Prime gift of God, that veil'st His sovereign throne,
And dost of Him in sense remind me—
Blest light of Heaven, why hast thou from me flown?
To these sad shades, why hast resigned me?
On pinions of surpassing beauty borne,
When Nature hails the glad advance of morn,
In thine unsullied loveliness.
Thou com'st; but to my darkened eyes in vain—
My night, e'en in the noon of thy domain,
Yields not to thee, since joy of thine again
Can ne'er my dayless being bless.
SILENCE.
Next, Silence, fit companion of the Night,
In drearier depths my being steeping,
Like the felt presence of an unseen sprite,
With muffled tread comes creeping, creeping.
Before me close her smothering curtain swings,
And o'er my life a shadeless shadow flings;
Sinking with pitiless weight, and slow
To shroud the last sweet glimpse of Earth and Man,
And set my limits to the narrow span
Of but an arm's length here below.
O, whither shall I fly, this stroke to shun?
Where turn me, this side death and heaven?
Almost I would my course on earth were run,
And all to Night and Silence given!
I turn to man: can he but with me mourn?
Alike we're helpless, and, as bubbles borne,
We to a common haven float.
To Him, th' All-seeing and All-hearing One,
Behold, I turn! More hid than he there's none,
More silent none, none more remote!
Alas, Pensylla, stay that pious tear!
Now nearer come, I fain thy voice would hear,
Like music when the soul is dreaming;
Like music dropping from a far off sphere,
Heard by the good, when life's end draweth near.
It faintly comes, a spirit seeming,
The sounds at once entrance me, ear and soul:
The voice of winds and waves, the thunder's roll.
The steed's proud neigh, and lamb's meek plaint,
The hum of bees, and vesper hymn of birds,
The rural harmony of flocks and herds,
The song of joy, or praise, and man's sweet words—
Come to me fainter—yet more faint
Was my poor soul to God's great works so dull.
That they from her must hide forever?
Earth too replete with joy, too beautiful,
For me, ingrate, that we must sever?
For by sweet scented airs that round me blow,
By transient showers, the sun's impassioned glow,
And smell of woods and fields, alone I know
Of Spring's approach, and Summer's bloom;
And by the pure air, void of odors sweet,
By noontide beams, low slanting, without heat,
By rude winds, cumbering snows, and hazardous sleet,
Of Autumn's blight and Winter's gloom
As at the entrance of an untrod cave,
I shrink—so hushed the shades and sombre.
This death of sense makes life a breathing grave,
A vital death, a waking slumber!
'Tis as the light itself of God were fled—
So dark is all around, so still, so dead;
Nor hope of change, one ray I find!
Yet must submit. Though fled fore'er the light,
Though utter silence bring me double night,
Though to my insulated mind,
Knowledge her richest pages ne'er unfold,
And "human face divine" I ne'er behold—
Yet must submit, must be resigned!
TO THE SHADES.
To thee, blind Milton, solemn son of night,
Great exile once from day's dominion bright,
Whose genius, steeped in truth and glory,
Like some wide orb of new created light,
Rose, in the world, bewildering mortals' sight—
I'll sing till earth's young hills grow hoary!
For what of joy I've found in life's dark way,
And what of excellence have reached I may,
Much, much is due thy wondrous rhyme,
Which sang the triumphs of Eternal Truth,
Revealed blest glimpses of immortal youth,
Of Heaven, e'er angels sang of time:
Of light, that o'er the embryon tumult broke,
Of earth, when all the stars symphonious woke,
Till man, as if from Heaven a seraph spoke,
Entranced, hung on thy strains sublime.
Day closes on the earth his one bright eye,
That Night, her starry lids unsealing,
May ope her thousand in a loftier sky,
God's higher mysteries revealing.
So when thy day from thee its light withdrew,
And o'er the night its rueful shadows threw,
And "from the cheerful ways of men"
Thy steps cut off, thy mind, thick set with eyes,
As night with stars, piercing thy shrouded skies,
And proving most illumined then,
When darkest seeming, soared on cherub wings—
Those star-eyed wings—higher than ever springs
The beam of day, to see, and tell of things
Invisible to mortal ken.