Читать книгу Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine, Volume 54, No. 334, August 1843 - Various - Страница 6

And I, too, was amidst Arcadia born,

And Nature seem'd to woo me;

And to my cradle such sweet joys were sworn:

And I, too, was amidst Arcadia born,

Yet the short spring gave only tears unto me!

Life but one blooming holiday can keep—

For me the bloom is fled;

The silent Genius of the Darker Sleep

Turns down my torch—and weep, my brethren, weep—

Weep, for the light is dead!

Upon thy bridge the shadows round me press,

O dread Eternity!

And I have known no moment that can bless;—

Take back this letter meant for Happiness—

The seal's unbrokenen—see!

Before thee, Judge, whose eyes the dark-spun veil

Conceals, my murmur came;

On this our orb a glad belief prevails,

That, thine the earthly sceptre and the scales,

Requiter is thy name.

Terrors, they say, thou cost for Vice prepare,

And joys the good shall know;

Thou canst the crooked heart unmask and bare;

Thou canst the riddle of our fate declare,

And keep account with Woe.

With thee a home smiles for the exiled one—

There ends the thorny strife.

Unto my side a godlike vision won,

Called Truth, (few know her, and the many shun,)

And check'd the reins of life.

"I will repay thee in a holier land—

Give thou to me thy youth;

All I can grant thee lies in this command."

I heard, and, trusting in a holier land,

Gave my young joys to Truth.

"Give me thy Laura—give me her whom Love

To thy heart's core endears;

The usurer, Bliss, pays every grief—above!"

I tore the fond shape from the bleeding love,

And gave—albeit with tears!

"What bond can bind the Dead to life once more?

Poor fool," (the scoffer cries;)

"Gull'd by the despot's hireling lie, with lore

That gives for Truth a shadow;—life is o'er

When the delusion dies!"

"Tremblest thou," hiss'd the serpent-herd in scorn,

"Before the vain deceit?

Made holy but by custom, stale and worn,

The phantom Gods, of craft and folly born—

The sick world's solemn cheat?

What is this Future underneath the stone?

But for the veil that hides, revered alone;

The giant shadow of our Terror, thrown

On Conscience' troubled glass—

Life's lying likeness—in the dreary shroud

Of the cold sepulchre—

Embalm'd by Hope—Time's mummy—which the proud

Delirium, driv'ling through thy reason's cloud,

Calls 'Immortality!'

Giv'st thou for hope (corruption proves its lie)

Sure joy that most delights us?

Six thousand years has Death reign'd tranquilly!—

Nor one corpse come to whisper those who die,

What after death requites us!"

Along Time's shores I saw the Seasons fly;

Nature herself, interr'd

Among her blooms, lay dead; to those who die

There came no corpse to whisper Hope! Still I

Clung to the Godlike Word.

Judge!—All my joys to thee did I resign,

All that did most delight ne;

And now I kneel—man's scorn I scorn'd—thy shrine

Have I adored—Thee only held divine—

Requiter, now requite me!

"For all my sons an equal love I know,

And equal each condition,"

Answer'd an unseen Genius—"See below,

Two flowers, for all who rightly seek them, blow—

The Hope and the Fruition.

He who has pluck'd the one, resign'd must see

The sister's forfeit bloom:

Let Unbelief enjoy—Belief must be

All to the chooser;—the world's history

Is the world's judgment doom.

Thou hast had Hope—in thy belief thy prize—

Thy bliss was centred in it:

Eternity itself—(Go ask the Wise!)

Never to him who forfeits, resupplies

The sum struck from the Minute!"