56
SUMMER ON THE LAKES.
Come in a moment, in a moment gone, |
They answered me, then left me still more lone, |
They told me that the thought which ruled the world, |
As yet no sail upon its course had furled, |
That the creation was but just begun, |
New leaves still leaving from the primal one, |
But spoke not of the goal to which my rapid wheels would run. |
Still, still my eyes, though tearfully, I strained |
To the far future which my heart contained, |
And no dull doubt my proper hope profaned. |
At last, O bliss, thy living form I spied, |
Then a mere speck upon a distant sky, |
Yet my keen glance discerned its noble pride, |
And the full answer, of that sun-filled eye; |
I knew it was the wing that must upbear |
My earthlier form into the realms of air. |
Thou knowest how we gained that beauteous height, |
Where dwells the monarch of the sons of light, |
Thou knowest he declared us two to be |
The chosen servants of his ministry, |
Thou as his messenger, a sacred sign |
Of conquest, or with omen more benign, |
To give its due weight to the righteous cause, |
To express the verdict of Olympian laws. |
And I to wait upon the lonely spring, |
Which slakes the thirst of bards to whom 'tis given |
The destined dues of hopes divine to sing, |
And weave the needed chain to bind to heaven. |
Only from such could be obtained a draught |
For him who in his early home from Jove's own cup has quaffed. |