As, sometimes, the tumultuary deep
Sinks to serene repose,
When sunset visions o’er its bosom creep
As o’er a couch of rose;
So, sometimes, the bright Caspian of the soul
Is sudden hushed and stilled,
As with the glow of some wild hope as goal
Its trancéd depths are filled.
“Maid of the twilight eyes! that musest late
What star breaks on thy brow
With the resplendence of a Heavenly Gate,
Greeting its angel now?”
The humid azure of her virgin dream,
Spanned from the realms above
By an all-dazzling Iris! thought—trust—theme—
Life-consecration—Love!
Come with me to the rustic paths and see
A mute scene eloquent;
That rude cot, reared where the daisied lea
Is with the mountain blent.
A form of lovely womanhood which bends
O’er a much daintier thing—
Eyes fixed with something that so far transcends
The strength of shattered suffering.
Armed Cæsar, with his legions, dared not break
Their concentration wild;
Life ventured—periled on a single stake!
And won:—her first born child!
Come with me where the artist-hand hath wrought
The crown of all its toil—
The spiritual idol madly sought
In the hot brain’s turmoil;
Come where the monumental dead have laid
Their thrice-anointed dust—
Where priest and martyr, bard and sage, have paid
The debt all mortals must;
Come where the spells of wizard Nature wrest
Sublimity from sod—
Where Lohmon gleams in paradisal rest,
Niagara preaches God;
Come thou and learn, the inmost glow of soul
Hath no terrestial token;
And that, while Polar Oceans freeze and roll,
It never can be spoken!
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