But hopest thou, in thy panoply of pride,
Heaven's messenger, affliction, to deride?
In thine own strength unaided to defy,
With Stoic smile, the arrows of the sky?
Torn by the vulture, fetter'd to the rock,
Still, demigod the tempest wilt thou mock?
Alas! the tower that crests the mountain's brow
A thousand years may awe the vale below,
Yet not the less be shatter'd on its height,
By one dread moment of the earthquake's might!
A thousand pangs thy bosom may have borne,
In silent fortitude, or haughty scorn,

Till comes the one, the master-anguish, sent
To break the mighty heart that ne'er was bent.

Oh! what is nature's strength? the vacant eye, By mind deserted, hath a dread reply! The wild delirious laughter of despair, The mirth of frenzy-seek an answer there! Turn not away, though pity's cheek grow pale, Close not thine ear against their awful tale. They tell thee, Reason, wandering from the ray Of Faith, the blazing pillar of her way, In the mid-darkness of the stormy wave, Forsook the struggling soul she could not save! Weep not, sad moralist! o'er desert plains, Strew'd with the wrecks of grandeur-mouldering

fanes,

Arches of triumph, long with weeds o'ergrown,
And regal cities, now the serpent's own:
Earth has more awful ruins-one lost mind,

Whose star is quench'd, hath lessons for mankind,

Of deeper import than each prostrate dome,
Mingling its marble with the dust of Rome.

But who, with eye unshrinking, shall explore That waste, illumed by reason's beam no more? Who pierce the deep, mysterious clouds that roll Around the shatter'd temple of the soul, Curtain'd with midnight?—low its columns lie, And dark the chambers of its imag'ry,3 Sunk are its idols now-and God alone May rear the fabric, by their fall o'erthrown! Yet, from its inmost shrine, by storms laid bare, Is heard an oracle that cries-" Beware! Child of the dust! but ransomed of the skies! One breath of Heaven—and thus thy glory dies! Haste, ere the hour of doom-draw nigh to him Who dwells above between the cherubim !"

Spirit dethroned! and check'd in mid career, Son of the morning! exiled from thy sphere, Tell us thy tale !-Perchance thy race was run With science, in the chariot of the sun;

Free as the winds the paths of space to sweep,
Traverse the untrodden kingdoms of the deep,
And search the laws that Nature's springs control,
There tracing all save Him who guides the
whole!

Haply thine eye its ardent glance had cast Through the dim shades, the portals of the past; By the bright lamp of thought thy care had fed From the far beacon-lights of ages fled,

The depths of time exploring, to retrace
The glorious march of many a vanish'd race.

Or did thy power pervade the living lyre,
Till its deep chords became intinct with fire,
Silenced all meaner notes, and swell'd on high,
Full and alone, their mighty harmony,
While woke each passion from its cell profound,
And nations started at th' electric sound?

Lord of th' ascendant! what avails it now, Though bright the laurels waved upon thy brow? What, though thy name, through distant empires heard,

Bade the heart bound, as doth a battle-word?

Was it for this thy still-unwearied eye

Kept vigil with the watchfires of the sky,
To make the secrets of all ages thine,

And commune with majestic thoughts that shine
O'er Time's long shadowy pathway?-hath thy mind
Sever'd its lone dominions from mankind,

For this to woo their homage?—Thou hast sought All, save the wisdom with salvation fraught,

Won every wreath-but that which will not die, Nor aught neglected-save eternity!

And did all fail thee, in the hour of wrath, When burst th' o'erwhelming vials on thy path? Could not the voice of Fame inspire thee then, O spirit! scepter'd by the sons of men, With an immortal's courage, to sustain The transient agonies of earthly pain?

-One, one there was, all-powerful to have saved,
When the loud fury of the billow raved;
But him thou knew'st not-and the light he lent
Hath vanish'd from its ruin'd tenement,

But left thee breathing, moving, lingering yet,
A thing we shrink from-vainly to forget!
-Lift the dread veil no further-hide, oh! hide
The bleeding form, the couch of suicide!

The dagger, grasp'd in death-the brow, the eye,
Lifeless, yet stamp'd with rage and agony;

The soul's dark traces left in

many a line

Graved on his mein, who died," and made no

sign!"
Approach not, gaze not-lest thy fever'd brain

Too deep that image of despair retain;
Angels of slumber! o'er the midnight hour,
Let not such visions claim unhallow'd power,
Lest the mind sink with terror, and above

See but th' Avenger's arm, forget th' Atoner's love!

O Thou! th' unseen, th' all-seeing!-Thou whose

ways,

Mantled with darkness, mock all finite gaze,
Before whose eyes the creatures of Thy hand,
Seraph and man, alike in weakness stand,
And countless ages, trampling into clay
Earth's empires on their march, are but a day;
Father of worlds unknown, unnumber'd!-Thou,
With whom all time is one eternal now,

Who know'st no past, nor future Thou whose

breath

Goes forth, and bears to myriads, life or death!
Look on us, guide us!-wanderers of a sea
Wild and obscure, what are we, reft of Thee?
A thousand rocks, deep-hid, elude our sight,
A star may set and we are lost in night;
A breeze may waft us to the whirlpool's brink,
A treach'rous song allure us—and we sink!

Oh! by His love, who, veiling Godhead's light, To moments circumscribed the Infinite, And Heaven and Earth disdain'd not to ally By that dread union-Man with Deity; Immortal tears o'er mortal woes who shed, And, ere he raised them, wept above the dead; Save, or we perish!-Let Thy word control The earthquakes of that universe—the soul; Pervade the depths of passion-speak once more The mighty mandate, guard of every shore, "Here shall thy waves be stay'd❞—in grief, in pain, The fearful poise of reason's sphere maintain, Thou, by whom suns are balanced!—thus secure In Thee shall Faith and Fortitude endure; Conscious of Thee, unfaltering, shall the just Look upward still, in high and holy trust, And by affliction guided to Thy shrine,

The first, last thought of suffering hearts be Thine.

And oh! be near, when, clothed with conquering power,

The King of Terrors claims his own dread hour: When, on the edge of that unknown abyss,

Which darkly parts us from the realm of bliss,