the thousand, myriad spheres
That glitter bright on every hand,
(And so shall shine-a radiant band
Through varying months and rolling years);
Learn that in nature's giant scheme,
As lightly as a passing dream,
A thousand ages fly.
Know, what they now refuse to know,
That this mysterious ball below
Is but a portion of a whole,
Companion of those flames which roll,
In what we call-The Sky!
Then would they form a broader creed,
And martyrs never more should bleed.
But endless as eternity,
Sublime in His Immensity;
Smiling from an open throne,
Loving all and hating none,
Would they deem the Deity!
"Father! on our world so wondrous,
(Which seems a star from this high dome);
From north to south reigns foul injustice,
And misery there hath made her home.
There the good in sadness languish,
While the bad grow rich and great;
There the poor man starves, forgotten,
To increase the lordling's state.
Men inflate with lineal splendour,
Reck not of the peasant's pain;
But conspiring with the wealthy,
Firmer bind the cruel chain,
This the lot of half creation,
One dull, joyless life of gloom;
Marked with but three simple epochs :
The BIRTH—then SORROW-then the TOMB!
Tell me, O my heavenly Parent!
Thou, whose wide omniscient span
Grasps the ceaseless course of ages,
Since their measured flight began!
Tell me—in the heated factory,
Ever shall the weaver pine?
Or the sickly, stunted children,
Perish in the poisonous mine?
Shall injustice rule for ever!
O'er thine own all beauteous world?
Shall the standard of brave knowledge,
To the end of time be furled ?
Or shall man, from mists emerging,
Flinging slavish bonds away;
Walk with all the might of manhood,
To the cheerful blaze of day?
Lo! as I speak, from yon blue isle,
To which my sight in rapture turns,--
Where trees in bloom immortal smile,
And learning's sun unclouded burns:
Launches on the buoyant air,
A spirit most divinely fair.
An aureole round her brow is playing,
In varied tints her form arraying ;
From her shoulders wide unfold
Purple plumes, all starred with gold;
Which, as in noiseless course she flies,
Take new colours from the skies.
And stretched behind her far, they meet And mingle with her winged feet; While a robe of stainless white,
Fairer, purer to the sight
Than snow on untrod mountain's height,
Shades her body from mine eyes.—
An angel, beautiful to see,
The Spirit of the Rainbow she!
On an emerald ray descending,
Through a maze of comets wending;
Nearer, nearer is she coming,
I can hear her lute is blending
With the strain her voice is humming.
And an unseen quire attending,
The silver cadences prolong;
Now sinking low, now swelling strong,
And join the measure of the song.
Nearer comes she-nearer, nearer,
All her notes sound fuller, clearer :
And her features I can see,
Smiling sweetly upon me.
The beating of her wings I feel,
As on a bordering star she stands,
So close that, were she not a shade,
My hands might touch the crystal braid,
Which holds her silken hair in bands.
A blush is mantling on my cheek,
My bosom heaves,-I fain would speak,
But dare not; for within her eye
There dwells a quiet purity;
So simple, and yet so sublime,
It puts my soaring heart to shame.
It tells me of the crimes that roll,
Their staining folds around my soul,
And quench its heavenly flame!
And so I can but bow the knee,
Before her spotless purity!
She takes her lute-her rosy fingers
Commune with the silver strings.
Hush! my heart! no longer beat,
Seize the melody so sweet:
Listen, for the seraph sings!
|