Back to its heavenly scource thy being goes, Swift as the comet wheels to whence he rose ; And doom'd, like thee, to travel, and return.- - On bickering wheels, and adamantine car; From planet whirl'd to planet more remote, Her trembling wings, emerging from the world; And o'er the path by mortal never trod, Sprung to her source, the bosom of her God! Oh! lives there, Heaven! beneath thy dread expanse, One hopeless, dark idolater of Chance, Content to feed, with pleasures unrefined, The lukewarm passions of a lowly mind; Who, mouldering earthward, 'reft of every trust, In joyless union wedded to the dust, Could all his parting energy dismiss, And call this barren world sufficient bliss ? There live, alas! of heaven-directed mien, Of cultured soul, and sapient eye serene, Frail as the leaf in Autumn's yellow bower, Dust in the wind, or dew upon the flower; Whose mortal life, and momentary fire, And, when the gun's tremendous flash is o'er, Are these the pompous tidings ye proclaim, Lights of the world, and demi-gods of Fame? Is this your triumph-this your proud applause, Children of Truth, and champions of her cause? For this hath Science search'd, on weary wing, By shore and sea-each mute and living thing? Launch'd with Iberia's pilot from the steep, To worlds unknown, and isles beyond the deep? And wheel'd in triumph through the signs of Heaven? Then bind the palm, thy sage's brow to suit, Ah me! the laurell'd wreath that Murder rears, Blood-nursed, and water'd by the widow's tears, As waves the night-shade round the sceptic head. I smile on death, if Heaven-ward Hope remain! Be all the faithless charter of my life, 11 If Chance awaked, inexorable power, This frail and feverish being of an hour; Doom'd o'er the world's precarious scene to sweep, To know Delight but by her parting smile, Yet, if thy voice the note of thunder roll'd, And that were true which Nature never told, |