AMBITION.
———
BY RUFUS WAPLES.
———
Aurora smiles! the sun is on the sea!
Angels are painting pictures in the sky;
Eolian breezes warble wild and free,
Singing the infant giant’s lullaby.
He comes to bless; he smiles to beautify:
But lately laving in a sea of glory,
New-born, new-crowned, he reigns a prince on high,
With brightness god-like and with mission holy,
The brilliant hero of a day’s brief story.
Sun of the Morn! in gilded car ascend;
Give gold to dew-drops; silver to the spring;
Thy light and heat harmoniously blend,
The earth to gladden in thy journeying.
Eagle of heaven! outspread thy glorious wing—
Onward—and upward! higher yet—and higher!
Ambition’s hero, day’s unrivaled king—
Millions of mortals see thee to admire,
The prince of planets wrapped in robe of fire!
Enthroned, exalted, beautifully grand!
Clothed in a mantle of effulgent light;
Crowned by the eternal King of kings, whose hand
Arrays in majesty such satellite—
Courtiers that dance around thee with delight;
A band of guardians ever watching o’er thee,
Beaming with thy own beauty through the night,
Veiling their faces when they come before thee,
Like Gheber worshipers when they adore thee.
Sun of the Noon! thy highest good is won!
The zenith of the heavens is thy throne!
In all his pride the “Man of Macedon”
Ne’er ruled an empire mighty as thine own,
Stretching from shore to shore, from zone to zone!
Thy frown can wither and thy smile create—
Thou goest forth companionless—alone!
Thou sittest like a god in royal state:—
Was ever seen so great a potentate?
Behold, great monarch, thy declining reign!
Ambition bade thee over all to tower:
Full was thy fame! Alas! ’twas doomed to wane—
To fade like meteor glare or summer flower!
’Twas thus great Cæsar gloried in his power,
Till Rome was startled by his funeral knell:
Thus Cromwell shone, the starlet of an hour:
And thus Napoleon rose—and thus he fell!
List, Phœbus! hearest thou the vesper bell?
Sun of the Eve! thy sceptre is departed!
Clouds come as kinsmen round thy dying bed:
But whilst they gaze as mourners broken-hearted,
They wrap them in thy royal robe of red;
They steal thy golden crown from off thy head—
Ay, pluck thy locks and soil thy silver sheen!
The heavens with bonfires the glad tidings spread,
“Sol is no more, and Cynthia is queen!”
Earth shouts “Glad tidings!” happy at the scene.
Glad tidings? Yes, the sun was merciless—
He withered flowers—he parched the prairie plain!
With Galileo many now confess
His character was not without a stain.
Of spots upon his visage they complain
Who late extolled his brightness to the skies;
And thousands censure his declining reign
Who sang “Excelsior!” when they saw him rise.
Thus lives Ambition’s hero—thus he dies!