Part 18 (2/2)

Blithe the master (where the while From his roof he sees them smile) Eyes the lands, and counts the gain; There, the beams projecting far, And the laden storehouse are, And the granaries bowed beneath The blessed golden grain; There, in undulating motion, Wave the cornfields like an ocean.

Proud the boast the proud lips breathe:-- ”My house is built upon a rock, And sees unmoved the stormy shock Of waves that fret below!”

What chain so strong, what girth so great, To bind the giant form of fate?-- Swift are the steps of woe.

Now the casting may begin; See the breach indented there: Ere we run the fusion in, Halt--and speed the pious prayer!

Pull the bung out-- See around and about What vapor, what vapor--G.o.d help us!--has risen?-- Ha! the flame like a torrent leaps forth from its prison!

What friend is like the might of fire When man can watch and wield the ire?

Whate'er we shape or work, we owe Still to that heaven-descended glow.

But dread the heaven-descended glow, When from their chain its wild wings go, When, where it listeth, wide and wild Sweeps free Nature's free-born child.

When the frantic one fleets, While no force can withstand, Through the populous streets Whirling ghastly the brand; For the element hates What man's labor creates, And the work of his hand!

Impartially out from the cloud, Or the curse or the blessing may fall!

Benignantly out from the cloud Come the dews, the revivers of all!

Avengingly out from the cloud Come the levin, the bolt, and the ball!

Hark--a wail from the steeple!--aloud The bell shrills its voice to the crowd!

Look--look--red as blood All on high!

It is not the daylight that fills with its flood The sky!

What a clamor awaking Roars up through the street, What a h.e.l.l-vapor breaking.

Rolls on through the street, And higher and higher Aloft moves the column of fire!

Through the vistas and rows Like a whirlwind it goes, And the air like the stream from the furnace glows.

Beams are crackling--posts are shrinking Walls are sinking--windows clinking-- Children crying-- Mothers flying-- And the beast (the black ruin yet smouldering under) Yells the howl of its pain and its ghastly wonder!

Hurry and skurry--away--away, The face of the night is as clear as day!

As the links in a chain, Again and again Flies the bucket from hand to hand; High in arches up-rus.h.i.+ng The engines are gus.h.i.+ng, And the flood, as a beast on the prey that it hounds With a roar on the breast of the element bounds.

To the grain and the fruits, Through the rafters and beams, Through the barns and garners it crackles and streams!

As if they would rend up the earth from its roots, Rush the flames to the sky Giant-high; And at length, Wearied out and despairing, man bows to their strength!

With an idle gaze sees their wrath consume, And submits to his doom!

Desolate The place, and dread For storms the barren bed.

In the blank voids that cheerful cas.e.m.e.nts were, Comes to and fro the melancholy air, And sits despair; And through the ruin, blackening in its shroud Peers, as it flits, the melancholy cloud.

One human glance of grief upon the grave Of all that fortune gave The loiterer takes--then turns him to depart, And grasps the wanderer's staff and mans his heart Whatever else the element bereaves One blessing more than all it reft--it leaves, The faces that he loves!--He counts them o'er, See--not one look is missing from that store!

Now clasped the bell within the clay-- The mould the mingled metals fill-- Oh, may it, sparkling into day, Reward the labor and the skill!

Alas! should it fail, For the mould may be frail-- And still with our hope must be mingled the fear-- And, ev'n now, while we speak, the mishap may be near!

To the dark womb of sacred earth This labor of our hands is given, As seeds that wait the second birth, And turn to blessings watched by heaven!

Ah, seeds, how dearer far than they, We bury in the dismal tomb, Where hope and sorrow bend to pray That suns beyond the realm of day May warm them into bloom!

From the steeple Tolls the bell, Deep and heavy, The death-knell!

Guiding with dirge-note--solemn, sad, and slow, To the last home earth's weary wanderers know.

It is that wors.h.i.+pped wife-- It is that faithful mother! [46]

Whom the dark prince of shadows leads benighted, From that dear arm where oft she hung delighted Far from those blithe companions, born Of her, and blooming in their morn; On whom, when couched her heart above, So often looked the mother-love!

Ah! rent the sweet home's union-band, And never, never more to come-- She dwells within the shadowy land, Who was the mother of that home!

How oft they miss that tender guide, The care--the watch--the face--the mother-- And where she sate the babes beside, Sits with unloving looks--another!

While the ma.s.s is cooling now, Let the labor yield to leisure, As the bird upon the bough, Loose the travail to the pleasure.

When the soft stars awaken, Each task be forsaken!

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