O strong as the Eagle,
O mild as the Dove!
How like, and how unlike,
O Death and O Love!
Knitting Earth to the Heaven,
The Near to the Far—
With the step on the dust,
And the eyes on the star!
Interweaving, commingling,
Both rays from God's light!
Now in sun, now in shadow,
Ye shift to the sight!
Ever changing the sceptres
Ye bear—as in play;
Now Love as Death rules us,
Now Death has Love's sway!
Why wails so the New-born?
Love gave it the breath.
The soul sees Love's brother—
Life enters on Death!
Why that smile the wan lips
Of the dead man above?
The soul sees Death changing
Its shape into Love.
So confused and so blending
Each twin with its brother,
The frown of one melts
In the smile of the other.
Love warms where Death withers,
Death blights where Love blooms;
Death sits by our cradles,
Love stands by our tombs!
Edward Lytton Bulwer.
Nov. 9, 1843.
THE BRIDGE OVER THE THUR.
FROM THE GERMAN.—GUSTAV SCHWAB.
Spurning the loud Thur's headlong march,
Who hath stretcht the stony arch?
That the wayfarer blesses his path!
That the storming river wastes his wrath!
Was it a puissant prince, in quelling
This watery vassal, oft rebelling?—
Or earthly Mars, the bar o'erleaping,
That wrong'd his war of its onward sweeping?
Did yon high-nesting Castellan
Lead the brave Street, for horse and man?
And, the whiles his House creeps under the grass,
The Road, that he built, lies fair to pass?