To glistening pearls; two lovers, hand in hand,
Rise on the billowy swell, and fondly look
Into each other's eyes. The rushing flood
Flings them apart: the youth goes down; the maid
With hands outstretched in vain, and streaming eyes,
Waits for the next high wave, to follow him.
An aged man succeeds; his bending form
Mingling with the sullen stream
Gleam the white locks, and then are seen no more.
Lo! wider grows the stream;
Saps earth's walled cities; massive palaces
Crumble before it; fortresses and towers
Dissolve in the swift waters; populous realms
Swept by the torrent see their ancient tribes
Engulfed and lost; their very languages
Stifled, and never to be uttered more.
I pause, and turn my eyes, and looking back
Where that tumultuous flood has been, I see
The silent ocean of the Past, a waste
Of waters weltering over graves, its shores
Strewn with the wreck of fleets where mast and hull
Drop away piecemeal; battlemented walls
Frown idly, green with moss, and temples stand
Unroofed, forsaken by the worshiper.
There lie memorial stones, whence time has gnawed The graven legends, thrones of kings o'erturned,
The broken altars of forgotten gods,
Foundations of old cities, and long streets
Where never fall of human foot is heard,
On all the desolate pavement. I behold
Dim glimmerings of lost jewels, far within
The sleeping waters,— diamond, sardonyx,
Ruby and topaz, pearl and chrysolite,
Once glittering at the banquet on fair brows
That long ago were dust; and all around
Strewn on the surface of that silent sea,
Are withering bridal wreaths, and glossy locks
Shorn from dear brows by loving hands, and scrolls
O'erwritten, haply with fond words of love
And vows of friendship, and fair pages flung
Fresh from the printer's engine. There they lie
A moment, and then sink away from sight.
I look, and the quick tears are in my eyes;
For I behold in every one of these
A blighted hope, a separate history
Of human sorrows, telling of dear ties
Suddenly broken, dreams of happiness
Dissolved in air, and happy days too brief
That sorrowfully ended, and I think
How painfully must the poor heart have beat
In bosoms without number, as the blow
Was struck that slew their hope and broke their peace.
Sadly I turn and look before, where yet
The Flood must pass, and I behold a mist
Where swarm dissolving forms, the brood of Hope
Divinely fair, that rest on banks of flowers,
Or wander among rainbows, fading soon
And reappearing, haply giving place
To forms of grisly aspect such as Fear
Shapes from the idle air where serpents lift
The head to strike, and skeletons stretch forth
The bony arm in menace. Further on,
A belt of darkness seems to bar the way -
Long, low, and distant, where the Life to come
Touches the Life that is. The Flood of Years
Rolls toward it near and nearer.
It must pass
That dismal barrier. What is there beyond ?
Hear what the wise and good have said. Beyond
That belt of darkness, still the years roll on
More gently, but with not less mighty sweep.
They gather up again and softly bear
All the sweet lives that late were overwhelmed
And lost to sight,- all that in them was good,
Noble, and truly great, and worthy of love,—
The lives of infants and ingenuous youths,
Sages, and saintly women who have made
Their households happy; all are raised and borne
By that great current in its onward sweep,
Wandering and rippling with caressing waves
Around green islands with the breath
Of flowers that never wither. So they pass
From stage to stage along the shining course
Of that bright river, broadening like a sea.
As its smooth eddies curl along their way,
They bring old friends together; hands are clasped
In joy unspeakable; the mother's arms
Again are folded round the child she loved
And lost. Old sorrows are forgotten now,
Or but remembered to make sweet the hour
That overpays them; wounded hearts that bled
Or broke, are healed forever. In the room
Of this grief-shadowed present, there shall be
A Present in whose reign no grief shall gnaw
The heart, and never shall a tender tie
Be broken; in whose reign the eternal Change
That waits on growth and action shall proceed
With everlasting Concord hand in hand.
November woods are bare and still;
November days are clear and bright;
Each noon burns up the morning's chill;
The morning's snow is gone by night;
Each day my steps grow slow, grow light,
As through the woods I reverent creep,
Watching all things lie" down to sleep."
I never knew before what beds,
Fragrant to smell and soft to touch,
The forest sifts, and shapes, and spreads:
I never knew before how much
Of human sound there is in such
Low tones as through the forest sweep
When all wild things lie down to sleep."
Each day I find new coverlids
Tucked in, and more sweet eyes shut tight;
Sometimes the viewless mother bids
Her ferns kneel down, full in my sight;
I hear their chorus of "good night."
And half I smile, and half I weep,
November woods are bare and still;
November days are bright and good;
Life's noon burns up life's morning chill;
Life's night rests feet which long have stood;
Some warm, soft bed, in field or wood,
The mother will not fail to keep,
Where we can lay us" down to sleep."
Because I hold it sinful to despond,
And will not let the bitterness of life
Blind me with burning tears, but look beyond
Its tumult and its strife;
Because I lift my head above the mist,
Where the sun shines, and the broad breezes blow.
By every ray and every raindrop kissed
That God's love doth bestow;
you I find no bitterness at all?
No burden to be borne, like Christian's pack? Think you there are no ready tears to fall, Because I keep them back?
Why should I hug life's ills with cold reserve,
To curse myself and all who love me? Nay!
A thousand times more good than I deserve
God gives me every day.
And in each one of these rebellious tears
Kept bravely back, he makes a rainbow shine;
Grateful I take his slightest gift: no fears
Nor any doubts are mine.
Dark skies must clear, and when the clouds are past,
One weary day redeems a weary year;
Patient I listen, sure that sweet at last
Will sound His voice of cheer.
Then vex me not with chiding. Let me be.
I must be glad and grateful to the end.
I grudge you not your cold and darkness: me
The powers of light befriend.
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