THE CONJUNCTION OF JUPITER AND VENUS.
I WOULD not always reason. Wearies us with its never-varying lines,
And we grow melancholy. I would make Reason my guide, but she should sometimes sit Patiently by the way-side, while I traced
The mazes of the pleasant wilderness
She should be my counsellor,
But not my tyrant. For the spirit needs Impulses from a deeper source than hers, And there are motions, in the mind of man, That she must look upon with awe. I bow Reverently to her dictates, but not less Hold to the fair illusions of old time- Illusions that shed brightness over life, And glory over nature. Look, even now, Where two bright planets in the twilight meet, Upon the saffron heaven,--the imperial star Of Jove, and she that from her radiant urn Pours forth the light of love. Let me believe, Awhile, that they are met for ends of good, Amid the evening glory, to confer
Of men and their affairs, and to shed down
Kind influence. Lo! their orbs burn more bright,
CONJUNCTION OF JUPITER AND VENUS.
And shake out softer fires!
The gladness and the quiet of the time. Meekly the mighty river, that infolds
This mighty city, smooths his front, and far Glitters and burns even to the rocky base
Of the dark heights that bound him to the west; And a deep murmur, from the many streets, Rises like a thanksgiving. Put we hence Dark and sad thoughts awhile-there's time for them Hereafter-on the morrow we will meet,
With melancholy looks, to tell our griefs,
And make each other wretched; this calm hour, This balmy, blessed evening, we will give To cheerful hopes and dreams of happy days, Born of the meeting of those glorious stars.
Enough of drought has parched the year, and scared The land with dread of famine. Autumn, yet, Shall make men glad with unexpected fruits. The dog-star shall shine harmless; genial days Shall softly glide away into the keen
And wholesome cold of winter; he that fears The pestilence, shall gaze on those pure beams, And breathe, with confidence, the quiet air.
Emblems of power and beauty! well may they Shine brightest on our borders, and withdraw Towards the great Pacific, marking out The path of empire. Thus, in our own land, Ere long, the better Genius of our race,
CONJUNCTION OF JUPITER AND VENUS.
Having encompassed earth, and tamed its tribes, Shall sit him down beneath the farthest west, By the shore of that calm ocean, and look back On realms made happy.
And say the glad, yet solemn rite, that knits The youth and maiden. Happy days to them That wed this evening!-a long life of love, And blooming sons and daughters! Happy they Born at this hour,--for they shall see an age
Whiter and holier than the past, and go
Late to their graves. Men shall wear softer hearts, And shudder at the butcheries of war,
Enough of blood has wet thy rocks, and stained Thy rivers; deep enough thy chains have worn Their links into thy flesh; the sacrifice
Of thy pure maidens, and thy innocent babes, And reverend priests, has expiated all
Thy crimes of old. In yonder mingling lights There is an omen of good days for thee. Thou shalt arise from 'midst the dust and sit Again among the nations.
Thine own arm
Not in wars like thine
Be it a strife of kings,
Despot with despot battling for a throne,
And Europe shall be stirred throughout her realms,
CONJUNCTION OF JUPITER AND VENUS.
Nations shall put on harness, and shall fall Upon each other, and in all their bounds The wailing of the childless shall not cease. Thine is a war for liberty, and thou
Must fight it single-handed.
Looks coldly on the murderers of thy race, And leaves thee to the struggle; and the new,— I fear me thou couldst tell a shameful tale Of fraud and lust of gain ;-thy treasury drained, And Missolonghi fallen. Yet thy wrongs
Shall put new strength into thy heart and hand, And God and thy good sword shall yet work out, For thee, a terrible deliverance.
I GAZED upon the glorious sky
And the green mountains round; And thought, that when I came to lie Within the silent ground,
'Twere pleasant, that in flowery June, When brooks sent up a cheerful tune, And groves a joyous sound,
The sexton's hand, my grave to make, The rich, green mountain turf should break.
A cell within the frozen mould, A coffin borne through sleet,
And icy clods above it rolled,
While fierce the tempests beat
Away! I will not think of these
Blue be the sky and soft the breeze,
Earth green beneath the feet,
And be the damp mould gently pressed
Into my narrow place of rest.
There, through the long, long summer hours,
The golden light should lie,
And thick young herbs and groups of flowers Stand in their beauty by.
« PreviousContinue » |