Page:The American review - a Whig journal of politics, literature, art, and science (1845).djvu/267

1845.] The stars shall pain thee, and the pallid moon

Shall haunt thee like a ghost; the skies, the sea,

And mighty forests shall oppress thy soul

With deep self-scorn; no common plant or flower

Shall move sweet tears in thee, and thou shalt wish

All happy birds and innocent finny tribes

Might from the face of Nature quickly perish:

Yea! evermore, instead of radiant shapes

That can withdraw thee hourly into Heaven,

From out the gloomy places of the mind

Skeleton Horror shall surprise and scare thee.

(Spirit of Beauty retiring.)

Oh! one word more! Say that thou hat'st me not!

How should I hate whom Heaven hath borne so long?

Yet now, farewell I

Oh! linger yet a moment!

Is it a sin that I have loved thee so,

And worshipped thy bright image? If it be,

Let grief and suffering atone for that,

Long as this heart can know the power of pain.

But let me gaze on thee and hear thee still.

How can I linger? for my errand is

To beautify the universe of God,

Where'er fresh worlds encroach upon the vo

Of outer darkness. Yet my presence still

Shall be around thee, and with upright soul

Thou may'st behold and hear me in the face

And voice of Nature—in the whisperings

And sweet affections of the human breast.

And in the aspirings of the human mind

Be they but pure.

I hear the journeying stars,

The circling suns, and angel's song proclaim

The birth of a new world, and I must haste

To bathe it in the gladdening smile of God!