Poems (Griffith)/Starlight Musings
Starlight Musings.
THE gentle spirit of the twilight now Has shut his rosy wings, and I have come Out in the sad, sweet starlight, to commune With olden visions, soft and beautiful, Yet fading in my soul.
Ye lovely stars!Bright, holy watchers of the glorious sky!Ye gave to me in eves of other years Your gentle sympathy—Oh grant it still, For now 'tis dearer to the orphan's heart, Than when in childhood's happy years she gazed Enchanted on your lovely light, and dreamed Had she but wings, that she could rise and grasp Your shining forms and twine them round her brow;A band of glorious jewels. Now she comes Wiser, but oh, less happy, bent in soul And crushed in hope, to weep her griefs away Beneath your pitying beams. Her proud soul chafes And struggles in its earthly pilgrimage; Her weary feet and panting heart would rest To-night, and she would muse on dear old joys That lent their glow, their spirit-thrilling dreams, Their wild, ideal spell of witchery, To years that cannot come again, and scenes She never can see more.
Nay, now her heart Again grows young and gentle, as it thrills Delightedly beneath your beautiful And holy spell, as ocean thrills and heaves To the young moon in heaven. Again she dreams, And years and sorrows vanish from her life, And leave her in her pure and innocent And joyous childhood. Once again she treads Where roses bloom, and no dark serpent coils Beneath their leaves; again she looks abroad O'er nature, with a soul that leaps to blend With every scene and sound of love; again She hears the well-remembered tones that made The music of her life, ere yet she knew That Death was in the world; and oh, again Tears; gentle tears, the chastened spirit's dew, Are overflowing from a heart whose depths She thought were turned to dust. And now one star, One soft, bright star, beams on her eye and soul, On which she used to gaze in ecstasy With him, the idol of her heart, when they. Sat hand in hand on glorious eves like this,In deep and voiceless love, their souls too full Of wild and beautiful and burning dreams For human utterance. Ah, little dreamed Their hearts, as on their favorite star they gazed, That soon its beams would shine alone for her, And that her eyes would strain through gushing tears To search its glittering orb, and see if 'twere His spirit's dwelling-place.
Ye glorious stars ! Ye shone like blessed spirits of the sky On Eden's groves and fountains, ere the pall Of sin had fallen there; ye shone upon A dark, and wild, and shoreless world of waves, A lone and billowy desert, when the ark That held all mortal breath was drifting o'er The mountain tops; ye shone on Sinai's tall Anal awful summit, when a mortal man Was talking face to face with God; ye shone On Calvary's sacred height, while yet the blood That flowed to wash the human race from guilt Was red upon the tree; ye shone on all The prophets and the patriarchs of old, And saw their tears as forth they stole and wept In agony beneath your silent light; Ye shone upon the meek and reverend heads Of those who went forth in the strength of God, To bear His message to a fallen world, And on the dark brows and the gleaming steel Of the fierce hosts that spread their prophet's creed Abroad by sword and wasting flame; ye shone On Egypt's plains ere yet the pyramids Lifted their bald and solemn heads to heaven; Ye shone on Tadmor, Nineveh, and Rome: Their glories and their ruins; ye have shone Upon the living forms and on the graves Of the departed generations; ye Have shone on all that's been on earth, and now Ye shine on all that is. Oh, in your beams There is a world of bright and awful lore, A deep spell woven of the centuries, And though we scarce may read the mystic scroll, It shines upon our spirit with a pure, And deep, and mighty power, and charms awayCare, sin, and woe, and makes us strong to bear The strifes of mortal being.
Beautiful And holy stars! ye seem in Paradise; Ay, when your beams are resting on our brows, We feel that we are bathed in what has been A part of Heaven itself. We know that ye Are God's own thoughts writ by His mighty hand, And that our wingéd souls, by mounting up From earth and mingling with your flames, may catch A portion of your living glory. We, Chained darkly to the dust, may never list With mortal car the lofty symphony That ye are ever pealing in your swift And radiant sweep through the eternal space; Yet, with our listening spirits we can hear Its echoes sounding nightly o'er the earth, The solemn music of eternity.