When Morn,[77] returning, upward leaps
Into the realms of day—
Re-gilding mountain-tops, and steeps,
Most heav’nward in the sky,
And finding unpropitious clouds
Spread o’er the vast expanse,—
Obscuring from Earth’s mingling crowds
His needed countenance,—
He puts his golden armour on,
Bends his portentous bow,
And sends his arrows quiv’ring down
Direct upon the foe;—
So swift, so pond’rously each beam
Falls on the murky host,
Disconsolation seizes them;
When, gathering to their post,
Again they furiously contend
For the supremacy;
But they, alas! dejected, wend
Their course reluctantly.
* * * * *
Now, whilst the conflict waxed hot,
He sought the briny foam—
Return’d afresh’d, (but they were not),
And cheer’d the peasant’s home;
Or stole across an emerald lawn,
Thus dighting Nature’s face,
And play’d among the bounding fawn,—
Those youngsters of the chase;
Then o’er the woodland, o’er the plain,
Or down the streamlet borne—
Through grassy vales—on to the main,
Where sailors hail blest Morn:
Now back again to the garden spot,
Or to the infant’s cheek—
Whilst rocking in the nursling cot;
Thence to the orchard creek;
Perchance o’er housetops high and low,
Against the village spire,
Or through the fane he deigns to go
And scans the sacred choir;
Then saunters o’er the lonely grave,
Where mingle rich and poor:
Now off again to the crested wave;
Again to the old barn-door.
* * * * *
And now the god ordains to grace
The city; but ’tis vain—
A sluggish mist pervades the space,
While clouds, dispensing rain,
Lay ’cumbent o’er the busy crowd:
At length his portly mien—
Through some one condescending cloud—
Re-animates the scene!
* * * * *
Ah me! methinks those human beings,
Who raise that murm’ring sound,
Are like a myriad little things
Which hither—thither bound—
Unstable as the sandy shore,
As restless as the sea—
Receding, curling, toppling o’er,
For all eternity.
* * * * *
And when he once more skirts the sky—
Down gliding in the west—
Observe the tim’rous clouds which fly,
Carnation’d, to the east:—
O! watch the gorgeous king of day,
Descending, gone from view * * *
Ah! who shall live to rise, and pray,
As he comes round anew?—
And that he will; but who shall see
The god as round he rolls?—
It may be—Immortality
Hath claim’d a thousand souls!
* * * * *
Some live to see the glorious Sun
Descend the great concave;
But thousands, ere the day is done,
Are silent in the grave!!!
[76] This poem is intended to illustrate the Sun’s fleetings on the
Earth’s surface, occasioned by the passage of clouds, on a breezy day.
[77] The Sun.
[Illustration]