Thou unrelenting Past!Strong are the barriers round thy dark domain, And fetters, sure and fast,Hold all that enter thy unbreathing reign.
Far in thy realm withdrawnOld empires sit in sullenness and gloom, And glorious ages goneLie deep within the shadow of thy womb.
Childhood, with all its mirth,Youth, Manhood, Age, that draws us to the ground, And last, Man's Life on earth,Glide to thy dim dominions, and are bound.
Thou hast my better years,Thou hast my earlier friends—the good—the kind, Yielded to thee with tears--The venerable form—the exalted mind.
My spirit yearns to bringThe lost ones back—yearns with desire intense, And struggles hard to wringThy bolts apart, and pluck thy captives thence.
In vain—thy gates denyAll passage save to those who hence depart; Nor to the streaming eyeThou giv'st them back—nor to the broken heart.
In thy abysses hideBeauty and excellence unknown—to thee Earth's wonder and her prideAre gathered, as the waters to the sea;
Labours of good to man,Unpublished charity, unbroken faith,-- Love, that midst grief began,And grew with years, and faltered not in death.
Full many a mighty nameLurks in thy depths, unuttered, unrevered; With thee are silent fame,Forgotten arts, and wisdom disappeared.
Thine for a space are they--Yet shalt thou yield thy treasures up at last; Thy gates shall yet give way,Thy bolts shall fall, inexorable Past!
All that of good and fairHas gone into thy womb from earliest time, Shall then come forth to wearThe glory and the beauty of its prime.
They have not perished—no!Kind words, remembered voices once so sweet, Smiles, radiant long ago,And features, the great soul's apparent seat.
All shall come back, each tieOf pure affection shall be knit again; Alone shall Evil die,And Sorrow dwell a prisoner in thy reign.
And then shall I beholdHim, by whose kind paternal side I sprung, And her, who, still and cold,Fills the next grave—the beautiful and young.
"UPON THE MOUNTAIN'S DISTANT HEAD."
Upon the mountain's distant head, With trackless snows for ever white,Where all is still, and cold, and dead, Late shines the day's departing light.
But far below those icy rocks, The vales, in summer bloom arrayed,Woods full of birds, and fields of flocks, Are dim with mist and dark with shade.
'Tis thus, from warm and kindly hearts, And eyes where generous meanings burn,Earliest the light of life departs, But lingers with the cold and stern.