Classic Poem

BY GEORGE D. PRENTICE .

Gone! gone forever! — Like a rushing wave
Another year has burst upon the shore
Of earthly being — and its last low tones,
Wandering in broken accents on the air,
Are dying to an echo.

The gay Spring,
With its young charms, has gone — gone with its leaves —
Its atmosphere of roses — its white clouds
Slumbering like seraphs in the air — its birds
Telling their loves in music — and its streams
Leaping and shouting from the up-piled rocks
To make earth echo with the joy of waves.
And Summer, with its dews and showers, has gone —
Its rainbows glowing on the distant cloud
Like Spirits of the Storm — its peaceful lakes
Smiling in their sweet sleep, as if their dreams
Were of the opening flowers and budding trees
And overhanging sky — and its bright mists
Resting upon the mountain-tops, as crowns
Upon the heads of giants. Autumn too
Has gone, with all its deeper glories — gone
With its green hills like altars of the world
Lifting their rich fruit-offerings to their God —
Its cool winds straying 'mid the forest aisles
To wake their thousand wind-harps — its serene
And holy sunsets hanging o'er the West
Like banners from the battlements of Heaven —
And its still evenings, when the moonlit sea
Was ever throbbing, like the living heart
Of the great Universe. Ay — these are now
But sounds and visions of the past — their deep,
Wild beauty has departed from the Earth,
And they are gathered to the embrace of Death,
Their solemn herald to Eternity.

Nor have they gone alone. High human hearts
Of Passion have gone with them. The fresh dust
Is chill on many a breast, that burned erewhile
With fires that seemed immortal. Joys, that leaped
Like angels from the heart, and wandered free
In life's young morn to look upon the flowers
The poetry of nature, and to list
The woven sounds of breeze, and bird, and stream,
Upon the night-air, have been stricken down
In silence to the dust. Exultant Hope,
That roved forever on the buoyant winds
Like the bright, starry bird of Paradise,
And chaunted to the ever-listening heart
In the wild music of a thousand tongues,
Or soared into the open sky, until
Night's burning gems seemed jewelled on her brow,
Has shut her drooping wing, and made her home
Within the voiceless sepulchre. And Love,
That knell at Passion's holiest shrine, and gazed
On his heart's idol as on some sweet star,
Whose purity and distance make it dear,
And dreamed of ecstacies, until his soul
Seemed but a lyre, that wakened in the glance
Of the beloved one — he too has gone
To his eternal resting place. And where
Is stern Ambition — he who madly grasped
At Glory's fleeting phantom — he who sought
His fame upon the battle-field, and longed
To make his throne a pyramid of bones
Amid a sea of blood? He too has gone!
His stormy voice is mute — his mighty arm
Is nerveless on its clod — his very name
Is but a meteor of the night of years
Whose gleams flashed out a moment o'er the Earth,
And faded into nothingness. The dream
Of high devotion — beauty's bright array —
And life's deep idol memories — all have passed
Like the cloud-shadows on a starlight stream,
Or a soft strain of music, when the winds
Are slumbering on the billow.

Yet, why muse
Upon the past with sorrow? Though the year
Has gone to blend with the mysterious tide
Of old Eternity, and borne along
Upon its heaving breast a thousand wrecks
Of glory and of beauty — yet, why mourn
That such is destiny: Another year
Succeedeth to the past — in their bright round
The seasons come and go — the same blue areh,
That hath hung o'er us, will hang o'er us yet —
The same pure stars that we have lov'd to watch,
Will blossom still at twilight's gentle hour
Like lilies on the tomb of Day — and still
Man will remain, to dream as he hath dreamed,
And mark the earth with passion. Love will spring
From the lone tomb of old Affections — Hope
And Joy and great Ambition, will rise up
As they have risen — and their deeds will be
Brighter than those engraven on the scroll
Of parted centuries. Even now the sea
Of coming years, beneath whose mighty waves
Life's great events are heaving into birth,
Is tossing to and fro, as if the winds
Of heaven were prisoned in its soundless depths
And struggling to be free.

Weep not, that Time
Is passing on — it will ere long reveal
A brighter era to the nations. Hark!
Along the vales and mountains of the earth
There is a deep, portentous murmuring,
Like the swift rush of subterranean streams,
Or like the mingled sounds of earth and air,
When the fierce Tempest, with sonorous wing,
Heaves his deep folds upon the rushing winds,
And hurries onward with his night of clouds
Against the eternal mountains. 'T is the voice
Of infant Freedom — and her stirring call
Is heard and answered in a thousand tones
From every hill-top of her western home —
And lo — it breaks across old Ocean's flood —
And " Freedom ! Freedom ! " is the answering shout
Of nations starting from the spell of years.
The day-spring! — see — 'tis brightening in the heavens!
The watchmen of the night have caught the sign —
From tower to tower the signal-fires flash free —
And the deep watch-word, like the rush of seas
That heralds the volcano's bursting flame,
Is sounding o'er the earth. Bright years of hope
And life are on the wing! — Yon glorious bow
Of Freedom, bended by the hand of God,
Is spanning Time's dark surges. Its high Arch,
A type of Love and Mercy on the cloud,
Tells, that the many storms of human life
Will pass in silence, and the sinking waves,
Gathering the forms of glory and of peace,
Reflect the undimmed brightness of the Heavens.