Classic Poem

O GLORIOUS thought, not with the frame's decay
The life and office of man's spirit ends;
Its inspiration dwells enshrined in act.
A Statue's silence is the Sculptor's voice.
The Painter's immortality resides
In his own forms, and objects. Attitude,
Expression, light, and shade, the tint so fine
It half eludes the eye, — for Earth retain,
In Death's despite, his soul! — And he around
Whose pathway lingered haunting harmonies —
Spirits of Beauty tenanting a sound, —
Lives in his record of their ministry!
Poets, and Sages, thus perpetuate
Their being in the words that, age by age,
Fulfil their lofty ends! Their speech sublime,
Inspires the general heart; their beauty steals,
Brightening and purifying, through the air
Of common life; the Patriot wakes the soul
Of apathetic nations, with their breath
To Freedom's energies; their language gives
Voice to Love's mysteries; the evening hearth
Grows shrine-like, when is hymned their holy chaunt
Of social concord; and their pathos speaks
With a Friend's accent to the desolate!
The thought that they were men makes other men
Exult in manhood; and Eternity
Preaching Hereafter to the world, attests
Her Gospel by their deeds! And thus the Sons
Of Genius have prerogative to stand
Exempt from Time's decree; immutable
In change! Though since they were inurned,
States have sprung up, — and died; barbaric lands
Acquired refinement; or realms civilised
Relapsed to old barbarity; — albeit,
Since they trod Earth, the far posterity
Of empires then unknown, in darkness sleep;
Though marvels of their day have dimly waned
To vague tradition; — Luxury destroyed
The fresh simplicities of primal life,
And added wants to Nature's; — Science ploughed
Earth's once calm brow in furrows, or proclaimed
New worlds in space; — still the Perpetual Few
Survive in what they wrought, and sit enthroned, —
Tutelar Spirits of Humanity!