II.
And in that hour of weariness of soul,
Not 'mid a marble aisle, 'neath vaulted domes,
The stricken heart for aid and refuge comes;
But where from lonely hills bright torrents roll,
And placid lakes reflect the moon's bright ray,
Striving with clouds that ever seem to sway
Like ocean waves. When heaven's great scroll
Is spread before us does the heart unfold
Its agony to God's all-searching eye,
And pray to him to shield it from distress.
Then o'er the heart comes hopefulness again,
As moonbeams rush from out the clouded sky:
The brow grows bright, the spirit dares to bless
The unseen hand that loosed its heavy chain.
A VISION.
BY E. CURTISS HINE, U. S. N.
[This piece was composed during a tremendous storm off Cape Horn, on board the frigate "United States" in 1844.]
Night from her gloomy dungeon freed,
Had chased the lingering light away,
The landscape, clad in widow's weed,
Mourned o'er the couch of dying day;
Bright-shielded Mars, who leads the host
That watch around God's burning throne,
Placed sentinels on every post,
Whose beaming eyes upon me shone!
The tears of eve were falling fast,
With diamonds spangling every flower,
Whose gentle fragrance round was cast,
Like incense in some Eastern bower.
The wearied hind had left his plough
To rest within its furrowed bed,
And on full many a waving bough
Was heard the night-bird's lightest tread.
All else was still, save Nature's voice,
That whispered 'mid the waving trees,
And bade my lonely heart rejoice;
While oft the playful evening breeze,
Came o'er the moonlit Hudson's tide,
And brushed it with its playful wing,
As swift it hurried by my side,
Perchance in angel's bower to sing.
Afar the Highlands reared a wall,
To keep the clouds from passing by,
There, in a mass were gathered all,
Impatient gazing on the sky;
Where sister-cloud escaped was free,
Sailing the heaven's blue ocean o'er,
Like lonely frigate on the sea,
That seeks some fair and distant shore.
Where Summer's busy hand had wove
A shady roof above my head,
I sat me down and eager strove,
To spy the rebel cloud that fled.
I saw it soon, with wondering eye,
Take to itself a female form,
And hover toward me from on high,
As fall the leaves in Autumn storm.
Her dress was like the mantle fair
Which Autumn to Columbia brings,
And bids the moaning forest wear,
With rainbow hues of angel's wings;
Her voice was like the witching strain
Which laughing streamlets gayly sing
When Summer o'er the ripening grain
Spreads wide her warm and golden wing.
The rustling of her snowy wing
Was like the music of the breeze,
That seraphs mimic when they sing:
'T was sweet as when an organ's keys
Are touched by angel's hand at night,
When all the earth in slumber share,
And glimmering grave-yard meteors light
The church while spirits worship there.
Softly she spoke—"Awake! arise!
Thy doom is sealed, thou long must roam
Where ocean surges wet the skies,
And where the condor makes his home!
Thou'lt gaze on many a cloudless sky,
Where deathless Summer sweetly smiles,
Like restless swallow thou shalt fly
Where ocean's breast is gem'd with isles,
"Thy feet shall track the forests wide,
Like vast eternity unshorn,
Where great Missouri's arrowy tide
On pebbled couch is borne.
But when the World's imperial brow
Shall frown like wintry sky,
Then seek my cloud-winged bark, and thou
Shalt soar with me on high!"
She paused and vanished—but her form
In Heaven's blue lake I hail,
When oft before the raging storm
The clouds in squadron sail;
And when the fleet can live no more,
But in a mass are thrown,
On the horizon's circling shore
She skims the air alone!