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They touch with fire, thought's graven page, the

roll

Stamped with past years-and lo! it shrivels as a scroll!

LXXV.

And this was of such hours!-the sudden flow Of my soul's tide seemed whelming me; the glare

Of the red flames, yet rocking to and fro, Scorched up my heart with breathless thirst for air,

And solitude and freedom. It had been Well with me then, in some vast desert scene, To pour my voice out, for the winds to bear On with them, wildly questioning the sky, Fiercely th' untroubled stars, of man's dim destiny.

LXXVI.

I would have called, adjuring the dark cloud; To the most ancient Heavens I would have said -"Speak to me! show me truth!"(8)—through night aloud

I would have cried to him, the newly dead, "Come back! and show me truth!"-My spirit seemed

Gasping for some free burst, its darkness teemed With such pent storms of thought!-again I fled

I fled, a refuge from man's face to gain, Scarce conscious when I paused, entering a lonely fane.

LXXVII.

A mighty minster, dim, and proud, and vast!
Silence was round the sleepers, whom its floor
Shut in the grave; a shadow of the past,
A memory of the sainted steps that wore
Erewhile its gorgeous pavement, seemed to brood
Like mist upon the stately solitude,

A halo of sad fame to mantle o'er
Its white sepulchral forms of mail-clad men,
And all was hushed as night in some deep Alpine
glen.

LXXVIII.

More hushed, far more!-for there the wind sweeps by,

Or the woods tremble to the streams' loud play!
Here a strange echo made my very sigh
Seem for the place too much a sound of day!
Too much my footstep broke the moonlight,
fading,

Yet arch through arch in one soft flow pervading;

And I stood still:-prayer, chant, had died away, Yet past me floated a funereal breath

Of incense.-I stood still-as before God and death!

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So still the waves of parted, shadowy hair
From thy clear brow flowed droopingly away!
Dark were the heavens above thee, Saviour!-
dark

The gulfs, Deliverer! round the straining bark!
But thou!-o'er all thine aspect and array
Was poured one stream of pale, broad, silvery
light-

-Thou wert the single star of that all-shrouding
night!

LXXXIV.

Aid for one sinking!-Thy lone brightness gleamed

On his wild face, just lifted o'er the wave, With its worn, fearful, human look that seemed To cry through surge and blast-"I perishsave!"

Not to the winds-not vainly!-thou wert nigh, Thy hand was stretched to fainting agony, Even in the portals of th' unquiet grave! O thou that art the life! and yet didst bear Too much of mortal wo to turn from mortal prayer!

LXXXV.

But it was not a thing to rise on death,

With its remembered light, that face of thine,

Where then is mercy?—whither shall we flee, So unallied to hope, save by our hold on thee?

LXXXVIII.

"But didst thou not, the deep sea brightly treading,

Lift from despair that struggler with the wave? And wert thou not, sad tears, yet awful, shedding,

Beheld, a weeper at a mortal's grave?

And is this weight of anguish, which they bind On life, this searing to the quick of mind, That but to God its own free path would crave, This crushing out of hope, and love, and youth, Thy will indeed?-Give light! that I may know the truth!

LXXXIX.

"For my sick soul is darkened unto death, With shadows from the suffering it hath seen; The strong foundations of mine ancient faith Sink from beneath me-whereon shall I lean? -Oh! if from thy pure lips was wrung the sigh Of the dust's anguish! if like man to die, -And earth round him shuts heavily-hath

been

Even to thee bitter, aid me!-guide me!-turn

Redeemer! dimmed by this world's misty breath, My wild and wandering thoughts back from their

Yet mournfully, mysteriously divine?

-Oh! that calm, sorrowful, prophetic eye,
With its dark depths of grief, love, majesty!
And the pale glory of the brow!—a shrine
Where power sat veiled yet shedding softly
round

What told that thou couldst be but for a time uncrowned!

LXXXVI.

And more than all, the Heaven of that sad smile!
The lip of mercy, our immortal trust!
Did not that look, that very look, erewhile,
Pour its o'ershadowed beauty on the dust?
Wert thou not such when earth's dark cloud
hung o'er thee?

starless bourne!"

XC.

And calm'd I rose:-but how the while had risen

Morn's orient sun, dissolving mist and shade! -Could there indeed be wrong, or chain, or

prison,

In the bright world such radiance might pervade?

It fill'd the fane, it mantled the pale form Which rose before me through the pictured storm,

Even the gray tombs it kindled, and array'd With life!-how hard to see thy race begun,

Surely thou wert!-my heart grew hushed be- And think man wakes to grief, wakening to thee,

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O sun!

XCI.

I sought my home again:-and thou, my child, There at my play beneath yon ancient pine, With eyes, whose lightning laughter(10) hath beguil'd

A thousand pangs, thence flashing joy to mine;
Thou in thy mother's arms, a babe, did meet
My coming with young smiles, which yet,
though sweet,

Seem'd on my soul all mournfully to shine,
And ask a happier heritage for thee,

Than but in turn the blight of human hope to see.

XCII.

Now sport, for thou art free-the bright birds chasing,

Whose wings waft star-like gleams from tree to tree;

Or with the fawn, thy swift wood-playmate racing,

Sport on, my joyous child! for thou art free!
Yes, on that day I took thee to my heart,
And inly vow'd, for thee a better part
To choose; that so thy sunny bursts of glee

II.

Oh, Indian hunter of the desert's race!
That with the spear at times, or bended bow,
Dost cross my footsteps in the fiery chase
Of the swift elk or blue hill's flying roe;
Thou that beside the red night-fire thou heapest,
Beneath the cedars and the star-light sleepest,
Thou knowest not, wanderer-never mayest
thou know!-

Of the dark holds wherewith man cumbers earth,

Should wake no more dim thoughts of far-seen To shut from human eyes the dancing seasons'

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mirth.

III.

There, fettered down from day, to think the while

How bright in Heaven the festal sun is glowing, Making earth's loneliest places, with his smile, Flush like the rose; and how the streams are flowing

With sudden sparkles through the shadowy grass,

And water-flowers, all trembling as they pass; And how the rich dark summer-trees are bowing With their full foliage;-this to know, and pine Bound unto midnight's heart, seems a stern lot— 'twas mine.

IV.

Wherefore was this?-Because my soul had drawn

Light from the book whose words are graved in light!

There, at its well-head, had I found the dawn, And day, and noon of freedom:--but too bright It shines on that which man to man hath given, And called the truth-the very truth, from Heaven!

And therefore seeks he, in his brother's sight, To cast the mote; and therefore strives to bind With his strong chains to earth, what is not earth's the mind!

V.

It is a weary and a bitter task

Back from the lip the burning word to keep, And to shut out Heaven's air with falsehood's mask,

And in the dark urn of the soul to heap
Indignant feelings-making even of thought
A buried treasure, which may but be sought
When shadows are abroad-and night-and
sleep.

I might not brook it long-and thus was thrown Into that grave-like cell, to wither there alone.

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In fair sierras, hiding their deep springs,

Let childhood's radiant mist the free child yet en- And traversed but by storms, or sounding eagles' fold!

XV.

It is enough that through such heavy hours,
As wring us by our fellowship of clay,
I lived, and undegraded. We have powers
To snatch th' oppressor's bitter joy away!
Shall the wild Indian, for his savage famé,
Laugh and expire, and shall not Truth's high

name

Bear up her martyrs with all-conquering sway? It is enough that Torture may be vainI had seen Alvar die-the strife was won from

Pain.

XVI.

And faint not, heart of man! though years wane slow!

There have been those that from the deepest

caves,

And cells of night, and fastnesses, below
The stormy dashing of the ocean-waves,
Down, farther down than gold lies hid, have
nursed

A quenchless hope, and watched their time, and burst

On the bright day, like wakeners from the graves!

I was of such at last!-unchained I trod This green earth, taking back my freedom from my God!

XVII.

That was an hour to send its fadeless trace Down life's far sweeping tide!-A dim, wild night,

Like sorrow, hung upon the soft moon's face, Yet how my heart leaped in her blessed light! The shepherd's light-the sailor's on the seaThe hunter's homeward from the mountains free,

Where its lone smile makes tremulously bright The thousand streams!-I could but gaze through tears

Oh! what a sight is Heaven, thus first beheld for years!

XVIII.

The rolling clouds!-they have the whole blue space

Above to sail in-all the dome of sky!
My soul shot with them in their breezy race
O'er star and gloom!-but I had yet to fly,
As flies the hunted wolf. A secret spot,
And strange, I knew-the sunbeam knew it
not ;-

Wildest of all the savage glens that lie

wings.

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