Page:The Poets and Poetry of the West.djvu/142

 126 GEORGE D. PRENTICE. [1830-40. And •' Freedom ! Freedom !" is the ansAver- ing shout Of nations starting from the spell of years. The day-spring! — see — 'tis brightening in the heavens ! Tlie watchmen of the night have caught the sign — From tower to tower the signal-fires flash free — And the deep watch-word, like the rush of seas That heralds the volcano's bursting flame, Is sounding o'er the earth. Bright years of hope And life are on the wing ! — Yon glorious bow Of Freedom, bended by the hand of God, Is spanning Time's dark surges. Its high Arch, A type of Love and Mercy on the cloud, Tells, that the many storms of human life Will pass in silence, and the sinking waves, Gathering the forms of glory and of peace, Reflect the undimmed brightness of the Heavens. THE STARS. Those burning stars ! what are they ? I have dreamed That they were blossoms on the tree of life. Or glory flung back from the outspread wings Of God's Ai'changels ; or that yon blue skies, With all their gorgeous blazonry of gems. Were a bright banner waving o'er the earth From the far wall of heaven ! And I have sat And drank their gushing glory, till I felt Their flash electric trembling with the deep And strong vibration down the living wire Of chainless passion ; and my every pulse Was beating high, as if *a spring were there To buoy me up, where I might ever roam Mid the unfathomed vastness of the sky, And dwell with those bright stars, and see their light Poured down upon the earth like dew From the bright urns of Naiads ! Beautiful stars ! What are ye ? There is in my heart of hearts A fount that heaves beneath you, like the deep Beneath the glories of the midnight moon ! And list — your Eden-tones are floating now Around me like an element — so slow. So mildly beautiful, I almost deem That ye are there, the Uving harps of God, O'er which the incense-winds of Eden stray. And wake such tones of mystic minstrelsy As well might wander down to this dim world To fashion dreams of heaven ! Peal on — peal on — Nature's high anthem! for my hfe has caught A portion of your purity and power, And seems but as a sweet and glorious tone Of wild star-music ! Blessed, blessed things ! Ye are in heaven, and I on earth. IMy soul. Even with a whirlwind's rush, can wander oflP To your immortal realms, but it must fall. Like your own ancient Pleiad, from its height. To dim its new-caught glories in the dust ! This earth is very beautiful. I love Its wilderness of flowers, its bright clouds. The majesty of mountains, and the dread Magnificence of ocean — for they come Like visions on my heart ; but when I look