The Continental Monthly, Vol. 5, No. 3, March, 1864. VariousЧитать онлайн книгу.

      Leave we now the upper regions

      With their wonders pure and high,

      Gone the barred and fleecy Cirri—

      Mountain Cumuli storm the sky.

      High the calmness floats above us,

      Tears and rain lie far below,

      As we sail the middle Cloudland,

      Where the vapors come and go.

      Throbs a wilder pulse of passion,

      Stronger individual life,

      Rapid, energetic motion

      Tells of elemental strife.

      Nearer seem they to the human,

      Rearing dizzy forms on high,

      Than the order-loving Cirri

      Barring the translucent sky.

      Lovingly they crest our mountains,

      Hovering o'er them all the day,

      Copying all the soaring outlines

      In artistic, skilful play;

      Following close on the horizon,

      Dip, break, gap, and lofty peak,

      As to build Earth into Heaven

      Would the haunting vapors seek.

      Drifting swiftly through the azure,

      Chase they shadows over Earth:

      Flying footsteps, soft and silent,

      Flit o'er grassy graves in mirth.

      Shudder not—the bearded harvest

      Quivers not, so light the tread:

      Let it glide o'er moss and violet—

      Would its touch could wake our dead!

      Piling now, the tossing vapors,

      With a wild exultant power,

      Rise in turrets, towers, mountains,

      Changing with the changing hour.

      Glittering, gleaming, dazzling, snowy,

      Heart-tossed shadows in them lie;

      Broken, scattered, wind-torn, foamy,

      Haunt they through Earth's panting sky.

      Luminous jets of boiling vapor

      Topple into sudden rifts,

      Open into yawning chasms,

      Break in tortured whirling drifts,

      Panting, surging, rocking, reeling,

      Cradling in their hearts the storm,

      Spirit, power, passion flashing,

      Lightning bares each secret form.

      Banding now in groups colossal,

      Piling o'er the mountain crest,

      Sweeping down his rocky summit,

      Crashing through his wooded breast,

      Shattering fall his pines and larches,

      Rain, hail, tumult onward swell,

      Lightning scathes the shuddering forest,

      Thunder frights the leafy dell.

      Sunset fires the whirling vapors,

      Now they sway and rock in light,

      Toppling crests fling back the radiance,

      Through the rifts it glitters bright,

      Gloomy clouds are ruby kindling,

      Rippling fringed with molten gold,

      Rosy streams of color pouring,

      Through the tempest's blackness rolled.

      Surging weird in fitful beauty,

      Every moment fraught with change,

      Every break and mystic chasm

      Opening up a Heaven-range:

      Now the eastern peaks are kindling

      Glow as though the Morning's heart

      Throbbed against them, while the formless

      Clouds to phantom being start.

      Thus through storm-tost human bosoms

      God oft sends His rays divine;

      Passionate errors, when forgiven,

      Lead us on to trust sublime.

      God rays light through moral tempests,

      Brings repentance out of crime;

      'Much forgiven' ploughs the spirit,

      Former faults as beacons shine.

      Through our ruins Love is gleaming,

      Rippling o'er in molten gold,

      Rosy streams of life are pouring

      Through our tempest's blackness rolled.

      Glittering thus in growing beauty,

      Every moment fraught with change,

      Through each rift and shattered chasm

      We may see the Heaven-range.

      Thus the angels build the pictures

      In the vext or tranquil skies,

      Of our changeful human passions,

      Stormful fall and heaven-won rise.

      Thus they write in love and pity,

      Radiant with their heaven-dyes,

      Lessons for the lost, the erring,

      Hope for weary, dying eyes.

      High float the Cirri,

      Passionless, pure;

      Wild pile the Cumuli,

      Never secure;

      Low sweep the Rain Clouds

      Over the sky,

      Glooming the sunshine,

      Slow trailing by.

      Mystical region

      Typifies Earth—

      Light in the bosom

      Of darkness has birth;

      Magical mingling

      Of beauty and gloom,

      Calm follows tempest

      As Heaven the tomb.

      Shrouding the distance,

      Legions of mist

      Glide down the river

      Joining the list

      Of the shadowy army

      Hurrying on

      Over wide waters

      To welcome the sun.

      Catching his gleaming,

      Faster