The Continental Monthly, Vol. 3, No. 1 January 1863. Various

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      Life is but an outer wall

      Round the realm of thought unseen;

      Ah! to let the drawbridge fall

      Leading to that magic hall!

      Ah! to let creation in.

      Kings that with the world contended,

      What remains of all the splendid

      Misery their hands have wrought?

      Hushed and silent now the thunder

      They have made the world rock under;

      But the ages bow in wonder

      To a thought.

      Ah! the many tragic parts

      That are played by human hearts

      In that golden drama, fame.

      These are minor actors truly,

      That should not be seen unduly,

      Letting idle recollection

      Trifle with the play's perfection,

      Letting an unwritten anguish

      Make the brilliant pageant languish.

      Alas for every hero's story,

      That the woes which chiefly make it

      Must surge from the heart, or break it,

      And show the stuff that fashions glory.

      Pyramids and templed wonders

      At the best are wise men's blunders;

      The subtle spell of thought and fancy,

      It is Nature's necromancy.

      In that land where all things real

      Blossom into the ideal,

      In that realm of hidden powers

      Moving this gross world of ours,

      He that would inherit fame,

      Let him on the magic wall

      Of some bright, ideal hall

      Write his name;

      He and glory then shall be

      Comrades through eternity.

      While the deeds of mighty kings

      Sleep the sleep of meaner things,

      Thoughts enclosed in words of granite

      Revolutionize our planet.

      And, itself a new creation,

      Many an enchanted tune,

      As of nightingale's in June,

      Comes floating down in long vibration,

      To the chorus of the hours

      Lending its harmonial powers,

      Or through Time's resounding arches

      Playing Nature's solemn marches,

      To whose beat the marshalled nations

      Pass in steady generations.

      But deem not the thoughts unspoken,

      Silent despots of the brain,

      Build their airy halls in vain,

      Die and leave behind no token.

      As the stars upon the ether

      Play their golden monody,

      Flashing on dusk-featured night

      The soft miracle of light;

      So upon a finer ether,

      A spiritual emanation

      From the whole mind of creation,

      Plays the brain incessantly;

      And each thought is a vibration,

      Running like a poet's rhyme

      Down the endless chords of time,

      And on each responsive brain

      Dropping in a silver rain

      Of divinest inspiration.

      When the whirlwind rush of war

      Passes, and is heard no more,

      Voices crushed beneath its din

      Rise and their long reign begin;

      Thoughts like burning arrows hurled

      At the tyrants of the world,

      Thoughts that rend like battle axes

      Till wrong's giant hand relaxes,

      Thoughts that open prison gates

      And strike the chains of prostrate limb,

      That turn the current of the fates,

      Like God's commissioned cherubim

      With divine authority

      To proclaim creation free,

      And plant in human hearts the seeds

      That shall grow to noble deeds.

      Ha! when genius climbs the throne

      Sacred to oppression grown,

      And from his seat plucks tyranny;

      When, with thoughts that pierce like flame,

      Songs, and every word a fame,

      She crowns imperial Liberty,

      Then shall the usurper, glory,

      End his foul and brutal story,

      And manhood evermore shall be

      A synonym of liberty.

      It still goes on. The driving rain

      May chill, but light will gleam again,

      It still goes on. Truth's enemy

      Wins СКАЧАТЬ