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Enough! I will not play the Seer;
I will no longer strive to ope
The mystic volume, where appear
For , like Acestes’ shaft of old,
The swift thought kindles as it flies,
THE OCCULTATION OF ORION.
I SAW, as in a dream sublime,
The balance in the hand of Time.
O’er East and West its beam impended;
Like the astrologers of eld',
In that bright vision I beheld
Greater and deeper mysteries.
I saw, with its celestial keys,
Its chords of air, its frets of fire ,
The Samian’s great IEolian lyre,
And through the dewy atmosphere,
Its wondrous and harmonious strings,
Where, chanting through his beard of snows,
And down the sunless realms of space
Beneath the sky’s triumphal arch
And, slow ascending one by one,
His sword hung gleaming by his side,
The moon was pallid, but not faint;
And beautiful as some fair saint,
In hours of trial and dismay.
As if she heard the voice of God,
As on the glowing coals and bars
That were to prove her strength, and try
Thus moving on, with silent pace ,
And triumph in her sweet, pale face,
And suddenly from his outstretched arm
Into the river at his feet.
His mighty club no longer heat A The forehead of the bull; but he Reeled as of yore beside the sea, When, blinded by (Enopion,
He sought the blacksmith at his forge, And, climbing up the mountain gorge , Fixed his blank eyes upon the sun. Then , through the silence overhead, An angel with a trumpet said,
“ Forevermore , forevermore ,
The reign of violence is o’er!"
And, like an instrument that fiings
Its music on another’s strings ,1
The trumpet of the angel cast
Upon the heavenly lyre its blast,
And on from sphere to sphere the words Reéchoed down the burning chords, —— “ Forevermore, forevermore ,
The reign of violence is o’er l”
I moon on the bridge at midnight,
I saw her bright reflection
And sinking into the sea.
And far in the hazy distance
Among the long, black rafters
And the current that came from the ocean
As, sweeping and eddying through them,
And, streaming into the moonlight,
And like those waters rushing
A flood of thoughts came o’er me
How often, 0, how often,
I had stood on that bridge at midnight
How often, 0, how often,
For my heart was hot and restless ,
And the burden laid upon me
But now it has fallen from me,
And only the sorrow of others
Yet whenever I_cross the river
And I think how many thousands
Each bearing his burden of sorrow,
I see the long procession
The young heart hot and restless,
And forever and forever,
As long as the heart has passions,
The moon and its broken reflection
TO THE DRIVING CLOUD.
GLOOMY and dark art thou, O chief of the mighty Omawhaws;
Gloomy and dark, as the driving cloud, whose name thou hast taken!
Wrapt in thy scarlet blanket, I see thee stalk through the city’s
Narrow and populous streets, as once by the margin of rivers
Stalked these birds unknown, that have left us only their footprints.
What, in a few short years, will remain of thy race but the footprints?
How canst thou walk in these streets, who hast trod the green turf of the prairies?
How canst thou breathe in this air, who hast breathed the sweet air of the mountains?