Poems (Piatt)/Volume 2/A Passing Year
A PASSING YEAR.[MDCCCLX.]
My spirit saw a sceneWhose splendours were so terrible and bright That the infinitude of mist betweenThe earth and sky scarce saved its eagle-sightFrom being blasted. In the middle night He stood, the Guardian Angel of the Years:His wings—that could extend their quenchless light Across eternity, and rock the spheresWith their immortal strength—were folded now,Like a still veil of glory, on his brow.
One fiery star and vast,A gem to note the year, forever more Burned in his ancient crown; and fierce and fastEscaped the flame from out the one he wore,Whose dimness vaguely settled on each shore Along the seas of space; and, pale and lone,But kingly with the solemn pride of yore, Clutching the grandeur of a shadowy throne, As if to hold his royalty from Death,One leaned beside him with an icy breath.
Nor earth, nor heaven will saveUs from the Doom which claimed that mighty thing; But, then, who fears or thinks upon the grave—That narrow dark through which the free may springTo the wide light beyond? Who seeks to cling With coward grasp to fetters and to strife?Death is the only haleyon whose white wing Can still the billows of a restless life.Yet, were the present peace, the future woe,New storms are better than a calm we know.
He said, "My sceptre castIts shadows far as God's dominions lie; Storms blew their thunder-trumpets as I passed,And lightnings followed me about the sky.I clasped the unwilling worlds and heard them sigh Against my breast with all their winds and waves;Ay, as my victor chariot hurried by, Sun, star, and comet, like affrighted slaves,Flung portions of their measured light belowIts silent wheels to make a triumph glow.
"I passed yon radiant crowdOf constellations, and there knelt beside The Cross upon whose like a God has bowed;I met the mourning Pleiades, and criedTo their lost sister in the unanswering tide Of night; I struck weird music from the Lyre,And humbled old Orion's sullen pride, Who leaned against his scimitar of fire,And, with submissive reverence and mute,Acknowledged my imperious salute.
"Look, look—for all his deedsMust pass before the sight of him who dies; Mine crowd the infinite spaces—but man needsNot to be told of those whose scenery liesBeyond the bounds he knows, for his dim eyes See but the things I have around him wrought;He will not hear the dirge that soon must rise For me in all the myriad realms his thoughtMay visit only by the hazy routeThat glimmers round the reeling sails of Doubt.
"The shadow of his world,Like a dark canvas spread before me seems: There hides the hermit West, with cataracts whirledAmong the rocks, watching their foamy beams; There are the groves of myrrh, and diamond gleams, Where—fair as if it erewhile floated toIts own warm poets, in their lotus dreams, As an ideal Aidenn, and there grewInto reality—the Orient liesClose to the morn 'mid birds of Paradise.
"There ice-mailed warders keepThe gates of silence by the auroral rays Which fall above the cold-pressed North asleep,Like a proud, pallid Queen, in the rich blazeOf coloured lamps, upon whose bosom weighs A dreary vision; and there, too, the sweet,Sun-worshipped South in languid beauty stays, Like a sultana, caring but to meetHer fiery lover 'mid her gorgeous bowers,And, as his bride, be crowned with orange flowers.
"And, over all, there movesThe phantasm of my life. With joy and dread I see it passing, and my memory provesIts truth to nature. Roses white and red,Whose leaves into the winds have long been shed, And tremulous lily-bells, and jasmine blooms Are there, as they had risen from the dead, So like their early selves their lost perfumesSeem blown about them; and I hear the breezeThat used to kiss them sing old melodies.
"Above, the changing skyShows wonder-pictures to my fading eyes: Now, the black armies of the clouds march by,Now rainbows bloom, now golden moons arise.Below, how varied too! Now glitter lies On gorgeous jewels, bridal-flowers and mirth;Now mourners pass, and fill the air with sighs, To hide their coffins in the yawning earth;Now, with a pallid face and frenzied mind,Cold, starving wretches ask if God is blind!
"Now reels a nightmare throneFrom the crushed bosom of the Sicilies, The South's brief dream of blood wakes in the sun;Glad winds sing on the blue Italian seas,And glad men bless me by their olive-trees. Now, in the clouds above a younger land,With awful eyes fixed on its destinies, The frowning souls of its dead Glorious stand And see a fiery madness, that would blastGod's Miracle of Freedom, kindling fast."
He fixed a dark, wild lookOn his celestial watcher, as in hate; Then grasped him, till his passionless grandeur shook,And muttered: "Spirit, see the fate of fateI've left upon mortality's estate. And thou didst suffer all this ruin, thouWhose office was to warn me; 'tis too late For me to give thee these reproaches now,For I am growing cold—my deeds are done,And thou shouldst blush for them, thou guilty one.
"I tell thee, thou shalt hear—For, Guardian Angel of the Years, I swear Thou art a traitor to thy God! And fearA traitor's fate, if thou again shalt dareNeglect thy task. Then aid him who shall bear The sceptre I resign to quench all wrong,And kindle right—or, when I meet thee where None may evade the truth, my oath, as strongAs aught except thy brother Lucifer's curse,Shall drag thee down to share his doom or worse!
"Mortals, I go, I go.Yet, though we part, it is to meet again; My ghost will come with noiseless step and slowAlong the twilights, whispering of my reign;And, in the night-times, oft a mystic strain Shall strike your sleep, and ye shall know my tone,Singing remembered airs, not all in vain, And chorus them with an unconscious moan;And I must witness of you in the dayWhen earth and heaven shall melt in fire away."
He drew the dark aroundHis ghastly face—the nations sighed farewell; He staggered from his throne—an awful soundRolled down from every system's every bell,That tolled together once to make his knell, And the resplendent crown-star, that had flashedOn the lone Angel's brow, grew black and fell— Shattering among six thousand more it crashed.I asked: "How many stay for him to wear?"I woke: and Midnight's silence filled the air.