They touch with fire, thought's graven page, the roll

Stamped with past years-and lo! it shrivels as a scroll!

LXXV.

And this was of such hours!-the sudden flow Of my soul's tide seemed whelming me; the glare

Of the red flames, yet rocking to and fro, Scorched up my heart with breathless thirst for air,

And solitude and freedom. It had been

Well with me then, in some vast desert scene, To pour my voice out, for the winds to bear On with them, wildly questioning the sky, Fiercely th' untroubled stars, of man's dim destiny.

LXXVI.

I would have called, adjuring the dark cloud; To the most ancient Heavens I would have said -"Speak to me! show me truth!"(8)—through night aloud

I would have cried to him, the newly dead, "Come back! and show me truth!"-My spirit seemed

Gasping for some free burst, its darkness teemed With such pent storms of thought!-again I fled

I fled, a refuge from man's face to gain, Scarce conscious when I paused, entering a lonely fane.

LXXVII.

A mighty minster, dim, and proud, and vast! Silence was round the sleepers, whom its floor Shut in the grave; a shadow of the past, A memory of the sainted steps that wore Erewhile its gorgeous pavement, seemed to brood Like mist upon the stately solitude, A halo of sad fame to mantle o'er Its white sepulchral forms of mail-clad men, And all was hushed as night in some deep Alpine glen.

LXXVIII.

More hushed, far more!-for there the wind sweeps by,

Or the woods tremble to the streams' loud play!
Here a strange echo made my very sigh
Seem for the place too much a sound of day!
Too much my footstep broke the moonlight,
fading,

Yet arch through arch in one soft flow pervading;

And I stood still:-prayer, chant, had died away, Yet past me floated a funereal breath

Of incense.-I stood still-as before God and death!

So still the waves of parted, shadowy hair
From thy clear brow flowed droopingly away!
Dark were the heavens above thee, Saviour!-
dark

The gulfs, Deliverer! round the straining bark!
But thou!-o'er all thine aspect and array
Was poured one stream of pale, broad, silvery
light-

-Thou wert the single star of that all-shrouding night!

LXXXIV.

Aid for one sinking!-Thy lone brightness gleamed

On his wild face, just lifted o'er the wave,
With its worn, fearful, human look that seemed
To cry through surge and blast-"I perish-
save!"

Not to the winds-not vainly!-thou wert nigh,
Thy hand was stretched to fainting agony,
Even in the portals of th' unquiet grave!
O thou that art the life! and yet didst bear
Too much of mortal wo to turn from mortal prayer!

LXXXV.

But it was not a thing to rise on death,
With its remembered light, that face of thine,

Where then is mercy?-whither shall we flee, So unallied to hope, save by our hold on thee?

LXXXVIII.

"But didst thou not, the deep sea brightly treading,

Lift from despair that struggler with the wave? And wert thou not, sad tears, yet awful, shedding,

Beheld, a weeper at a mortal's grave?

And is this weight of anguish, which they bind On life, this searing to the quick of mind, That but to God its own free path would crave, This crushing out of hope, and love, and youth, Thy will indeed?-Give light! that I may know

the truth!

LXXXIX.

"For my sick soul is darkened unto death, With shadows from the suffering it hath seen; The strong foundations of mine ancient faith Sink from beneath me-whereon shall I lean? -Oh! if from thy pure lips was wrung the sigh Of the dust's anguish! if like man to die, -And earth round him shuts heavily-hath

been

Even to thee bitter, aid me!-guide me!-turn

Yet mournfully, mysteriously divine?
-Oh! that calm, sorrowful, prophetic eye,
With its dark depths of grief, love, majesty!
And the pale glory of the brow!-a shrine
Where power sat veiled yet shedding softly

round

What told that thou couldst be but for a time uncrowned!

LXXXVI.

And more than all, the Heaven of that sad smile!
The lip of mercy, our immortal trust!
Did not that look, that very look, erewhile,
Pour its o'ershadowed beauty on the dust?
Wert thou not such when earth's dark cloud
hung o'er thee?

Even the gray tombs it kindled, and array'd With life!-how hard to see thy race begun,

XCII.

Now sport, for thou art free-the bright birds chasing,

Whose wings waft star-like gleams from tree to tree;

Or with the fawn, thy swift wood-playmate racing,

Sport on, my joyous child! for thou art free! Yes, on that day I took thee to my heart, And inly vow'd, for thee a better part

To choose; that so thy sunny bursts of glee

II.

Oh, Indian hunter of the desert's race!
That with the spear at times, or bended bow,
Dost cross my footsteps in the fiery chase
Of the swift elk or blue hill's flying roe;
Thou that beside the red night-fire thou heapest,
Beneath the cedars and the star-light sleepest,
Thou knowest not, wanderer-never mayest
thou know!-

Of the dark holds wherewith man cumbers earth,

But I was roused-and how?-It is no tale
Even 'midst thy shades, thou wilderness, to tell!
I would not have my boy's young cheek made
pale,

Nor haunt his sunny rest with what befell
In that drear prison-house.-His eye must grow
More dark with thought, more earnest his fair
brow,

More high his heart in youthful strength must swell;