Then, where the reign of cultivation ends, And these deep groves forever have remained Touched by no axe, by no proud owner nursed; As now they stand they stood when Pharaoh reigned, Lineal descendants of creation's first. No tales, we know, are chronicled of thee In ancient scrolls; no deeds of doubtful claim Have hung a history on every tree, And given each rock its fable and a fame. But neither here hath any conqueror trod, Pollute thy stillness with recorded crimes. Here never yet have happy fields laid waste, "Yet, O Antiquity!" the stranger sighs; 66 Scenes wanting thee soon pall upon the view; The soul's indifference dulls the sated eyes, Where all is fair indeed, — but all is new." False thought! is age to crumbling walls confined? Call not this new which is the only land That wears unchanged the same primeval face Which, when just dawning from its Maker's hand, Gladdened the first great grandsire of our race. Nor did Euphrates with an earlier birth Glide past green Eden towards the unknown south, Than Hudson broke upon the infant earth. And kissed the ocean with his nameless mouth. Twin-born with Jordan, Ganges, and the Nile! THE GROOMSMAN TO HIS EVERY wedding, says the proverb, Entered in the book of Fate, Blessings then upon the morning When my friend with fondest look, By the solemn rites' permission, To himself his mistress took, And the Destinies recorded Other two within their book. While the priest fulfilled his office, Still the ground the lovers eyed, And the parents and the kinsmen Aimed their glances at the bride; But nor fair nor dark the other, Where the bride were such as she!" Then I mused upon the adage, Till my wisdom was perplexed, And I wondered, as the churchman Dwelt upon his holy text, Which of all who heard his lesson Should require the service next. Whose will be the next occasion For the flowers, the feast, the wine? But the groomsmen eyed the virgins Thine, perchance, my dearest lady ; Who were waiting at her side. Three there were that stood beside her; One was dark, and one was fair; Or, who knows?-it may be mine: What if 't were- forgive the fancy What if 't were both mine and thine? WOULD WISDOM FOR HERSELF BE WOOED. WOULD Wisdom for herself be wooed, And wake the foolish from his dream, She must be glad as well as good, And must not only be, but seem. Beauty and joy are hers by right; And, knowing this, I wonder less That she's so scorned, when falsely dight In misery and ugliness. Not these; but souls found here and here, Oases in our waste of sin, When everything is well and fair, And God remits his discipline; Whose sweet subdual of the world The worldling scarce can recognize; And ridicule, against it hurled, Drops with a broken sting and dies. They live by law, not like the fool, But like the bard who freely sings What's that which Heaven to man In strictest bonds of rhyme and rule, endears, And that which eyes no sooner see And finds in them not bonds but wings. JAMES GATES PERCIVAL. [From Prometheus, Part II.] APOSTROPHE TO THE SUN. CENTRE of light and energy! thy way Is through the unknown void; thou hast thy throne, Morning, and evening, and at noon of day, Far in the blue, untended and alone; Ere the first-wakened airs of earth had blown, On thou didst march, triumphant in thy light; Then thou didst send thy glance, which still hath flown Wide through the never-ending worlds of night, And yet thy full orb burns with flash as keen and bright. Thy path is high in Heaven;-we cannot gaze On the intense of light that girds thy car; |