114 NATHANIEL WRIGHT. [1830-40. And nerves the hand to other deed, Than love's caress or Bacchus' meed. Man — the poor insect of a day ! Just springs from earth to pass away, Fhts from the scene as light and fast. As the lake's shadows in the blast : — But mark yon hills ! those cliffs have stood, Unmoved, since round them dashed the flood. How many a race, beneath their crest, Has toiled its day, and gone to rest ! Skirting tli' horizon's verge afar. And neighbors of the evening star. In varied form of peak or ridge. Or woody dell, or naked ledge. Here with a fleecy crest of cloud, And there a dusky greenwood shroud ; Approaching here, till field and cot Distinctly mark the cultured spot, — Retiring there, and soaring high, And soft'ning, till they melt in sky. The mountains spread : — too much like hfe,— In passing all turmoil and strife ; But seen at distance — pomp and pride, Or joy and peace by parents' side. Oft, when at eve the welcome rain Has left its freshness on the plain, A desert vast the dawn will greet, Of sleeping cloud beneath your feet, With hei'e and there, a lonely head Emerging from the ocean bed ; All else so lost, so still, and fair — You almost ask if earth be there ! And wish the swallow's wing to try The magic flood, and bathe in sky. But grander far the sable cloud, Fraught with heaven's fire, and thunder loud; Its fleecy van of silver sheen, But all the rear of midnight scene ; The solemn peals that slowly roll, From north to south athwart the pole ; The bursting bolt, in vengeance hurl'd, That jars this wide and solid world ; The pensile flash, whose vivid form Crosses the blackness of the storm, Descending now^, with anger red. Scathes the dark mountain's distant head, Or plays its gambols round the sky, A solemn scene to mortal eye! The plains beneath with awe are still. The wild bird screams not from the hill. Grave is the lambkin in his cote, And hushed the warbleis cheerful note. At length the advancing torrents mark Yon utmost summits, vailed and dark, — Hill after hill, as now it nears. Is shaded — dimm'd — and disappears ; And mingle now along the plain. The flash — the peal — and dashing rain. The cloud has passed. Descending day Beams foi-th its brightest, loveliest ray ; — The youthful flocks forget to feed, Through joy's excess, and race the mead ; The songsters strain their little throats, To lend their loudest, merriest notes ; And scarce that day does Phoebus part From saddened eye, or sorrowing heart. ! what were life's dull, transient hour, "Without its sunshine and its shower! Its day of gloom, and doubt's dark di'eara. And hope's succeeding, bright'ning beam ? Yet gaze once more ! — The sun has set, High though his rays are lingering yet — How bright, beyond those summits old. Spreads the broad field of li^ang gold ! How black, upon that glowing vest. Lie the long hills, that skirt the west ! Ambition, mark ! — for glory's light Even thus delays oblivion's night ; — A twilight splendor, soft and fair, When death has vailed its fiercer glare ; But short tlie hour, and sure the lot, It fades, it sinks, and is forgot.
