Selections from the American Poets/To the Ursa Major
TO THE URSA MAJOR.
With what a stately and majestic stepThat glorious constellation of the northTreads its eternal circle! going forthIts princely way among the stars in slowAnd silent brightness. Mighty one, all hail!I joy to see thee on thy glowing pathWalk, like some stout and girded giant; stern,Unwearied, resolute, whose toiling footDisdains to loiter on its destined way.The other tribes forsake their midnight track, And rest their weary orbs beneath the wave;But thou dost never close thy burning eye,Nor stay thy steadfast step. But on, still on,While systems change, and suns retire, and worldsSlumber and wake, thy ceaseless march proceeds.The near horizon tempts to rest in vain.Thou, faithful sentinel, dost never quitThy long appointed watch; but, sleepless still,Dost guard the fix'd light of the universe,And bid the north for ever know its place. Ages have witness'd thy devoted trust,Unchanged, unchanging. When the sons of GodSent forth that shout of joy which rang through heaven,And echoed from the outer spheres that boundThe illimitable universe, thy voiceJoin'd the high chorus; from thy radiant orbsThe glad cry sounded, swelling to His praise,Who thus had cast another sparkling gem,Little, but beautiful, amid the crowdOf splendours that enrich his firmament.As thou art now, so wast thou then the same.Ages have roll'd their course, and time grown gray;The earth has gather'd to her womb again,And, yet again, the myriads that were bornOf her uncounted, unremember'd tribes.The seas have changed their beds; the eternal hillsHave stoop'd with age; the solid continentsHave left their banks; and man's imperial works—The toil, pride, strength of kingdoms, which had flungTheir haughty honours in the face of Heaven,As if immortal—have been swept away:Shatter'd and mouldering, buried and forgot.But time has shed no dimness on thy front,Nor touch'd the firmness of thy tread youth, strength,And beauty still are thine; as clear, as bright,As when the Almighty Former sent thee forth,Beautiful offspring of his curious skill, To watch earth's northern beacon, and proclaimThe eternal chorus of eternal Love. I wonder as I gaze. That stream of light,Undimm'd, unquench'd—just as I see it now—Has issued from those dazzling points through yearsThat go back far into eternity.Exhaustless flood! for ever spent, renew'dFor ever! Yea, and those refulgent drops,Which now descend upon my lifted eye,Left their far fountain twice three years ago.While those winged particles, whose speed outstripsThe flight of thought, were were on their way, the earthCompass'd its tedious circuit round and round,And, in the extremes of annual change, beheldSix autumns fade, six springs renew their bloom.So far from earth those mighty orbs revolve!So vast the void through which their beams descend! Yes, glorious lamp of God! He may have quench'dYour ancient flames, and bid eternal nightRest on your spheres; and yet no tidings reachThis distant planet. Messengers still comeLaden with your far fire, and we may seemTo see your lights still burning; while their blazeBut hides the black wreck of extinguish'd realms,Where anarchy and darkness long have reign'd. Yet what is this, which to the astonish'd mindSeems measureless, and which the baffled thoughtConfounds? A span, a point, in those domainsWhich the keen eye can traverse. Seven starsDwell in that brilliant cluster, and the sightEmbraces all at once; yet each from eachRecedes as far as each of them from earth.And every star from every other burnsNo less remote. From the profound of heaven,Untravell'd even in thought, keen, piercing raysDart through the void, revealing to the senseSystems and worlds unnumber'd.Take the glass And search the skies.The opening skies pour downUpon your gaze thick showers of sparkling fire; Stars, crowded, throng'd, in regions so remote,That their swift beams—the swiftest things that be—Have travell'd centuries on their flight to earth.Earth, sun, and nearer constellations! whatAre ye amid this infinite extentAnd multitude of God's most infinite works! And these are suns! vast, central, living fires,Lords of dependant systems, kings of worldsThat wait as satellites upon their power,And flourish in their smile. Awake, my soul,And meditate the wonder! Countless sunsBlaze round thee, leading forth their countless worlds!Worlds in whose bosoms living things rejoice,And drink the bliss of being from the fountOf all-pervading Love. What mind can know,What tongue can utter, all their multitudes!Thus numberless in numberless abodes!Known but to thee, bless'd Father! Thine they are,Thy children, and thy care; and none o'erlook'dOf thee! No, not the humblest soul that dwellsUpon the humblest globe, which wheels its courseAmid the giant glories of the sky,Like the mean mote that dances in the beamAmong the mirror'd lamps, which flingTheir wasteful splendour from the palace wall,None, none escape the kindness of thy care;All compass'd underneath thy spacious wing,Each fed and guided by thy powerful hand. Tell me, ye splendid orbs! as from your throneYe mark the rolling provinces that ownYour sway, what beings fill those bright abodes?How form'd, how gifted! what their powers, their state,Their happiness, their wisdom? Do they bearThe stamp of human nature? Or has GodPeopled those purer realms with lovelier formsAnd more celestial minds? Does InnocenceStill wear her native and untainted bloom?Or has Sin breathed his deadly blight abroad, And sow'd corruption in those fairy bowers?Has War trod o'er them with his foot of fire?And Slavery forged his chains; and Wrath, and Hate,And sordid Selfishness, and cruel Lust,Leagued their base bands to tread out light and truth,And scatter'd wo where Heaven had planted joy!Or are they yet all paradise, unfallenAnd uncorrupt; existence one long joy,Without disease upon the frame, or sinUpon the heart, or weariness of life;Hope never quench'd, and age unknown.And death unfear'd; while fresh and fadeless youthGlows in the light from God's near throne of love? Open your lips, ye wonderful and fair!Speak, speak! the mysteries of those living worldsUnfold! No language! Everlasting lightAnd everlasting silence! Yet the eyeMay read and anderstand. The hand of GodHas written legibly what man may know,The glory of the Maker. There it shines,Ineffable, unchangeable; and man,Bound to the surface of this pigmy globe,May know and ask no more. In other days,When death shall give the encumber'd spirit wings,Its range shall be extended; it shall roam,Perchance, among those vast mysterious spheres,Shall pass from orb to orb, and dwell in each,Familiar with its children; learn their laws,And share their state, and study and adoreThe infinite varieties of blissAnd beauty, by the hand of Power divineLavish'd on all its works. EternityShall thus roll on with ever fresh delight;No pause of pleasure or improvement; worldOn world still opening to the instructed mindAn unexhausted universe, and timeBut adding to its glories. While the soul,Advancing ever to the Source of lightAnd all perfection, lives, adores, and reignsIn cloudless knowledge, purity, and bliss.