Classic Poem

First-born of Wisdom, Truth!
Thou virgin-spirit pure, that dwell'st alway
In fairest regions of eternal day,
Clad with immortal youth;
All-powerful though thou art;
Accept this joy in trophies thou hast won, —
These fluttering hopes of strife not yet begun,-
The humble sacrifice of one poor heart!

Thou hast ere now unveiled
Thy face in fitful vision to the bard
Who strove to make his nameless longings heard,
But without thee had failed.
One gleam from thy bright eyes
Shot forth with melting melodies that stole
Through all his being, and his ravished soul
Hath blossomed in rich song that never dies,

Not the warm summer's breath
Is gentler, when it bends the new-blown rose,
Yet thou art stronger than all mortal foes,
And stronger far than Death.
No forced obedience thine;
But when the rapture-breathing Love doth rest
O'ershadowed with high thoughts it likes thee best,
Though late, to shed the light of dawn divine.

The crowd may pass thee by,
And burn their heart's flame to ignoble gods;
The fool, though thinking to have won thee, plods
Darkly, a living lie;
E'en some may fiercely hate,
Striving in wordy war, shrill Echo's jest; —
In vain: they rouse no hate within thy breast,
Thou wait'st in pity till their rage abate.

Though yet our hearts are cold
The blazing splendours of a thousand noons,
The mellow glories of a thousand moons,
Not, not in vain have rolled.
New years with wisdom teem;
The world looks ever forward to its prime,
And thus it shall be, till the end of time
Shall see the honour of thy name supreme.