Fugitive Poetry. 1600–1878/Past and Present

Past and Present.

In earlier days, in happier hours,I watched and wandered with the sun:I saw him when the east was red,I saw him when the day was dead,All his earthly journey done.Looks of love were in the west,But he passed and took no rest!

O'er the immeasurable blue,Across the rain, amidst the blast,Onwards and onwards, like a god,Through the trackless air he trod,Scattering bounties as he passedBy the portals of the west,And never shut his eyes in rest.

0 how—in those two happy hours—How deeply then did I adoreThe bright unwearied sleepless sun,And wished—just thus my course to run;From sea to sea, from shore to shore,My deeds thus good, thus known, thus bright,Thus undisturbed by rest or night.

But now—since I have heard and seenThe many cares that trouble life,The evil that requiteth good,The benefits not understood—Unfilial, unfraternal strife,The hate, the lie, the bitter jest—I feel how sweet are night and rest.

And oh! what morning ever lookedSo lovely as the quiet eve,When low and fragrant winds ariseAnd draw the curtains of the skies,And gentle songs of summer weave—Such as between the alders creepNow, and soothe my soul to sleep!