Part 19 (2/2)

Be hers above a voice to rise Like those bright hosts in yonder sphere, Who, while they move, their Maker praise, And lead around the wreathed year!

To solemn and eternal things We dedicate her lips sublime!-- As hourly, calmly, on she swings Fanned by the fleeting wings of time!-- No pulse--no heart--no feeling hers!

She lends the warning voice to fate; And still companions, while she stirs, The changes of the human state!

So may she teach us, as her tone But now so mighty, melts away-- That earth no life which earth has known From the last silence can delay!

Slowly now the cords upheave her!

From her earth-grave soars the bell; Mid the airs of heaven we leave her!

In the music-realm to dwell!

Up--upwards yet raise-- She has risen--she sways.

Fair bell to our city bode joy and increase, And oh, may thy first sound be hallowed to peace! [47]

THE POWER OF SONG.

The foaming stream from out the rock With thunder roar begins to rush,-- The oak falls prostrate at the shock, And mountain-wrecks attend the gush.

With rapturous awe, in wonder lost, The wanderer hearkens to the sound; From cliff to cliff he hears it tossed, Yet knows not whither it is bound: 'Tis thus that song's bright waters pour From sources never known before.

In union with those dreaded ones That spin life's thread all-silently, Who can resist the singer's tones?

Who from his magic set him free?

With wand like that the G.o.ds bestow, He guides the heaving bosom's chords, He steeps it in the realms below, He bears it, wondering, heavenward, And rocks it, 'twixt the grave and gay, On feeling's scales that trembling sway.

As when before the startled eyes Of some glad throng, mysteriously, With giant-step, in spirit-guise, Appears a wondrous deity, Then bows each greatness of the earth Before the stranger heaven-born, Mute are the thoughtless sounds of mirth, While from each face the mask is torn, And from the truth's triumphant might Each work of falsehood takes to flight.

So from each idle burden free, When summoned by the voice of song, Man soars to spirit-dignity, Receiving force divinely strong: Among the G.o.ds is now his home, Naught earthly ventures to approach-- All other powers must now be dumb, No fate can on his realms encroach; Care's gloomy wrinkles disappear, Whilst music's charms still linger here,

As after long and hopeless yearning, And separation's bitter smart, A child, with tears repentant burning, Clings fondly to his mother's heart-- So to his youthful happy dwelling, To rapture pure and free from stain, All strange and false conceits expelling, Song guides the wanderer back again, In faithful Nature's loving arm, From chilling precepts to grow warm.

TO PROSELYTIZERS.

”Give me only a fragment of earth beyond the earth's limits,”-- So the G.o.dlike man said,--”and I will move it with ease.”

Only give me permission to leave myself for one moment, And without any delay I will engage to be yours.

HONOR TO WOMAN.

[Literally ”Dignity of Women.”]

Honor to woman! To her it is given To garden the earth with the roses of heaven!

All blessed, she linketh the loves in their choir In the veil of the graces her beauty concealing, She tends on each altar that's hallowed to feeling, And keeps ever-living the fire!

From the bounds of truth careering, Man's strong spirit wildly sweeps, With each hasty impulse veering Down to pa.s.sion's troubled deeps.

And his heart, contented never, Greeds to grapple with the far, Chasing his own dream forever, On through many a distant star!

But woman with looks that can charm and enchain, Lureth back at her beck the wild truant again, By the spell of her presence beguiled-- In the home of the mother her modest abode, And modest the manners by Nature bestowed On Nature's most exquisite child!

Bruised and worn, but fiercely breasting, Foe to foe, the angry strife; Man, the wild one, never resting, Roams along the troubled life; What he planneth, still pursuing; Vainly as the Hydra bleeds, Crest the severed crest renewing-- Wish to withered wish succeeds.

But woman at peace with all being, reposes, And seeks from the moment to gather the roses-- Whose sweets to her culture belong.

Ah! richer than he, though his soul reigneth o'er The mighty dominion of genius and lore, And the infinite circle of song.

Strong, and proud, and self-depending, Man's cold bosom beats alone; Heart with heart divinely blending, In the love that G.o.ds have known, Soul's sweet interchange of feeling, Melting tears--he never knows, Each hard sense the hard one steeling, Arms against a world of foes.

<script>