Poems (Piatt)/Volume 2/A Passing Year
A PASSING YEAR.[MDCCCLX.]
My spirit saw a scene
Whose splendours were so terrible and bright
That the infinitude of mist between
The earth and sky scarce saved its eagle-sight
From 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 spheres
With their immortal strength—were folded now,
Like a still veil of glory, on his brow.
Whose splendours were so terrible and bright
That the infinitude of mist between
The earth and sky scarce saved its eagle-sight
From 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 spheres
With 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 fast
Escaped 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.
A gem to note the year, forever more
Burned in his ancient crown; and fierce and fast
Escaped 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 save
Us 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 spring
To 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.
Us 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 spring
To 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 cast
Its 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 below
Its silent wheels to make a triumph glow.
Its 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 below
Its silent wheels to make a triumph glow.
"I passed yon radiant crowd
Of constellations, and there knelt beside
The Cross upon whose like a God has bowed;
I met the mourning Pleiades, and cried
To 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.
Of constellations, and there knelt beside
The Cross upon whose like a God has bowed;
I met the mourning Pleiades, and cried
To 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 deeds
Must pass before the sight of him who dies;
Mine crowd the infinite spaces—but man needs
Not to be told of those whose scenery lies
Beyond 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 thought
May visit only by the hazy route
That glimmers round the reeling sails of Doubt.
Must pass before the sight of him who dies;
Mine crowd the infinite spaces—but man needs
Not to be told of those whose scenery lies
Beyond 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 thought
May visit only by the hazy route
That 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 whirled
Among the rocks, watching their foamy beams;
There are the groves of myrrh, and diamond gleams,
Where—fair as if it erewhile floated to
Its own warm poets, in their lotus dreams,
As an ideal Aidenn, and there grew
Into reality—the Orient lies
Close to the morn 'mid birds of Paradise.
Like a dark canvas spread before me seems:
There hides the hermit West, with cataracts whirled
Among the rocks, watching their foamy beams;
There are the groves of myrrh, and diamond gleams,
Where—fair as if it erewhile floated to
Its own warm poets, in their lotus dreams,
As an ideal Aidenn, and there grew
Into reality—the Orient lies
Close to the morn 'mid birds of Paradise.
"There ice-mailed warders keep
The gates of silence by the auroral rays
Which fall above the cold-pressed North asleep,
Like a proud, pallid Queen, in the rich blaze
Of 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 meet
Her fiery lover 'mid her gorgeous bowers,
And, as his bride, be crowned with orange flowers.
The gates of silence by the auroral rays
Which fall above the cold-pressed North asleep,
Like a proud, pallid Queen, in the rich blaze
Of 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 meet
Her fiery lover 'mid her gorgeous bowers,
And, as his bride, be crowned with orange flowers.
"And, over all, there moves
The phantasm of my life. With joy and dread
I see it passing, and my memory proves
Its 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 perfumes
Seem blown about them; and I hear the breeze
That used to kiss them sing old melodies.
The phantasm of my life. With joy and dread
I see it passing, and my memory proves
Its 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 perfumes
Seem blown about them; and I hear the breeze
That used to kiss them sing old melodies.
"Above, the changing sky
Shows 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!
Shows 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 throne
From 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 blast
God's Miracle of Freedom, kindling fast."
From 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 blast
God's Miracle of Freedom, kindling fast."
He fixed a dark, wild look
On his celestial watcher, as in hate;
Then grasped him, till his passionless grandeur shook,
And muttered: "Spirit, see the fate of fate
I've left upon mortality's estate.
And thou didst suffer all this ruin, thou
Whose 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.
On his celestial watcher, as in hate;
Then grasped him, till his passionless grandeur shook,
And muttered: "Spirit, see the fate of fate
I've left upon mortality's estate.
And thou didst suffer all this ruin, thou
Whose 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 fear
A traitor's fate, if thou again shalt dare
Neglect 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 strong
As aught except thy brother Lucifer's curse,
Shall drag thee down to share his doom or worse!
For, Guardian Angel of the Years, I swear
Thou art a traitor to thy God! And fear
A traitor's fate, if thou again shalt dare
Neglect 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 strong
As 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 slow
Along 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 day
When earth and heaven shall melt in fire away."
Yet, though we part, it is to meet again;
My ghost will come with noiseless step and slow
Along 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 day
When earth and heaven shall melt in fire away."
He drew the dark around
His ghastly face—the nations sighed farewell;
He staggered from his throne—an awful sound
Rolled down from every system's every bell,
That tolled together once to make his knell,
And the resplendent crown-star, that had flashed
On 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.
His ghastly face—the nations sighed farewell;
He staggered from his throne—an awful sound
Rolled down from every system's every bell,
That tolled together once to make his knell,
And the resplendent crown-star, that had flashed
On 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.