Until at length they disappear, By what astrology of fear or hope A luminous circle, faint and dim, And scarcely visible to us here, Rounds and completes the perfect sphere, A prophecy and intimation, A pale and feeble adumbration, Of the great world of light, that lies Ah! if thy fate, with anguish fraught, With the hot tears and sweat of toil,- Remember, in that perilous hour, And if a more auspicious fate Still let it ever be thy pride Without reward; for thou shalt learn The wisdom early to discern True beauty in utility; As great Pythagoras of yore, Standing beside the blacksmith's door, Stole from the varying tones, that hung The secret of the sounding wire, And formed the seven-chorded lyre. Enough! I will not play the Seer; And burns to ashes in the skies. I STOOD on the bridge at midnight, Behind the dark church-tower. I saw her bright reflection In the waters under me, Like a golden goblet falling And sinking into the sea. And far in the hazy distance THE BRIDGE. Among the long, black rafters The wavering shadows lay, And the current that came from the ocean As, sweeping and eddying through them, And, streaming into the moonlight, And like those waters rushing How often, O, how often, In the days that had gone by, I had stood on that bridge at midnight How often, O, how often, I had wished that the ebbing tide Would bear me away on its bosom O'er the ocean wild and wide! For my heart was hot and restless, And life was full of care, And the burden laid upon me Seemed greater than I could bear. But now it has fallen from me, It is buried in the sea; Yet whenever I cross the river On its bridge with wooden piers, Like the odor of brine from the ocean Comes the thought of other years. 319 |