Ebenezer Jones (Эбенизер Джонс)

Ode to Thought

WHETHER you make futurity your home,
Spirits of thought!
Or past eternity;--come to me, come!
For you have long been sought:
I've looked to meet you in the morning's dawn,
Often, in vain;
I've followed to her haunts the wild young fawn;
Through sunshine, and through rain,
I have waited long and fondly; surely you will come,
Familiarly as doves returning to their home.

Oh! I have need of you; if you forsake
My troubled mind,
Whence can it strength and consolation take,
Or peace or pleasure find?
For the great sake of the eternal spring
Of all your might,--
Unto me desolate, some comfort bring;
Unto me dark, some light:
Come crowdingly, and swift, that I may see,
Upon your wings their native radiancy.

I know that ye must have a glorious dwelling:--
Whether it rise
Past mortal ken, where the old winds are swelling
Choired cries;
Whether, like eagles, on some lunar mountain
Ye fold your wings;
Or sport beside that rosy and tranquil fountain,
Whence daylight springs;
I know your home is beautiful; and this belief
Brings glowing sunshine through the cloudiness of grief.

Come not with softened utterance of the song,
That gushes in your land;
But as ye hear it, undisturbed, and strong,
Pour it where now I stand;
A glorious echo these hanging cliffs shall roll
O'er this great sea;
However far it speed, shall speed my soul
Thrice lifted with glee;
Will it not lead where I may clearly see,
Countries whose low is love, whose custom, liberty!

There is a noise within this tranquil heaven!
This ocean has a voice!
Through these tall trees a mighty tone is driven,
That bids me to rejoice.
In the clear greenness of these tumbling waters,
I see a face,
Exceeding far in beauty man's pale daughters!
Bright and unwavering grace
Sits around its brows, proclaiming heavenly glory;
Around it leap the waves, roaring to whiteness hoary.

Ye come! ye come! like stars down the dark night,
Bolding leaping!
I hear the mighty rushing of your flight,
Loud music sweeping.
The unconceived splendour of your speed,
Is not more great
Than the oceanic choirings that precede
And tide your state;
Fill me with strength to bear, and power to tell,
The wonders gathering round, that man may love me well. 

1. My Wife and Child, Come Close to Me
2. High Summer
3. Rain

Распечатать (Print)

Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1150

Последние стихотворения

To English version