LXXVI. Immortal Spirits! animating still Our mortal beings with your words, oh! what, What are ye now? where is that stoic will That, with a brow sedate, rose o'er your lot, And triumphed, wherefore?-to be unforgot; But was this all? stern Cato! didst thou die, For this, great Tully! was thy mind o'erwrought? Thy ardent spirit could this satisfy? The limit of thy hopes man's immortality? LXXVII. Had ye no nobler goal or aim than this? Baring your breasts, defencelessly, to darts, Where Duty scarce sufficing balm imparts, Till, fainting thus, ye sank before your time? For some immortal place to prove your souls sublime. LXXVIII. Smile not upon me, Sadducee! I stand A ruin among ruins: I see rise Grey wrecks left lonely on the desert sand: The very toys of those whose mental eyes These, their reared playthings, to amuse the crowd; See, how survive the things they could despise! Where are their ruins, where their dust?—what shroud Holds them dispersed abroad, in wind, flower, wave, or cloud? LXXIX. They are a part of Nature's loveliness, The feeling and the love which wakes our own, Which pierced the heaven of heavens, and found the nameless God. LXXX. Ineffable of name-thou All in All! Power omnipresent! thou, whose chiefest shrine Is in our heart of hearts, where we recal Too darkly, Thee-but feel its life is thine; Thou, in whose eye, stars dim as sand-grains shine, To whom earth's base is stubble; here I raise Lie mouldering at my feet-but in thy heaven I gaze; LXXXI. Till my mind dwelling on immortal things, Assumes their nature, and with vision clear, Looking beyond its vain imaginings, Holds commune with the Spirit breathing here, Unseen, perchance unfelt, but ever near; LXXXII. Attest with me, truths felt since time began, But the clear page within me I unfold, And read the inspirations of my heart! There, the same characters for ever hold, The yearnings which have still been poured apart; The hope, the faith in thee "Our Father!" as thou art. LXXXIII. What? shall the blossom of the mind upreared, And with such infinite toil-developing Its plastic energies, be, flower-like, seared, Withering in age, or dying in its spring, Shall the hived wealth of ages with it die? Did it for this aside its fetters fling, And fondly dream of immortality? Of prophecies, and faith that bound it to the sky ?— LXXXIV. Shall the lights that o'er ages shed their ray Be mocked by dreams? Were they, indeed, but given To make life's infinite of ills seem less? Shall disease end thus-chains, and ties be riven? All buried in the grave-for ever shut from Heaven? LXXXV. Yet once again-shall those we loved the dearest, The fondest, best, return to us no more? Those hovering spirits that are ever nearest In dreams, when, waking, our full eyes gush o'er: When they departed for the untrodden shore, Was their farewell to us eternal ?—No! Why yearn we toward each star, or why deplore What we shall never see? save that we know Love there will re-unite the hearts that loved below! M |