Part 31 (1/2)

Would you the genius of the place enjoy, In all the charms contrast and color give?

Your eye and taste you now may best employ, For this the hour when minor beauties live; Scan ye the details as the sun rides high, For with the morn these sparkling glories fly.

VI.

TRENTON FALLS, (AFTERNOON.)

A calmer grace o'er these still hours presides; Now is the time to see the might of form; The heavy ma.s.ses of the b.u.t.tressed sides, The stately steps o'er which the waters storm; Where, 'neath the mill, the stream so gently glides, You feel the deep seclusion of the scene, And now begin to comprehend what mean The beauty and the power this chasm hides.

From the green forest's depths the portent springs, But from those quiet shades bounding away, Lays bare its being to the light of day, Though on the rock's cold breast its love it flings.

Yet can all sympathy such courage miss?

Answer, ye trees! who bend the waves to kiss.

VII.

TRENTON FALLS BY MOONLIGHT.

I deemed the inmost sense my soul had blessed Which in the poem of thy being dwells, And gives such store for thought's most sacred cells; And yet a higher joy was now confessed.

With what a holiness did night invest The eager impulse of impetuous life, And hymn-like meanings clothed the waters' strife!

With what a solemn peace the moon did rest Upon the white crest of the waterfall; The haughty guardian banks, by the deep shade, In almost double height are now displayed.

Depth, height, speak things which awe, but not appall.

From elemental powers this voice has come, And G.o.d's love answers from the azure dome.

SUB ROSA, CRUX.

In times of old, as we are told, When men more child-like at the feet Of Jesus sat, than now, A chivalry was known more bold Than ours, and yet of stricter vow, Of wors.h.i.+p more complete.

Knights of the Rosy Cross, they bore Its weight within the heart, but wore Without, devotion's sign in glistening ruby bright; The gall and vinegar they drank alone, But to the world at large would only own The wine of faith, sparkling with rosy light.

They knew the secret of the sacred oil Which, poured upon the prophet's head, Could keep him wise and pure for aye.

Apart from all that might distract or soil, With this their lamps they fed.

Which burn in their sepulchral shrines unfading night and day.

The pa.s.s-word now is lost, To that initiation full and free; Daily we pay the cost Of our slow schooling for divine degree.

We know no means to feed an undying lamp; Our lights go out in every wind or damp.

We wear the cross of ebony and gold, Upon a dark background a form of light, A heavenly hope upon a bosom cold, A starry promise in a frequent night; The dying lamp must often trim again, For we are conscious, thoughtful, striving men.

Yet be we faithful to this present trust, Clasp to a heart resigned the fatal must; Though deepest dark our efforts should enfold, Unwearied mine to find the vein of gold; Forget not oft to lift the hope on high; The rosy dawn again shall fill the sky.