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He turn’d him with a silent heart,
Unto the daily cares of clay,
When sorrow is the play.
Was absent from his quiet eye;
But not at times the sigh. And never as of old, the smile!
It chill'd, it sadden'd while it shone,
The life of day is gone.
On lonely, but on daring thought,
His ancient food he sought ;
weary way, And hold communion, sad and dark,
With that true Genius of our clay, Urger of Hope-Woe-Virtue—SinThe unsleeping Second-Self within ! And, when the morning came, you saw
Upon his cheek the haggard brand,
The Spirit from its land.
The wrung exhaustion, and the awe!
Alas! the soul has fiends that sear,
As aught, escaped from Nature's law,
Of those whose kingly charm could bow Of old, the monster-powers of Fear ! Whose daring souls were nerved to brave The dark things of the riven grave; Girt with the menaced fire, to breast The lighnings of the armed Priest ; Trample the fears of nature—quell The flesh, by one immortal spell, And shake the very Thrones of Hell ! Arch Rebels of our tyrant BirthThe more than monarchs of the earth, Humbling that dread, and shadowy world, Around our own so dimly curled; Who, mightier than the Heathen's God, From Fate herself usurped the rod, And made her rent recess the cells, Voiced with a mortal's oracles. Sceptering the mysteries of the Deep, The Whirlwinds in their Mountain-keep; The Seasons in their rounded march, The wan Kings of the starred Arch; Rapt above Nature and o'er Time, By lore too glorious to be crime !
Days went; and Julian's schemes at last,
Improved are now the bribes of old,
And, tho' not oft, our lovers yet,
Oh! what a soft and lovely shroud
Of thought hangs o’er such mournful meeting ! The grief consoled--the comfort vow'd
Are memories far too fond for fleeting.
As some benign and gentle shade
They glide athwart our manhood's cares,
And care is hush'd !--they haunt our sins, And sin grows soft!-our hopes--our prayers-
All interest sways--or passion wins---
The lovers met, and Julian still
And when he told how years would pass
But love remain--and he return Rich as her sire could wish-alas!
She thought not of the early urn
Dark gulf between, she scarcely viewed;
As now they fondly stood !
So would they meet, and hope, and raise
His hand, if only touch'd by her's;
If true, for ever it incurs.-
And there was peril in the hour,
And place, and silence, of their meetingEve, and its star, and that soft power,
That sway'd their pulse's fitful beating. Nature below, and shade aboveAnd they--their young hearts and their love!
And never was a lovelier breast
eye, Look back to love unknown reply.
Oh! what is that divine, intense,