Thou art the silent messenger of ages,
Sent back to tread with Time his constant way,
To shame the wisdom of conceited sages,
Whose lore is but a thing of yesterday;
What would their best, their brightest visions weigh
Beside the fearful truths thou couldst reveal?
The secrets of eternity now lay
Unveiled before thee, and for we or weal,
Thy doom is fixed beyond ev'n heaven's repeal.
I will not ask thee of the mysteries
That lie beyond Death's shadowy vale; but thou
Mayst tell us of the fate the Destinies
Wove for thine earthly sojourn. Was thy brow
Graced with the poet's, hero's garland? How
Dealt Fortune with thee? Did she curse or bless
Thee with her frown or smile? Speak! thou art now
Among the living,--they around thee press.
Still silent? Then thy lot we can but guess.
Perhaps thou wast a monarch, and hast worn
The sceptre of some real El Dorado!
Perhaps a warrior, and those arms have borne
The foremost shield, and dealt the deadliest blow
That drew the life-blood of a warring foe!
Perhaps thou wor'st the courtier's gilded thrall,--
Some glittering court's gay, proud papilio!
Perchance a clown, the jester of some hall,
The slave of one man, and the fool of all!
Oh life! and pride! and honour! come and see
To what a depth your visions tumble down!
Behold your wearer,--who shall say if he
Were monarch, warrior, parasite, or clown!
And ye, who talk of glory and renown,
And call them bright and deathless! and who break
Each dearer tie to grasp fame's gilded crown,
Come, hear instruction from this shadow speak,
And learn how valueless the prize ye seek!
See where ambition's loftiest flight doth tend,
Behold the doom perhaps of blood-bought fame,
And know that all which earth can give must end,
In dust and ashes, and an empty name!
Ye passions! which defy our pow'r to tame
Or curb your headlong tides, behold your home!
Love! see the breast where thou didst light thy flame!
Immortal spirit! see thy shattered dome!
When shall its hour of renovation come?
Shall life possess, and beauty deck again
That withered form, and foul and dusky cheek?
Will Death resign his dull and frozen reign,
And the immortal soul return to seek
Her long-deserted dwelling, and to break
The bondage which has held in icy chains
All that was mortal of thee? will she make
Her home in thee, and shall these poor remains
Share with her heaven's pleasures or hell's pains?
Wonder of wonders! who could look on thee
And afterward survey with curious eye
The mouldering shrines where dupes have bent the knee,
Where superstition, by hypocrisy
Nurtured and fed with tales of mystery,
Has oft with timid footstep trembling trod,--
All these are worse than nothing; come and see
Where once a deathless soul held its abode,--
The wrecked and ruined palace of a God!
Farewell! Not idly has this hour been spent.
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