Classic Poem

Ah me! while up the long, long vale of time,
Reflection wanders towards th' eternal vast,
How starts the eye, at many a change sublime,
Unbosom'd dimly by the ages pass'd!
What Mausoleums crowd the mournful waste!
The tombs of empires fallen! and nations gone!
Each, once inscrib'd, in gold, with “ AYE TO LAST ”
Sate as a queen; proclaim'd the world her own,
And proudly cried, “By me no sorrows shall be known.”

Soon fleets the sunbright Form, by man ador'd.
Soon fell the Head of gold, to Time a prey;
The Arms, the Trunk, his cankering tooth devour'd;
And whirlwinds blew the Iron dust away.
Where dwelt imperial Timur?—far astray,
Some lonely-musing pilgrim now enquires:
And, rack'd by storms, and hastening to decay,
Mohammed's Mosque foresees it's final fires;
And Rome's more lordly Temple day by day expires.

As o'er proud Asian realms the traveller winds,
His manly spirit, hush'd by terror, falls;
When some deceased town's lost site he finds,
Where ruin wild his pondering eye appals;
Where silence swims along the moulder'd walls,
And broods upon departed Grandeur's tomb.
Through the lone, hollow aisles sad Echo calls,
At each slow step; deep sighs the breathing gloom,
And weeping fields, around, bewail their Empress' doom.

Where o'er an hundred realms, the throne uprose,
The screech-owl nests, the panther builds his home;
Sleep the dull newts, the lazy adders doze,
Where pomp and luxury danc'd the golden room.
Low lies in dust the sky-resembled dome;
Tall grass around the broken column waves;
And brambles climb, and lonely thistles bloom:
The moulder'd arch the weedy streamlet laves,
And low resound, beneath, unnumber'd sunken graves.
Soon fleets the sun-bright Form, by man ador'd;
And soon man's dæmon chiefs from memory fade.
In musty volume, now must be explor'd,
Where dwelt imperial nations, long decay'd.
The brightest meteors angry clouds invade;
And where the wonders glitter'd, none explain.
Where Carthage, with proud hand, the trident sway'd,
Now mud-wall'd cots sit sullen on the plain,
And wandering, fierce, and wild, sequester'd Arabs reign.

In thee, O Albion! queen of nations, live
Whatever splendours earth's wide realms have known;
In thee proud Persia sees her pomp revive;
And Greece her arts; and Rome her lordly throne:
By every wind, thy Tyrian fleets are blown;
Supreme, on Fame's dread roll, thy heroes stand;
All ocean's realms thy naval scepter own;
Of bards, of sages, how august thy band!
And one rich Eden blooms around thy garden'd land.

But O how vast thy crimes! Through heaven's great year,
When few centurial suns have trac'd their way;
When southern Europe, worn by feuds severe;
Weak, doating, fallen, has bow'd to Russian sway;
And setting Glory beam'd her farewell ray;
To wastes, perchance, thy brilliant fields shall turn;
In dust, thy temples, towers, and towns decay;
The forest howl, where London's turrets burn;
And all thy garlands deck thy sad, funereal urn.

Some land, scarce glimmering in the light of fame,
Scepter'd with arts, and arms (if I divine)
Some unknown wild, some shore without a name,
In all thy pomp, shall then majestic shine.
As silver-headed Time's slow years decline,
Not ruins only meet th' enquiring eye:
Where round yon mouldering oak vain brambles twine,
The filial stem, already towering high,
Erelong shall stretch his arms, and nod in yonder sky.

Where late resounded the wild, woodland roar,
Now heaves the palace, now the temple smiles;
Where frown'd the nude rock, and the desert shore,
Now pleasure sports, and business want beguiles,
And Commerce wings her flight to thousand isles;
Culture walks forth; gay laugh the loaded fields;
And jocund Labour plays his harmless wiles;
Glad Science brightens; Art her mansion builds;
And Peace uplifts her wand, and HEAVEN his blessing yields.

O'er these sweet fields, so lovely now, and gay,
Where modest Nature finds each want supplied,
Where home-born Happiness delights to play,
And counts her little flock, with houshold pride,
Long frown'd, from age to age, a forest wide:
Here hung the slumbering bat; the serpent dire
Nested his brood, and drank th' impoison'd tide;
Wolves peal'd, the dark, drear night, in hideous choir;
Nor shrunk th' unmeasur'd howl from Sol's terrific fire.

No charming cot imbank'd the pebbly stream;
No mansion tower'd, nor garden teem'd with good;
No lawn expanded to the April beam;
Nor mellow harvest hung it's bending load;
Nor science dawn'd; nor life with beauty glow'd;
Nor temple whiten'd, in th' enchanting dell;
In clusters wild, the sluggish wigwam stood;
And, borne in snaky paths, the Indian fell
Now aim'd the death unseen, now scream'd the tyger-yell.
Even now, perhaps, on human dust I tread,
Pondering, with solemn pause, the wrecks of time;
Here sleeps, perchance, among the vulgar dead,
Some Chief, the lofty theme of Indian rhyme,
Who lov'd Ambition's cloudy steep to climb,
And smil'd, deaths, dangers, rivals, to engage;
Who rous'd his followers' souls to deeds sublime,
Kindling to furnace heat vindictive rage,
And soar'd Cæsarean heights, the Phœnix of his age.
In yon small field, that dimly steals from sight,
(From yon small field these meditations grow)
Turning the sluggish soil, from morn to night,
The plodding hind, laborious, drives his plough,
Nor dreams, a nation sleeps, his foot below.
There, undisturbed by the roaring wave,
Releas'd from war, and far from deadly foe,
Lies down, in endless rest, a nation brave,
And trains, in tempests born, there find a quiet grave.

Oft have I heard the tale, when matron sere
Sung to my infant ear the song of woe;
Of maiden meek, consum'd with pining care,
Around whose tomb the wild-rose lov'd to blow;
Or told, with swimming eyes, how, long ago,
Remorseless Indians, all in midnight dire,
The little, sleeping village, did o'erthrow,
Bidding the cruel flames to heaven aspire,
And scalp'd the hoary head, and burn'd the babe with fire.

Then, fancy-fir'd, her memory wing'd it's flight,
To long-forgotten wars, and dread alarms,
To chiefs obscure, but terrible in fight,
Who mock'd each foe, and laugh'd at deadliest harms,
Sydneys in zeal, and Washingtons in arms.
By instinct tender to the woes of man,
My heart bewildering with sweet pity's charms,
Thro' solemn scenes, with Nature's step, she ran,
And hush'd her audience small, and thus the tale began.

“Thro' verdant banks where Thames's branches glide,
Long held the Pequods an extensive sway;
Bold, savage, fierce, of arms the glorious pride,
And bidding all the circling realms obey.
Jealous, they saw the tribes, beyond the sea,
Plant in their climes; and towns, and cities, rise;
Ascending castles foreign flags display;
Mysterious art new scenes of life devise;
And steeds insult the plains, and cannon rend the skies.”

“They saw, and soon the strangers' fate decreed,
And soon of war disclos'd the crimson sign;
First, hapless Stone! they bade thy bosom bleed,
A guiltless offering at th' infernal shrine:
Then, gallant Norton! the hard fate was thine,
By ruffians butcher'd, and denied a grave:
Thee, generous Oldham! next the doom malign
Arrested; nor could all thy courage save;
Forsaken, plunder'd, cleft, and buried in the wave.”

“Soon the sad tidings reach'd the general ear;
And prudence, pity, vengeance, all inspire:
Invasive war their gallant friends prepare;
And soon a noble band, with purpose dire,
And threatening arms, the murderous fiends require:
Small was the band, but never taught to yield;
Breasts fac'd with steel, and souls instinct with fire:
Such souls, from Sparta, Persia's world repell'd,
When nations pav'd the ground, and Xerxes flew the field.”
“The rising clouds the Savage Chief descried,
And, round the forest, bade his heroes arm;
To arms the painted warriors proudly hied,
And through surrounding nations rung the alarm.
The nations heard; but smil'd, to see the storm,
With ruin fraught, o'er Pequod mountains driven;
And felt infernal joy the bosom warm,
To see their light hang o'er the skirts of even,
And other suns arise, to gild a kinder heaven.”

“Swift to the Pequod fortress Mason sped,
Far in the wildering wood's impervious gloom;
A lonely castle, brown with twilight dread;
Where oft th' embowel'd captive met his doom,
And frequent heav'd, around the hollow tomb;
Scalps hung in rows, and whitening bones were strew'd;
Where, round the broiling babe, fresh from the womb,
With howls the Powaw fill'd the dark abode,
And screams, and midnight prayers, invok'd the Evil god.”

“There too, with awful rites, the hoary priest,
Without, beside the moss-grown altar, stood,
His sable form in magic cincture dress'd,
And heap'd the mingled offering to his god,
What time, with golden light, calm evening glow'd.
The mystic dust, the flower of silver bloom,
And spicy herb, his hand in order strew'd;
Bright rose the curling flame; and rich perfume
On smoky wings upflew, or settled round the tomb.”

“Then, o'er the circus, danc'd the maddening throng,
As erst the Thyas roam'd dread Nysa round,
And struck, to forest notes, th' ecstatic song,
While slow, beneath them, heav'd the wavy ground.
With a low, lingering groan, of dying sound,
The woodland rumbled; murmur'd deep each stream;
Shrill sung the leaves; all ether sigh'd profound;
Pale tufts of purple topp'd the silver flame,
And many-colour'd Forms on evening breezes came.”

“Thin, twilight Forms; attir'd in changing sheen
Of plumes, high-tinctur'd in the western ray;
Bending, they peep'd the fleecy folds between,
Their wings light-rustling in the breath of May.
Soft-hovering round the fire, in mystic play,
They snuff'd the incense, wav'd in clouds afar,
Then, silent, floated toward the setting day:
Eve redden'd each fine form, each misty car;
And through them faintly gleam'd, at times, the Western star.”

“Then (so tradition sings), the train behind,
In plumy zones of rainbow'd beauty dress'd,
Rode the Great Spirit, in th' obedient wind,
In yellow clouds slow-sailing from the west.
With dawning smiles, the God his votaries bless'd,
And taught where deer retir'd to ivy dell;
What chosen chief with proud command to invest;
Where crept th' approaching foe, with purpose fell,
And where to wind the scout, and war's dark storm dispel.”

“There, on her lover's tomb, in silence laid,
While still, and sorrowing, shower'd the moon's pale beam,
At times, expectant, slept the widow'd maid,
Her soul far-wandering on the sylph-wing'd dream.
Wafted from evening skies, on sunny stream,
Her darling Youth with silver pinions shone;
With voice of music, tun'd to sweetest theme,
He told of shell-bright bowers, beyond the sun,
Where years of endless joy o'er Indian lovers run.”
“But now no awful rites, nor potent spell,
To silence charm'd the peals of coming war;
Or told the dread recesses of the dell,
Where glowing Mason led his bands from far:
No spirit, buoyant on his airy car,
Controul'd the whirlwind of invading fight:
Deep died in blood, dun evening's falling star
Sent sad, o'er western hills, it's parting light,
And no returning morn dispers'd the long, dark night.”

“On the drear walls a sudden splendour glow'd,
There Mason shone, and there his veterans pour'd.
Anew the Hero claim'd the fiends of blood,
While answering storms of arrows round him shower'd,
And the war-scream the ear with anguish gor'd.
Alone, he burst the gate: the forest round
Re-echoed death; the peal of onset roar'd;
In rush'd the squadrons; earth in blood was drown'd;
And gloomy spirits fled, and corses hid the ground.”

“Not long in dubious fight the host had striven,
When, kindled by the musket's potent flame,
In clouds, and fire, the castle rose to heaven,
And gloom'd the world, with melancholy beam.
Then hoarser groans, with deeper anguish, came;
And fiercer fight the keen assault repell'd:
Nor even these ills the savage breast could tame;
Like hell's deep caves, the hideous region yell'd,
'Till death, and sweeping fire, laid waste the hostile field.”

“Soon the sad tale their friends surviving heard;
And Mason, Mason, rung in every wind;
Quick from their rugged wilds they disappear'd,
Howl'd down the hills, and left the blast behind.
Their fastening foes, by generous Stoughton join'd,
Hung o'er the rear, and every brake explor'd;
But such dire terror seiz'd the savage mind,
So swift and black a storm behind them lowr'd,
On wings of raging fear, thro' spacious realms they scowr'd.”

(O thou, to earth the second blessing given,
Of heart divine, of aspect angel-sweet,
O meek Religion! second-born of Heaven,
Cloth'd with the sun, the world beneath thy feet!
Softer than lambs on yonder hillocks bleat,
Thy music charms to kindness savage man,
Since first, from Calvary's height, with love replete,
Thy wondrous course, in sunny sheen, began,
And, o'er the death-struck globe, thro' startled nations ran.

When pride and wrath awake the world to arms,
How heaves thy snowy breast with fainting throe!
While lust and rapine trumpet death's alarms,
And men 'gainst men with fiery vengeance glow.
In Europe oft, that land of war, and woe,
As her sad steps the lingering mourner draws,
How slowly did thy feet entangled go,
Chain'd by vile tests, and prison'd round by laws;
While bigotry and rage in blood insteep'd thy cause!

When o'er th' Atlantic wild, by Angels borne,
Thy pilgrim barque explor'd it's western way,
With spring and beauty bloom'd the waste forlorn,
And night and chaos shrunk from new-born day.
Dumb was the savage howl; th' instinctive lay
Wav'd, with strange warblings, thro' the woodland's bound;
The village smil'd; the temple's golden ray
Shot high to heaven; fair culture clothed the ground;
Art blossom'd; cities sprang; and sails the ocean crown'd.

As on heaven's sacred hill, of hills the queen,
At thy command, contention foul shall cease,
Thy solar aspect, every storm serene,
And smooth the rugged wild of man to peace;
So here thy voice (fair earnest of the bliss!)
Transform'd the savage to the meekly child.
Hell saw, with pangs, her hideous realm decrease;
Wolves play'd with lambs; the tyger's heart grew mild;
And on his own bright work the GODHEAD , look'd and smil'd.

Hail Elliot! Mayhew hail! by HEAVEN inform'd
With that pure love, which clasps the human kind;
To virtue's path even Indian feet you charm'd,
And lit, with wisdom's beam, the dusky mind:
From torture, blood, and treachery, refin'd,
The new-born convert lisp'd MESSIAH'S name.
Mid Choirs complacent, in pure rapture join'd,
Your praise resounds, on yonder starry frame,
While souls, redeem'd from death, their earthly saviours claim.

Oh had the same bright spirit ever reign'd;
Nor trader villains foul'd the Savage mind;
Nor Avarice pin'd for boundless breadth of land;
Nor, with slow death, the wretches been consign'd
To India's curse, that poisons half mankind!
Then, O divine Religion! torture's blaze
Less frequent round thy tender heart had twin'd;
On the wild wigwam peace had cast it's rays,
And the tremendous whoop had chang'd to hymns of praise.

Fierce, dark, and jealous, is the exotic soul,
That, cell'd in secret, rules the savage breast.
There treacherous thoughts of gloomy vengeance roll,
And deadly deeds of malice unconfess'd;
The viper's poison rankling in it's nest.
Behind his tree, each Indian aims unseen:
No sweet oblivion soothes the hate impress'd:
Years fleet in vain: in vain realms intervene:
The victim's blood alone can quench the flames within.

Their knives the tawny tribes in slaughter steep,
When men, mistrustless, think them distant far;
And, when blank midnight shrouds the world in sleep,
The murderous yell announces first the war.
In vain sweet smiles compel the fiends to spare;
Th' unpitied victim screams, in tortures dire;
The life-blood stains the virgin's bosom bare;
Cherubic infants, limb by limb expire;
And silver'd Age sinks down in slowly-curling fire.

Yet savages are men. With glowing heat,
Fix'd as their hatred, friendship fills their mind;
By acts with justice, and with truth, replete,
Their iron breasts to softnes